Page 84 of Possibly Texas

The eleventh and twelfth circles were devoted to Amos, AMOR, and his habit of playing one song “all day long” from “6am to 6pm.” Auggie mostly laughed about Amos since no one really had an excuse for the way he went about his life, either. Lots of theories floated about town—Amos was playing songs for someone he was in love with, he was setting mood music for the day, or he got obsessed with one song and played it all day to get it out of his head. Whatever the reason was, speakers had popped up around Possibly seemingly overnight many years ago and…people just went with it. Some people even listened to AMOR on their own radios at home.

I didn’t have a chance to ask Auggie why he didn’t listen to AMOR on his radio in the barn. As we started our thirteenth lap around Possibly, he began to ramble about his barn and how lucky he was to have such an amazing space for his art installation. By the time he had stopped talking about the barn, I hadn’t even had a chance to ask him about his parents. Where are they? Why haven’t I met them? Can I see your actual house?

As the last word left his mouth, we were stopping across the street from Bend of the Road Graveyard once again. Auggie stopped, his forehead sparsely beaded with sweat, and started to unscrew the cap of his water bottle. I followed along, taking a long drink from the cool metal canteen. I reached up and wiped my sweat away and the sudden compulsion to wipe Auggie’s forehead for him fluttered through my mind.

I pushed it away.

“Well,” Auggie was staring across the road at the graveyard, “I guess that’s that. Tonight, we’ll find out if I’m a gossip or a truth-teller.”

I chuckled nervously. Now that we’d completed our thirteen circles around Possibly, there was no turning back. I had to see things through. Didn’t I?

“Where are people buried now?” I asked, though I hadn’t been aware it was on my mind. “Like, now? If someone dies now?”

Auggie didn’t respond.

“The graveyard would fill up quickly, right?” I asked.

“They don’t bury anyone here anymore,” Auggie said. “They say some of the people here have old, old, old, old relatives buried in Bend of the Road Graveyard. It’s probably true. Some names look familiar. I guess, maybe, once people die, they bury them out in the newer town division. I mostly stick to Possibly.”

“What have they done with dead bodies since you got here?” I asked.

Surely, Auggie knew where the funerals were held.

“No one has died since I got to Possibly,” Auggie said with a shrug.

Then he was turning to me with a wide grin.

“Come on,” he said.

Before I had a chance to ask what was up, Auggie took off at a spring in a south-westerly direction, his bottle swinging at his side. Frustrated, but also amused, I took off after my friend, gripping my bottle at my side as well.

The two of us raced away from the graveyard, past Liberty Lane, The Pueblo, Blooms, and Mystic Molly’s tent. I was barely able to keep up with Auggie’s lithe body, zipping here and there, heading off towards the woods, but I didn’t lose him. When he headed down the trail that led to the clearing with the windchimes, I started to become nervous. However, I kept pace with Auggie, following him along the tree-lined path until we were skidding to a stop in the middle of the clearing in the woods.

Auggie turned to me, his hair getting ruffled briefly by the breeze.

“Windchime Hollow,” Auggie said simply. “That’s what it’s called.”

I didn’t turn to him, but instead, looked around the clearing at all of the windchimes hung at the periphery. Windchimes of all shapes and sizes—just as I remembered—hung from nearly every tree along the edges of the clearing. Some tinkled in the breeze, some clanged, some were too heavy for the current breeze to move them.

Colored glass glinted in the sunlight and bottle caps that hadn’t rusted yet shone. Leaves of green, as jewel-like as the Possibilian grass, swayed lazily in the hollow. One would think that so many windchimes would create a cacophony, but it was peaceful in the hollow. Maybe during windstorms it was deafening, but there with Auggie on a mild summer day, it was nice.

“People really think that…they can communicate with the dead here?” I asked the only logical question.

Auggie shrugged.

“It makes people feel better,” he said. “So…why not? You know?”

I just nodded along, unsure of what to feel or say.

“It’s not just the dead, though,” Auggie continued. “I guess people come here and add to the chimes or ring them anytime they’re thinking about anyone. Maybe it’s stupid or—”

“It’s not.”

“—okay, but it’s therapeutic. It makes people feel better. So, why not?”

I finally turned and smiled at him.

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s nice, I guess.”