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Dashes circle around the computer screen as if any second now something is about to take place. That second lasts for one minute and then another. I'm beginning to wonder if progress will find me. 

Nothing yet and the meeting time is nearing. "No one has responded to your request to join the call."

Unlike a real-life room in a mostly abandoned middle school at 5:30 in the evening, I can't just sit here quietly and wait. 

Except that I most certainly can. Just sit here. Making the shapes of the alphabet with each ankle, scrolling through the news on my cell phone.

I have no place else to be.

I don't even have to worry about the dog knocking over something loud but, by the sound that carries up through the floorboards, unbreakable as she takes off after the cat.

Their primordial battle lines drawn between their respective dinner bowls.

Someone on the creation end of this middle school open house has to let me inside this virtual room in the ether eventually. 

"Eventually" being only a moment in terms of going out of ones way. It just seems excessive now that I don't have anywhere to be. 

There isn't enough time to shower or change. I would fix a drink and wait here in the dark of room - the only place I can go where the sound of down-time won't be an intrusion.

Luckily the lighting here is lackluster.

No one will see that I haven't combed my hair, or done my makeup, or changed into something presentable.

Frankly, I'm not sure how this will work. The instructions would be simple if I were looking for an available chair in the gymnasium. How do I follow a schedule in virtual school? 

Follow the link to the chat rooms? 

Of course, I haven't made the bed. Or cleared the nightstand of its buildup of debris. The cat will undoubtedly drink from my glass, half-filled with two-day-old water.

Who will notice if I just turn off the camera? They already have everyone on mute.

I am barely present anyway. We have all lowered our expectations no matter how we spin the story.

My kids show up in person two days a week, and then as blips, here and there on a computer screen for the next three days. Sometimes the youngest is done with all assignments before I leave the house in the morning for work.

I try on the most disappointed expression I can muster and resolve to call him up a thousand times that day.

The first call will go something like this:

"Hey."

"Hey."

"What's going on?"

"Nothing much."

*Electronic battle sounds crashing in the background.*

"Are you playing video games?"

"Kinda. I'm also watching 'Hamilton'"

"Are you sure you have all your school work done?"

"I'm sure, I double checked."

"Ok ... well ... Go outside before it's winter again. Maybe mow the lawn?"

"Ok. Sure. When I'm done with this game ... or after Phillip dies, whichever comes first."

The second call will ring three times before he answers:

"Hey ... how's it going? ...."

"Just kidding. I'm not here. I'm mowing the lawn for my mom. Leave a message but I probably won't call you back. I'm going to be busy until next Tuesday in Forever."