Page 98 of Possibly Texas

Once out of range of Levi Lee, I leisurely made my way down the street towards The Pueblo. It was hot, but I didn’t want to rush back to Jack’s place. Not just because Jack and I still had a strained relationship, but because I wanted to enjoy my frappe. Of course, the fact that Jack had barely signed anything to me or written a note to me that wasn’t absolutely necessary in weeks was a big part of it.

Around the house, the two of us took a few days after our fight to come to a silent agreement. We would coexist. We ate meals separately, though Jack typically prepared all of them, we didn’t talk after meals when we watched T.V. unless it was necessary, and we didn’t even wish each other “goodnight” and “good morning.” We were essentially strangers who were roommates.

I’d tried a few times to engage with Jack. I’d gone so far as to go outside and watch him work, asking questions about what he was up to or if he needed help. He’d always brusquely brush me off, making it clear that my help was neither needed nor wanted. So, after a few days of that, I’d given up and fallen into our silently agreed upon routine.

Even though I wanted to say that I didn’t give a single turd that Jack was no longer interested in speaking with me, I found that it hurt my feelings more than I would have expected. Having him pretend that I wasn’t even in the house half of the time was painful. It was awkward. And the worst part was, I had no idea how long it would last. Without any promise that Mom would ever come and take me away from Possibly, life with Jack would be…my life. Surely, once I was eighteen, and had enough money in my pocket, I could take off and start my own life wherever I wanted. But that was two years away, and I wasn’t going to delude myself into thinking that Mom would rescue me before that time was up.

For the foreseeable future, my life would be silence at home, a few hours at Starbuck’s five days a week, somehow complete high school, and then…who knew? I had no idea what the future held for me and I found that I didn’t care. There wasn’t much in my life—or around Possibly—to get all that excited about.

As I passed The Pueblo, my chest actually ached. I’d returned to Lilly’s classes a few times since my falling out with Jack and Auggie, but my art never improved. I’d painted and sculpted and even took a turn on the pottery wheel. Everything I tried to make turned out looking worse than when I had started. So, I had stopped going. It wasn’t just that art didn’t seem to be my thing, it was also that Auggie would sometimes be in classes while I was at The Pueblo. Avoiding him and pretending he wasn’t there so we didn’t have to talk was even more awkward than being in the house with Jack.

Not going to classes seemed to be the best solution.

From time to time, as I’d walk to Starbuck’s each morning, or back to Jack’s place at noon, I’d see Auggie walking through town. Usually on his way to Windchime Hollow or Mystic Molly’s. Sometimes he’d be on his way to Samuel’s or Grandy’s for a treat. He never came into Starbuck’s while I was working. It pained me to see him and avoid him, but I didn’t know what to say to my former friend. I had no idea how to apologize for the things I’d said to him—and I wasn’t sure that I wanted to apologize anyway.

Hadn’t I believed what I’d said to him?

Why apologize if you meant what you said?

Strangely enough, the thing I missed most was my daily sign language lessons with Auggie. With us no longer talking, my education to help me learn to communicate with Jack better completely stopped. I began to realize that without Auggie’s help, I’d never become proficient at signing. Finally, on a whim, and since I couldn’t get adequate cell service to check YouTube, I’d asked Sofia if she knew where I could get a book to help me learn more. The next day, she had a stack of different books to help further my lessons.

The books had become a refuge from everything in Possibly that drove me crazy. Most afternoons, after my shift at Starbuck’s, I’d hang out in my room with the books. I’d sit by the dormer window on my bed and teach myself new signs. It wasn’t as easy going as when Auggie taught me, but it was better than nothing. Of course, Jack refused to sign or communicate with me in any other way, so I wasn’t certain there was a point to all of it.

But it helped keep me sane. It kept my mind off of everything else.

One thing the books couldn’t do was provide companionship.

Since arriving in Possibly, I’d become friendly with most of the people in town, though I wasn’t sure if I would have called most of them “friends.” However, Jack and Auggie were two people I talked to every day. They were the people I counted on for routine and comfort. Since both of them had stopped talking to me, I didn’t really have anyone to call a friend.

I was a desert tortoise once more.

People around town were still friendly and warm enough. I could find someone to have a decent conversation with if I wanted—as long as I wasn’t interrupting their time being a ship’s hull or something—but it wasn’t the same.

Ultimately, as one does at some point in life, I came to find that one is a lonely number.

Loneliness creates an ache that is too far down to soothe.

Yet another reason to hate Possibly.

As if I didn’t have plenty.

When I got back to Jack’s place from Starbuck’s, he was in the yard working on one of his carpentry projects. His hammering echoed around the property. I didn’t wander around to the back of the house and try to talk to him. Instead, I went up the front steps and into the house. Dumping my now empty frappe cup into the trash, as well as the straw paper from my pocket, I headed upstairs.

Once I was stripped down to my boxers and had crawled up to sit by the dormer window, I pulled out the sign language books.

Sometimes, though implausible, books can be friends. At the very least, they can take one’s mind off of the loneliness.

Jack was out in the backyard the following day. Like always, he was pounding and shaving away at a woodworking project, ignoring the world—but especially me. A dewy fog blanketed the yard since the sun hadn’t risen enough to burn it away. When I stepped off the back steps, the fog seemed to swallow my bare foot, chilling me to the bones and causing droplets of condensation to collect on my skin. I hadn’t bothered to do more than put on basketball shorts since no one was going to come to Jack’s and see me half-clothed.

Across the yard I traipsed, the wet grass tickling and pulling at my feet as I made my way from the house and over to Jack. As I approached him, he didn’t even look up to signal that he knew I was there. It wasn’t that he didn’t know, obviously, but it was the routine we had fallen into over the last few weeks. Jack ignored me, I let myself be ignored.

I was done with it.

“I’m going to help you,” I said.

Jack faltered in his hammering for a second, but then went right back to his project.

“Did you hear me, Jack?” I asked more loudly than was necessary. “I’m going to help you with your project.”