At seven-forty-five that night
I get ready to meet the ghost next door
I’ve been nervous about seeing
the dentist every year
or the doctor when I broke my wrist
or even having baseball try-outs
but nothing like this
I call Evie on her cell phone
she mutes herself
while we stay connected
so she can hear everything going on
tuck my phone into a pocket
in my cargo shorts
Evie stations herself
by my bedroom window
I sneak down the basement stairs
the swings sway in the lake breeze
that same fishy smell fills the air
peer through the bushes
my feet won’t budge
like they grew roots in the dirt
maybe the vibrations from my pounding heart
will unearth them
wipe my sweaty palms on my shorts
memories with sharp cleats
of Grandma’s dark airless attic
play simultaneous games
of baseball in my stomach
uproot my feet
trudge through the bushes
try not to sound like an elephant
nod to Evie’s mask-like face in my window
think of Blas’s excitement
but my courage squishes out of me
like stale air from an old balloon
reach the house next door
open the screen door to the porch
consider the key from the pot
but then she’ll know I was here before
knock on the door to the house
I’m about to meet the ghost of my dreams.