“Okay,” he said. I giggled and said, “Okay.”
And then the line was quiet but not dead. I almost felt like he was there in my room with me, but in a way it was better,
like I was not in my room and he was not in his, but instead we were together
in some invisible and tenuous third space that could only be visited on the phone.
“Okay,” he said after forever. “Maybe okay will be our always.”
“Okay,” I said. It was Augustus who finally hung up.
Peter Van Houten replied to Augustus’s email four hours after he sent it, but two days later, Van Houten still hadn’t replied to me.
Augustus assured me it was because my email was better and required a more thoughtful response,
that Van Houten was busy writing answers to my questions, and that brilliant prose took time.
But still I worried. On Wednesday during American Poetry for Dummies 101,
I got a text from Augustus: Isaac out of surgery.
It went well. He’s officially NEC. NEC meant “no evidence of cancer.”
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