LIBWSE

A Brief Story of A High School Relationship


I had a journal that I started writing in my creative writing class that I took my senior year of high school. I really didn’t like the teacher, but I did like that the class forced me to write in a journal again, after a hiatus of a couple of years. I tried to be more “creative” with my journal entries by telling stories about what had happened to me. Here’s one of them. It’s a bit jumbled, but it might make sense to you. Maybe. Only a handful of you, though, will know what LIBWSE stands for. Do you remember?

7/4/99

I laughed. My laughing did not fit the mood. I knew others were looking at and judging me while they continued singing. I knew, while I was fighting for control over my laughter, that Drew was looking at me while conducting the other singers. I could not look up. I could not meet his eyes. That was Sunday; after Thursday.
Four-thirty, Thursday afternoon, finally reads on the small clock on the table. The last parent collects her little boy and I collect my bag and damp towel. I push the heavy glass doors open and step from the air-conditioned fort into the heat of the first day of July. I am exhausted. Climbing the cement steps to the parking lot takes too much effort. Across the emptying lot, I see my car sitting alone. Something on the windshield catches me eye. Instantly, my thoughts flash through two previous memories:

Was it the end of the first day of work? Walking out with two older counselors, Shannon and Lisa, I listen to them talk. Lisa arrives by her car first. She also arrives by a flower and note tucked in between her windshield and wiper. She pulls them off, smiling, and I continue on, feeling jealous.

Earlier, that same Thursday, starting July, I pulled into the lot and Lindsey’s car, driven by Lindsey, parks next to me. It will only remain for half the day.

I hope that it is a flower or flowers, but thinking more logically, I guess it is a “present” Linds left me of garbage. All I can make out as I approach is that there is clear plastic. So, I don’t stop walking until I step up beside my car and glance over. There, wrapped in clear plastic and white tissue paper sits a flower. I leave it, unlock the car and throw my bag and towel in the back seat. Then, I grab the gift revealing a note. Scrawled on a small, ripped-off paper is a message: “LIBWSE – Drew.” I smile, glancing around the parking lot to see if anyone, especially Drew, is in sight. Seeing no one, I jump in my car and drive off to Lindsey’s afternoon workplace. She will be jealous.