Page 45 of Almost Ravaged

After a full year off, I’m completely out of the loop. Though the time off was necessary and I’d do it again in a heartbeat, playing catch-up on the first day of class is less than ideal.

Technically my contract started on August first.

In an ideal world, I would have spent the last few weeks attending faculty meetings and boring HR seminars. But given the unique nature of my time off, Dean Stalworth offered me the opportunity to complete the necessary start-of-school trainings remotely.

Nevertheless, today should not have been my first day back on campus. I thoroughly fucked up.

It was my intention to ease back into a routine. I told myself I’d come back to the office on occasion to check in and touch base, and I was certain I’d spend time here over the summer, updating my lessons.

But then fall turned to winter, and winter gave way to spring. All the while, I stayed away. Then summer hit, and business picked up at the orchard, providing purpose and more work than Noah and I could keep up with. By the end of each night, I was so exhausted that all I wanted was to sit around the fire and share a joint with my best friend.

So that’s what I did.

I worked and smoked and sat around the fire pit nursing a beer every night for the last several months, allowing my sole focus to be on the place I was needed most and the person who needed me.

My plans to come to campus last week were thwarted by the lack of parking enforcement during orientation. I couldn’t have found a parking spot if I tried, and honestly, I didn’t try very hard.

I considered reintegrating over the weekend.

Considered it, but in the end, I chose to enjoy the last of the time off I’d earned, staying where I was, free from the sense of foreboding that the new semester brings.

Plus I told Noah I wasn’t allowed back on campus until the first day of fall semester. It was a blatant lie. It was also the only way I could ensure he wouldn’t worry.

Up until now, I’ve regretted nothing. But I certainly am paying for my choices today.

Settling in, I power on my desktop, which I realize now is an updated version of my old machine.

By some miracle, my username and password work on the first try.

While I wait for the system to update, I scan the memos Cherrie, the department secretary, haughtily handed me when I arrived this morning.

The first one still boggles my mind. Harry Swinehart from the university’s communications team has been named the new head of the department of marketing and entrepreneurship.

It’s absurd.

Harry is only still employed by the university because he’s an institution himself. He was old two decades ago when I was an undergrad. He knows everyone in town and here at Holt, and he’s held various administrative positions over the years, often acting as a liaison between the town and the university.

He knows nothing of academia or the pedagogy of this field. I don’t even know if the man has a master’s degree.

Head of the department.

How the hell did that happen?

It won’t be an easy transition for Sybil.

She’s been department chair for two years and had just finalized the massive restructuring of the concentrations within the major when I went on leave. I’ve been very much looking forward to where she’ll take us next as a department. She’s an excellent leader. She’s shrewd but fair and not overly concerned about administrative hierarchy the way many department heads are. Students first,Sybil always says. It’s refreshing to have someone so high up feel so in touch with the student population.

My next class isn’t until this afternoon, and it’s an upperclassmen capstone seminar that will require minimal bandwidth today, so I have time to do some housekeeping. My first order of business will be to ask Sybil to lunch so I can get to the bottom of what the hell is going on around here.

I open my email application so I can shoot her a quick invite, but when my inbox loads and I’m met with thousands of unread messages, along with a warning that I’m nearly out of storage, I hesitate.

With a sigh, I consider deleting them all and starting fresh.

I’ve gone as far as to click thedelete allicon when the name of a sender near the top catches my eye.

Sawyer Davvies.

The email below it is also from her. And another three lines down.