Page 13 of Peripheral Vision

HIST 3724 - History of Disease, Medicine, and Health

ADV 2134 - Introduction to Health Communication

I let out a dry laugh and shake my head. “Sixty-six credits complete, sixty more to go, and then some,” I mutter to myself as I review the list. It feels like a marathon with no finish in sight. Everystep forward seems to drag me two steps back. I certainly don’t feel like a third year.

I fold the paper, tucking it away. There’s no time to dwell on it; I need to focus on what’s in front of me. The engine roars to life as I start my truck, the low rumble grounding me. It takes me less than fifteen minutes to arrive on campus, which is bustling with student life and the energy of a new semester. The parking lot is alive with movement; people hauling backpacks, making haste with coffee cups in hand. Others are talking in small groups. The hum of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter blend with the noise of traffic surrounding the campus. I park my truck near the student center and make sure to haul my bag over my shoulder, double checking my outfit and my makeup. Confidence feels elusive, but I square my shoulders and step into the bustling crowd.

I think I’ll do a job search first and then locate my buildings later, because the way the campus is feeling larger than it should and how the buildings are towering around me, my anxiety is already starting to get the best of me. I ground myself with a deep breath and then I’m off. I have to dodge this way and that to avoid bumping into people as I walk, searching for restaurants, bars, coffee shops, and the like, before I resort to jobs specific to the school. I walk for about twenty minutes before stumbling upon a cute little dive called Sins and Sons.

The exterior is marked by a flickering neon sign representing what I assume is part of their logo: a devil’s pitchfork crossing a halo. The bricks have been stained black to give it more of an alluring charm. Even though it’s only the middle of the day, the open sign is lit up and I can hear the steady hum of rock music as it spills into the street. Pushing through the door, the atmosphere inside is intimate, the lighting low with red and gold hues casting a warm glow. The decor combines modern character with gothic undertones, between the walls that are adorned with vintage and macabre photos, antique trinkets, and arcane quotes as well as the tarnished brass fixtures and dark wood paneling that looks like it’s been intentionallypainted black. The furniture is a combination of both leather and velvet bar stools and booths placed at metal and mahogany tables. The centerpiece, however, is what really draws my eyes—a long and polished mahogany bar with an array of spirits on shelves behind it from top-shelf bourbons to smoky tequilas true to their name. The shelves have been backlit to create an uncanny glow.

Despite looking small from the outside, there is quite a bit of space on the inside. There are a few patrons that are lingering, some sitting at the bar, some in a booth enjoying small talk over a drink. On second glance, there’s even a jukebox. The bartender breaks me out of my observation with a soft but deliberate cough and that’s when I realize I haven’t moved from where I stand in the doorway. “You gonna stand there all afternoon or are you gonna order something?” he asks, a hint of amusement and curiosity in the smooth lilt of his voice.

“I’m so sorry,” I say as I approach the barstool in front of him and sit down. “I actually didn’t want anything to drink, but I was hoping I could talk to somebody about potential work?”

The bartender peruses me for a few moments before saying, “See, but how could we possibly trust someone who wants to work here if they can’t even order a drink?”

My face heats and I offer him a small smile of embarrassment. “I—well, I just?—”

“Calm down there, love. I’m only giving you a hard time. You’re new here, aren’t you?” He braces his forearms on the counter, leaning forward and waiting for me to answer.

I stare down at my hands where I’m pinching at my wrist to avoid the intensity of his gaze. “To campus, yeah. I’ve actually been attending online the last several years but just transferred in.”

“Ah, so that’s why you’re job searching. New to the area and already diving into the local economy.” He straightens out, going to pour a drink for another patron that’s been lingering at the bar for afew minutes.

“I mean, if I could survive on ramen and optimism, then I would. But I can’t.” I lift my eyes, connecting with the blue-gray tint of his own as he settles back against the bar, crossing his muscular arms over a hidden, but obviously well-defined, chest. He smirks when he notices me vetting his physical appearance. He flicks his head, his chestnut curls rearranging themselves on his forehead.

“True. Optimism is hard enough to come by these days as it is, though. And with the course work, you need to fund those late-night overpriced coffee binges too.”

I let out a small laugh despite myself. “Pretty much. Though I was hoping to skip the overpriced part. Probably should have sought employment at a coffee bar instead. Looks like I still might have a chance though with the way this conversation is going.”

“Financial despair looks the same everywhere, sunshine, at least you’d get drinks on the house here.” He flashes a grin that's equal parts teasing and inviting.

“On the house? Is the owner that generous?” I quirk my eyebrow up.

He chuckles softly, replying, “Oh, not at all. The owner is a grumpy fuck who only makes time for counting the counter at day’s end and griping about how obnoxious kids are these days. I just meant that with” —he pauses, making an hourglass shape with his hands and whistles— “customers would be buying you drinks nightly.”

I feel the blush crawl up my neck at his insinuation. “I’m not sure which sounds scarier, your boss or the patrons.”

He flashes me his pearly whites once again, pleased with my reaction. “Take it from me, the boss is predictable. The crowds? Always a wildcard. But I think it keeps things interesting. And I think you are equally as interesting.” I blink at him, unsure how to respond to that and he catches onto my silence. “Anyway, we are hiring.” He grabs a clipboard from under the bar with job applications clipped to it. He pulls one from the clip and slides it across the bar to me. “Fill this out and bring it back tonight. Boss likes to keep things simple. We can do your interview when you return.”

I grab the application looking from it to him, warily. “Just like that?”

He picks up a glass, buffing it. “Don’t make me regret it, love. You’ve got a good vibe: interesting, shy, honest. This place could use that. Besides, I want to get the chance to know what your favorite drink is since you wouldn’t order one now.”

I nod, slowly easing myself off of the stool and away from the bar, application in hand. “Thank you…” I pause, realizing we hadn’t exchanged names.

“Callum.”

I reach my hand out to shake his. “Dylan.”

I wasn’t expectingto get an application at the first place that I stopped, but things may finally be starting to look up a little bit. I haven’t received any further creepy correspondence, but it doesn’t mean I haven’t been taking precautions. I went to the store the day after I opened the package when I felt well enough and purchased a new security system. I had to call someone to come and install it for me, which wasn’t money I had allotted to spending so soon, but I decided it was worth the benefit, even if safety is an illusion.

I check my phone, noting the time. I still have enough daylight to scout out my buildings. I’ll have to run home to take care of Alaska before I can come back to the bar with my application for my impromptu interview. Which, now that I think about it, I don’t think Callum and his boss make a habit of. It was something in the way he looked at me, the way he spoke about my body bringing free booze and unwanted attention. Or have I really been so out of touch with people my own age that I just can’t pick up on social cues anymore?

I make it back to my truck much quicker than the opposite trip took, and place the application on the seat before pulling out mytranscript once more. I’m standing inside the open driver's side, leaning over the seat as I make note of the building names before realizing that a campus map would probably help. Seeing as I don’t have one, I open up my phone and see if I can locate it electronically. As I’m pulling up the campus website, I feel goosebumps rise on my arms and a shiver run down my back as if I have daggers being stared into it. I whip around, expecting to see somebody right behind me but I’m only met with the bustling parking lot. My eyes scan across the vehicles that are parked, the groups that are congregated, but I find nothing and no one out of place. No leering eyes, nobody hiding below a hat or a mask or behind a barrier, and yet?—

Loud laughter startles me, and I drop my phone to the concrete. “Shit,” I mumble, clutching my hand to my chest, trying to calm my racing heart.

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