Page 13 of Possibly Texas

“Oh?”

“Most Possibilians live in the housing developments out on highway 12,” Sofia continued, straightening up her counter as she prattled on. “About a hundred of us actually live here downtown. Some keep to themselves, though, so don’t bother goin’ ‘round countin’.”

“Okay.”

“The planning board doesn’t really allow for much development down here by the creek anymore,” Sofia said. “They don’t want to ruin the natural beauty of Possibly.”

“Makes sense, I guess?” I shrugged.

“I’m sure Jack’s told you all about it,” Sofia flitted her hands in front of herself. “In his own way, of course. I’m probably wasting your time.”

“No,” I said, though I didn’t really feel like hanging around to chat, “it’s no big deal. I guess it’s good to know about the town I’m staying in, right?”

Sofia grinned widely.

“Right.”

“Well,” I said, “uh, thanks.”

I shook the envelopes at her gently.

“Anytime, Jordan,” she replied. “I always have Jack’s mail set aside, so you just come right in and I’ll have it ready for you.”

“Thanks,” I said again.

Sofia gave me another smile and she was back to straightening things under the counter—probably other stacks of mail waiting on Possibly residents to pick up. As I turned and stepped away from the counter, my eye caught the wall of tacked up flyers, and I was compelled to see what exactly people did for odd jobs in Possibly. Sofia continued to work behind me as I shuffled over to the wall to check things out.

To my surprise, the first piece of paper my eyes landed on was a letter.

“Dear Shirlene,” it said.

Not wanting to get into other people’s business, I tore my eyes away and looked at the paper next to it.

“Dear Shirlene,” that one said.

The next paper was addressed the same way. And the next. And the next. My eyes flitted around and I quickly determined that the entire wall was plastered with letter’s to “Dear Shirlene.” Why were there a bunch of letters to some woman named Shirlene pinned up, absolutely covering one of the walls in the post office?

“Tragic, isn’t it?” Sofia’s voice came from right beside me.

I jumped and turned to find her standing next to me. Apparently, as I had been checking out the letters, she had rounded the counter to look over the letters as well. Her blue eye-shadowed lids were focused on the wall of letters, sadness etched on her face.

“I’m sorry?”

“The letters,” she said.

“They’re all to…Shirlene?”

“Yeah.” She sighed dreamily. “We get a new one every few days. Well, a few times it’s been a week or two between letters, I guess.”

There had to be dozens if not a hundred or more letters tacked to the wall. There looked to be more than one layer of them.

“Shouldn’t you, like, deliver them to her?” I asked the obvious question. “Instead of plastering them on the wall for everyone to read?”

“Well, that’s the thing,” Sofia said. “There’s not a single Shirlene in Possibly. Someone has been writing her love letters for over a year—maybe two now—and she doesn’t even live here.”

“Can’t you send them back?” I asked as I leaned in to look more closely at a letter.

My heart beats with a desire it feels will never be fulfilled; only Shirlene can quench its thirst.