Chapter 36
“Don’ forget to swab the decks, matey!” Starbuck boomed from the check-out counter. “I likes ter keep a tight ship!”
Looking up from my place at the back of the pirate ship-slash-coffee shop, I gripped the mop handle tightly as I gave Starbuck a smile and a nod.
“That’s what I’m doing, captain,” I said, chuckling with amusement.
“Aye. That yer are. Carry on, matey!”
Starbuck turned away too quickly to catch the small salute I gave him.
Since my employer decided to get back to cleaning the coffee creation station—his name for it, not mine—I went back to swabbing the decks.
The mop glided effortlessly over the planks of Starbuck’s coffee shop.
He’d kept the place so clean that Starbuck had practically made linoleum out of the wooden plank flooring.
In fact, I would have gone so far as to say that someone could eat directly off of the floor.
Not that I would ever recommend it to a customer.
Rules are in place for a reason, and I didn’t want to sweep up any mess a customer left anyway.
Besides, why sit on the hard floor when there were plenty of tables and chairs waiting to be utilized?
If nothing else, customers could go outside and enjoy their coffee and treats in the Possibilian summertime sun; feel the breeze from Susurrus Creek.
Then again, summer had officially settled in for a stay in Possibly, so the tables and chairs inside were probably the best bet.
July had slithered away like a humid fog, pulling August, arid and fiery, along to replace it.
I’d lived in and visited many places where August was completely intolerable.
Places so hot and humid that walking outside would take a person’s breath away.
Possibly wasn’t that bad, mostly because the perpetual breeze that came off of the creek seemed to keep things a few degrees cooler than would be typical of a tiny little town in Texas.
However, out of all of the summer months, August was proving to be an absolute sizzler compared to June and July.
Luckily, I spent most of my days inside with air conditioning, so Possibly hadn’t managed to defeat me all summer long.
Swamp butt was unavoidable when I walked to Starbuck’s each day to start my shift, but it wasn’t too bad.
It only took a few minutes to get from Jack’s place to work, so the damage was minimal.
“Arrr, I’m gon’ whip up a frappe, matey!” Starbuck’s barked. “Wouldjer like one fer yer walk home?”
“Sounds great, captain,” I said. “Thanks.”
Halfway through July, after finding out that help—in the form of my mom and her car—was not coming, and finding that I didn’t have a friend in the world, I had gone looking for a job in town.
The first place I stopped was Starbuck’s because a teenage kid wanting to earn cash and a coffee shop just seemed to go hand in hand.
Though he usually managed to run the shop just fine on his own, Starbuck said he’d be glad to have help during the morning hours. So, he hired me on the spot.
Each week day morning, I’d walk over to Starbuck’s and start my shift at eight o’clock. Until noon I’d sweep and mop, wipe down surfaces, take out trash, or do any chore Starbuck needed me to complete. It wasn’t the most thrilling work, but it put some spending money in my pocket.
Not that there was a lot to spend money on in Possibly.
Without the use of a car, I couldn’t really go anywhere else to spend money, either.
Jack, I had found out, didn’t even have a car.
Most people in Possibly didn’t—because they didn’t go anywhere.
They thought of their little town as an island.
Anything they needed could be found within walking distance.
Groceries could be delivered from the store out on the highway leading out of the north end of town or purchased in the small grocery and dry goods stores on Liberty Lane.
Coffee and treats could be found at Starbuck’s.
Samuel’s Soda Spray had drinks and ice cream and the occasional hot dog and hamburger day.
Grandy’s Auto picked up the slack. It was an odd concept to me, being perfectly happy living within the same square mile, day in and day out, but Possibilians were some of the most content people I’d ever met.
After my fights with Jack and Auggie, I still hadn’t had a reckoning about my new hometown.
Frustration and annoyance seemed to be how I dealt with my feelings about the tiny little berg, but I was beginning to slough those feelings off as time went by.
It was probably the heat. It’s hard to be angry when it’s hot outside.
A guy has to reserve his energy for more important things—like getting everywhere on foot in August.
“Comin’ righ’ up!” Starbuck announced, his statement punctuated by the sound of the blender kicking to life.
Quickly, I finished swabbing the decks and plopped the mop into the wheely bucket.
By the time I had pushed it into the backroom, dumped out the old water, rinsed the mop in the industrial sink, and washed my hands, Starbuck had my frappe waiting for me at the check-out counter.
He gave me a toothy grin and a wink from the eye not covered by a patch as I slid it from the counter into my hand.
I grabbed a straw from the cup on the counter and saluted my boss again.
“Thanks, captain,” I said.
“Aye,” he growled happily. “See ya’ t’morrow?”
“Like always,” I replied.
Starbuck propped himself up on the counter to enjoy his drink as I made my way out. By the time I was pushing through the front door and out into the sizzling summer heat, I had stuffed my straw in my cup and slid the paper into my pocket. I’d toss it in the trash at home.
Levi Lee was outside of Starbuck’s, as was usual, but he was back to the green-screen suit.
He still hadn’t added a pair of shorts to his getup, so I struggled to avert my eyes.
He was pressed up against the hull of the pirate ship to the side of the front door, pretending to be part of the ship once again.
Apparently, an inept magician mime just didn’t work out like he had thought.
“Hey, Levi Lee,” I said, trying to make my tone chipper.
He didn’t respond.
“Good job, man!” I congratulated him.
“Hey! Thanks!” His voice came from within the suit.
I winced.
“Shit,” he mumbled.
“Sorry,” I muttered before dashing away.
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.