The Phantom of Scranton Hill

32

Time flashed by, weeks flying by like hours. It was already Friday, the last day before school was cancelled for a week in celebration of Thanksgiving.

Yahoo! The pilgrims brought disease to the New World and enslaved its original inhabitants before slaughtering them like cattle! Justine thought sarcastically, mocking the school board. Now you get a week of school off! But don't worry, we still get paid for sitting at home and doing nothing!

But most importantly, it was the day before tryouts.

All week, Dax spent hours, from dismissal until dark, at the park and practiced--not that he needed it. He'd used packs and packs of baseballs to fill the batting machine, hitting ball after ball after ball. He may have not played nor hit a single baseball for six months, but he remained a star player. Not once did he miss. He'd point out where he wanted the ball to go, and it would gladly listen. People had heard of dog whisperers. Well, he was a baseball whisperer.

When he was done with the machine, he'd go to the diamond, pitching to himself by throwing the ball up and whacking it as hard as he could. A couple times, Dax had to give some people his father's credit card to pay for car damages. For future reference, a baseball traveling over ninety miles an hour will go through a car window.

Every afternoon, Dax would bring five new balls on top of those from the night before, and run the bases to retrieve them once he ran out. Justine would watch from behind the backstops, overlooking the dusty diamond as she yelled criticism, making him laugh. She'd tell him 'You suck!' But he'd respond snarkily with something along the lines of 'No, J. That's your job.'

Each day around five o'clock, her mother would call her home for dinner, but he would stay. He'd stay until the police kicked him off the public property for creating too much noise for the quiet neighborhood. He'd stay until he was beat out by elder ladies, their husbands yelling, "Get off my lawn!" Even when his arms threatened to give out, he'd keep batting. He persisted. He was determined and dedicated, that didn't change.

But today was different.

"I don't want to go to the park today, J," he told her, shoving books into his backpack to get a head start on homework over the break. "I'm sick of practicing, and my arm deserves some rest."

She understood, but didn't at the same time. "Okay?" She shrugged. It was no big deal. "Then where do you want to go?"

"Scranton Cemetery." Dax's face was straight, his lips pursed into a straight line. He wasn't messing around, but Justine was beyond shocked.

Her mouth hung open so wide for so long that flies began to have a picnic on her tongue. "After all you went through, you want to go to a cemetery?" He nodded nonchalantly. "Why in the universe would you willingly go back there?"

"Well, you see," he began to explain his line of thought. "I was pondering something during math class." He paused, trying to find the lightest way possible to express his thoughts. "What happened to my grave?"

Justine tilted her head and furrowed her eyebrows, quite curious as well. Then Justine had an idea. "I'm going to call Charlotte," she revealed as she dug though her bag in search of her phone.

"Why?" Dax asked.

"To ask her if she wanted to come," Justine deadpanned, acting like her intentions were obvious.

"And, one more question, yeah. Why?" He wasn't getting it.

"Dax, Charlotte is the only one among us who can legally drive. Would you rather take a bus to the nearest stop and walk two miles uphill?" she asked sarcastically, then gave him time as if he actually had to think about it.