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| The Rash
by Laurel Starling |
| Paige cranked up the coffee maker. It was 7:30 in the morning and she was still trying to figure out why she was at the office so early. The Woolsey College campus had fallen into the familiar fall routine of early October and the hub-bub of opening and Labor Day was long over. Even this early in the morning students were walking or jogging around the campus perimeter.
“Insomnia?” Allison, Paige’s office assistant, peeked into the break-room. “How’d you guess?” Paige said with a half-hearted smile. “The only time you come in early is when you have insomnia or when there is a new student registration session,” Allison said as she shuffled through her purse, “and registration is over.” “Yeah, yeah,” Paige said as she poured what passed for coffee into her NPR mug. “I’m going to run to the food court and grab a biscuit,” Allison said, “can I get you anything?” “Oh, you’re a doll,” Paige said as she dug into her pocket retrieving a dollar bill, “I would love a banana.” Paige handed Allison the bill. “Oh and do we have any Neosporin around here? I’ve gotten into poison ivy or something.” “How do you eat that crap every morning?” Allison grimaced. “Yeah, check your top desk drawer and don’t touch my stuff! I don’t want your crud.” “Easy, so many other vices I have to eat healthy to balance out.” Paige said as she topped off her coffee mug and waved her infected hand in Allison’s direction. “Whatever,” Allison said as she stuffed the dollar bill in her purse. “Your only vice is your potty mouth.” Allison giggled as she closed the door behind her. Paige sweetened her coffee and made her way back to her office. She wished it was registration and not insomnia that had her in the office early. “Well hello sunshine,” Clarke said. Clarke was the jack-ass, FBI ass hole and ex-husband Paige had hoped she wouldn’t see anytime before hell froze over. “What do you want,” Paige demanded as she fiddled with an overturned file on her desk, “Get the fuck off my desk and out of my office.” “Relax,” Clarke growled, “It’s business, sweetheart.” Paige wanted to claw her ears off her head at the sound of his voice, but would settle for clawing Clarke’s eyes out. Sweetheart? Kiss my ass you slack-jawed dung pile. Paige wished her “social-graces” filter wasn’t on. “What do you want Clarke?” Paige said as she plopped into her desk chair. “Be quick, I’ve got papers to grade and journals to review.” “Always business, aren’t we?” Clarke snickered. “Well, the ‘me’ part of ‘we’ is always business,” Paige snapped. “unlike the ‘you’ part of ‘we’ who is….oh, screw it, spill your guts and get out. I don’t have time for your shit.” “What can you tell me about Randall Jakobi?” Clarke said. “Randall was one of my peer mentors at registration and a tutor,” Paige said. “Why?” Paige suddenly got sick to her stomach. The kind of sick where you aren’t sure what’s in your gut, but whatever it is won’t stop until you are thoroughly drained of all color and your knees go slack. Paige wasn’t sure how, but she knew what was coming next. “I’m sure you’ve heard by now,” Clarke said as he pulled a chair up to Paige’s desk. “Woolsey security found a body at the mill near the spillway. It’s Randall Jakobi. I understand he was a student of yours.” “That’s what I just said, you prick,” Paige rasped, “Excuse me, I need a glass of water.” Paige barely made it to the break room before the tears fell and the morning coffee came spewing up from her flip-flopping stomach. Randall. How was this even possible? Randall was a student. Everyone loved him. He was the best. Paige downed a glass of cold water and rinsed with what was left of the morning’s coffee. How could this be happening? Paige stumbled back into her office and sat down. “Thanks for telling me,” Paige mumbled. “Tell me what you can, ask what you came to ask and then get the fuck out, Clarke.” “Hey, hold on a minute,” Clarke snapped. “I have to ask you some questions, Paige, let me do my job here.” “Questions?” Paige asked. “What could I possibly tell you?” “Just tell me what you know about Randall,” Clarke said. “when you saw him last, what he was wearing, was he upset, etc, I need to know everything, Paige.” Paige remembered the last time she saw Randall. It had been at the peer mentor retreat last August. She had invited the faculty senate to watch Woolsey Diaries, a series of vignettes portraying all types of ‘freshman dilemmas’. Randall was there, front and center, embarrassing Paige in front of God and everybody. “I told you to keep your tongue on a leash,” Paige hissed, “These are faculty, not students!” “Oh, relax,” Randall cooed, “they loved me.” “You do realize the vice chancellor was there,” Paige said, “my vice chancellor, nonetheless, the one who pays me for babysitting you hellions all summer!” “It’s ok, really, she laughed at all my jokes, didn’t she?” Randall asked without wanting an answer. Randall scampered away and plopped down on the floor beside Darcy, his partner in crime. They led the mentors out of the auditorium and back to the dorm leaving Paige with the senate and a million eyes looking at her. “Paige, I’m under a deadline here,” Clarke snapped bringing Paige back to present day, “I’ve got 30 other people to interview and you’re only number two for the day.” “Number two? Now there’s a familiar label,” Paige mumbled, “Who could you have interviewed before 8am?” |