Young Writers Society

The earth beat against Scott’s feet as he sped across the turf of the baseball field. His breaths came out in misty puffs- it had warmed up since that morning, but here the school was shaded by the hill and frost still was painted on the grass blades. His shoes were wet in seconds, and the cold seemed to cling to him like burrs, despite his blood coursing through him. He heard some voices behind him, but as he reached the tree line that marked the school border they vanished like the mist from his breath.

He didn’t stop; he couldn’t, really. His legs were pistons, part of a machine that was on autopilot, trained by his months on the cross-country team. Mechanically they set into a pace- up, down, up, down- pulling him further under the trees. Farther from the principal’s voice.

And yet somehow she was all he could hear.

He’d been in the middle of a lesson, daydreaming. His teacher’s voice had made him jump, so he hadn’t understood at first that he wasn’t being called on to answer. He’d been summoned to the front office. For a second he’d retraced the last couple of days in his mind, but nothing too offensive came to memory. So he shrugged his shoulders, slouched out of his seat and left the room.

The principal’s office always smelled like old coffee grounds, as if someone had rubbed them into the carpet. He hadn’t had to wait; the principal was talking to the secretary in a low voice when he came in, shutting the door harder than he meant to. The principal jumped, then smoothed her features.

“Scott,” she said, gesturing towards her office. “Would you follow me please?” She stalked in her heels to her desk by the window and he followed, closing the office door behind him. Not that that would stop the secretary from listening if she wanted to.

“Scott,” the principal said again, gesturing this time to one of the old leather chairs that cowered in front of her desk. He took a seat.

The principal leaned forward and opened her mouth to speak, but then she tilted her eyes away, pausing. She templed her fingers, thought for a moment, then tried again.

“Scott, I’ve just received a call,” she began, nodding towards the old black phone that sat on her desk in an esteemed position. “I’m sorry but-”

“No!” Scott said, and he pressed harder against the ground. For a moment, the pounding of his feet against the ground drowned out her voice. It wasn’t true, it wasn’t true, it wasn’t true…

“I’ve just received a call from one of the… one of your father’s coworkers,” she said hesitatingly. “I don’t… I’m sorry, Scott.”

Scott felt again his frustration and the looming sense of dread cold in his heart. “Sorry about what?” he’d asked. All her hesitation was making him nervous.

“Your father… was in an accident. In New York. Upstate. They said it was a drunk driver or black ice or something…” she shook her head, unsure of the details.

He hadn’t cared. “Is he okay?”

She hesitated again, this time for what seemed like an agonizingly long amount of time. She didn’t give a full answer, just shook her head. “I’m sorry, Scott. Your father didn’t make it to the hospital.”

Pound, pound. His feet were like a hammer on an anvil. Yet her words still came through. Everything after that was a little hazy- his vision had narrowed, and the office had suddenly seemed so small. He’d felt someone’s hands on his shoulders, looked down and seen perfectly polished fingernails. Red. Like blood.

His legs fell out from under him suddenly, without warning. It might have been a branch or a stone, but his legs just seemed to collapse. Scott tumbled to the ground, and the hardness of the cold earth felt good despite the pain. Something cut his cheek, but he didn’t notice until he felt a hot liquid trickling down. He didn’t know if it was blood or tears. He was breathing hard, and looking around, he realized why: he’d just sprinted up the steepest side of the hill. The students called it Death Mountain. It seemed appropriate.

It was a few minutes until his legs supported him again. He scrambled to his feet amid the damp fallen leaves and stretched for a moment. He didn’t allow himself to think and just let his eyes wander down the slope of the hill, analyzing it as if for a run. Then he got into a starting position, waited for the pistol in his mind to fire, and was off.

Down hill was easier; it wasn’t as steep. There was a path too- an old dried-up streambed. He avoided the middle- too many rocks- and kept near the path’s border with the trees. Soon the ground leveled out and turned to asphalt. Scott ran across the road and entered the woods again, checking his watch subconsciously. At this rate, he’d break his usual record.

Dad would be proud.

Scott shut out the thought, leaving it behind in a cloud of breath. Focus on the run.

Scott didn’t remember the rest of the run. The next thing he knew he’d emerged from the woods and the sun, which had been hidden behind the clouds since that morning, suddenly struggled through, sending beams of light at him as if asked for help. He ignored it and dug in the pocket of his pants for the key. It took him a minute to unlock it- the old lock always got stuck and required and extra turn and jiggling. He pushed open the door and shut it behind him, locking it as an afterthought.

It was dark in the house. The sun must’ve lost its fight with the clouds. Scott stretched in the kitchen as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the indoors. Then, taking a deep breath, he ventured past the doorway into the next room.

It was a mess- just as he’d left it. Yet it didn’t feel familiar anymore. He didn’t recognize any of the clothes or other things that lay strewn across the table or hanging on the backs of his mother’s good dining room chairs. A laptop sat in the corner of the room by the china cupboard, humming quietly as it charged. Scott looked at it indifferently and went into the next room.

It was old-school, but his dad had always insisted on keeping a house phone. He hadn’t liked cell phones very much- said they were too easy for people to track. Scott walked over to where it was perched on the computer desk and looked at the small green screen on the phone based.

1 missed call, it said politely.

Scott reached out to press the play button as a reflex, then hesitated. But his finger already knew the motion, and he’d pressed the button before he had a chance to reconsider the motion.

“Thursday, 9:38 a.m.,” the phone stated in a robotic voice.

9:38. He’d been at school, sleeping through World History. Five hours ago, his dad had been alive.

“Scott, hi,” his dad’s voice boomed through the speaker. Scott froze, his hand still extended on the play button. His dad’s voice, a little hoarse, seemed to fill the room. Scott breathed it into his bloodstream and let it fill his ears.

“Hey, I just wanted to let you know that, uh, I’m probably not going to be home until Sunday,” his dad continued. “There’s been some tie-ups… you know what I mean. So, I guess I’m going to miss your meet. And…” he sighed, his breath rattling through the speaker. “Man, I’m sorry. I know I promised. I know, I know, I know. I can hear your mom yelling at me, even now. I’ll be at the next one, rain or shine, okay?”

There was a pause, and Scott involuntarily whispered back, “Okay.”

“Uh… what else,” his dad continued. “Right, uh, I was going to say… oh yeah, I guess that’s it. Don’t forget about Abby’s dog. Did I tell you that? I think so. She’s gone… I think it’s Friday and Saturday. You remember she asked me to take out that little dog of hers? Well, since I won’t be back, it’d be great if you could. There’s someone else coming to feed it- all we have to do is take it out at night. So, yeah. The key’s in the usual place. And…I think that’s it. So, I guess I’ll talk to you later. You can call and yell at me if you want. Whatever. Okay, bye!”

His dad’s voice suddenly cut off, and Scott’s breath seemed to stop with it. Gone. Like that.

But then suddenly it was back. “Hold on, one more thing. You’re still there, right? Haha. So if you could pick up some food for Joey, I’d pay you back when I get home. Okay? Talk to you later. Bye.”

There was a click like a gunshot, and then the machine voice came back.

“End of messages.”

Scott stared at the phone, and the small green screen seemed to blur in his vision. The house was empty, alone. He reached out again and touched the play button.

“Scott, hi,” his dad’s voice said, hoarse. He’d been jogging every day in the cold last week before he’d left; it sounded like it’d gotten to him.

“Dad,” Scott said, and his voice cracked. He tried to clear his throat, but something seemed caught in it. When he tried to breathe, it came out heavy and shaky, as if he’d just come out of a long run. Something warm ran down his cheek and collected on his chin like rain. He leaned back against the wall, trying to stabilize his breathing, but he couldn’t. Each breath was sharp and painful. He slumped to the floor, shaking and sobbing.

In the background, his dad’s voice ran on. “…think it’s Friday and Saturday you remember she asked…”

He couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t be. His voice was right there! Loud and hoarse and perfectly alive! His dad didn’t get in accidents. He was the best driver out there. He drove like James Bond and Jason Bourne rolled into one, taking sharp turns and accelerating down narrow alleys as he took shortcuts around traffic. And he was tough; he knew karate, boxing, wrestling… every possible combat sport out there. He was a real aficionado about it, very gung-ho. He’d come out of fights where other guys were loosing teeth and preparing themselves for a painful old age. A little black ice wouldn’t- couldn’t- hurt a guy like that. It was impossible. He was his dad.

The machine beeped again. “End of messages.”

His dad had disappeared, shot dead by the careless woman in the phone. Scott grabbed the cord from behind the desk and pulled it until the phone fell to the ground. A dial tone chirped on and droned into the air; Scott replaced it onto the cradle and pressed play again.

And again.

And again.

He was
still listening to it, the phone based cradled in his lap, when people talking
in soft voices infiltrated the house, filling it with unwelcome light and
noise. Someone pulled at his shoulder- he shrugged them away, and then gave in.