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Though he had theretofore resisted the diminutive form of his name, in his new office, Randolph felt, for the first time, like a Randy   If Randolph were truthful, he could admit that he began acting like a Randy months before Isabela and especially the week before the holiday That Tuesday, after Isabela had wished him a tepid ‘Happy Thansgiving’ and he was sure she was gone for the weekend, Randolph had picked up the little silver picture frame on her desk and spit-washed her face and meagre breasts through the glass, swirling his index finger until she blurred into a mucoid uni-boob He returned the frame, packed his things into two blue copy-paper boxes and shuttled them to his new office, hoping his bonsai would survive the transition and the dark holiday Even with the lamps he purchased, the room was dim, but he determined to keep the fluorescents off His new office sat at the back of a musty corner near the janitorial closet, but it was, he reassured himself, his musty corner He drove home for the break pleased with his victory and the progress and restraint he showed in achieving it   Before Isabela, DIY was the subject of Randolph’s irritation, and before DIY, Crystal, before Crystal, Fatima, and before Fatima, Randolph’s mother, the Virgin Mary and a girl who sneered at him in second grade   *   Before Isabela, when Randolph was first hired at Wilma Randolph, an HBCU, the department chair, Carol, introduced him to Dr Ivan-Yorke, saying that he should meet with her at least twice during the semester so that she could provide a letter for his file Other than the fact that Randolph and DIY were two of the only three black professors in the department, he wasn’t sure why he was assigned to Ivan-Yorke She didn’t work in his specialisation and hadn’t written anything of note in decades Her eyes sat high on her head and deep in her face, which, because of its plumpness, reminded Randolph of gingerbread dough Randolph had seen her the day of his interview limping down the narrow hallway