The longer I stay in Jess’s room, the more shockingly beautiful it becomes, and the more the Lily Pad recedes, like a far-off memory of a pond I swam in once with friends. Once, the water at that pond was cold and clear enough that you could see to the bottom, swim down to touch, but now, its surface is choked with duckweed, so green and thick that no light could penetrate.

FRYING AN EGG,
or a Compendium of Shirtless Blade Scenes

A full week of Roslessness passed. They’d spent every night at Jess’s. It was suddenly mid-July, and I’d wake in my army cot in a pool of sweat, look over at the bed across from me, and think, They are never coming back.

After Into the Woods closed, I had a few days when I could take a breath. Though we’d been texting and calling per the terms of the Modest Proposal, I FaceTimed my parents on a lazy Sunday morning to say hi. The pheasant featured prominently in the background, though now I couldn’t remember what we’d named him. If Ros had been around, I would have asked them.

“Every time I see this place, I’m jealous of your staying there,” my mom said. “We should have gone there for the summer and made you stay home with the dogs. Buckets, that’s my breakfast, not yours.”

“How are they?” I asked.

“Old. Snoring. Extremely motivated by food.”

“Is that Andrew in the background?” my dad asked.

“Hi, Thomas!” Touchstone called to my dad. He was in the kitchen, scrounging for food, and I turned the camera to face him.

“How’s the theater workshop going?” my dad asked. “We’re excited to come up and see the showcase at the end of the summer!”

“It’s good,” said Touch. “We’ve been doing a lot of clowning, which is interesting… and, like, looking at the difference between clowns, and fools, and jesters.…”

“Do you get to wear a red nose?” my mom said. “I think Buckets would look good with a red nose.”

“Agree,” said Touch. “No red nose for me yet. I’m still working up to it.”

“Is Ros there?” my mom said. “I know their mom’s been trying to get ahold of them.…”

“They’re not here…,” I said. “They’re…”