Renegade

October

October 2, 2017

Dear Miss Catherine,

Hydroponic basil number two is dead.

Danny's ceiling is also dead.

But apparently, the black mold inside it is having a party and more alive than ever.

Last night, she was drying her hair. Her roommate was M.I.A. with her new beau. And then, she felt a cool breeze on her neck and thought: Hey, that's not right. Dryers should be hot. And she turned around with one side of her hair still wet and clinging to her head. Lo and behold, a chunk of the ceiling had opened wide like a dislocated jaw. Layers and layers of caked-on paint were fluttering a few feet above her, and in between these layers, further inside the hollow recesses between the ceiling rafters, were massive blooming colonies of moldy fuzz. She turned off the dryer, covered her mouth and nose, and ran to tell the floor RA, who then notified the university Maintenance personnel, who then went through a bit of red tape and ordered an emergency evacuation of the basement residents so they could do some clean-up.

Danny brought her sleeping bag and crashed here last night. We both coughed up a storm and now know the reason why. And why my basil plants keep dying. R.I.P.

It turned out the clean-up would take longer than expected due to extent of the infestation's spread. As a sort of bargain for an implicit NDA, the university offered to move the homeless basement residents to the Cassiopeia for the next few days until the mold situation is brought under control.

Which is why I will be leaving with Danny in just a short while to help her move all her stuff across campus to OCR networking central.

Here we go again with the sulking boxes on wheels.

Mamma mia, here we go again!

Wearing a surgical mask,

Ari

* * *

Aurora waved to the basil plant lying limply in the garbage can, turned off the lights, and walked to the stairwell. Five and a half floors later, she paused in front of the door standing open next to the laundry room.

A mask-muffled voice asked the room's inhabitant:

— Danny, are you ready?

— Yeah, come in.

Aurora stepped gingerly over the threshold and recoiled in disgust away from the cavernous splotchy maw gaping at them from the ceiling. A large box on wheels stood at attention in the middle of the darkened room. Wan orange light from a despondent lamp huddled in a corner.

Aurora carefully picked her way around a heap of dirty laundry on the floor.

— I guess you're not bringing these.

Danny lugged a large suitcase towards the box on wheels. She looked up.

— That's my roommate's stuff.

— The laundry is literally next door.

A barked laugh.

— Yeah, I think it's been more than a month. Since Orientation, maybe.

— Oh, my gosh... That's...

— Disgusting. Yeah, I know. I didn't pick her.

— Random roommate?

— Didn't work out too well for me. And the whole random rooms thing, too.

— Has she gotten sick, too?