Category: Fiction

Hey everyone, sorry it’s a little late! I was pretty tired on Sunday and on Monday I was out most of the day! Nonetheless, I finally finished part four of my ongoing series! 

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Dear Diary,

“I can’t believe we survived our first week of college.” My best friend Dana said, at the beginning of our sleepover on Friday night.

“Me neither.” I groaned, remembering the details of my week—particularly the remark my English teach made on the first day of class. “I am so ready for the weekend.”

“Me too.” Dana agreed, rolling over so she was face-down on the pillow. “I’m beat.”

“How were your classes?” I asked, trying to communicate with my friend who looked dead-to-the-land-of-the-living. “I feel like we’ve hardly had a chance to talk since Monday.”

“Pretty good. I wish I had a class with someone I knew though.”

“Yeah, me too.” I agreed, leaning against a pile of pillows that had been thrown carelessly onto the ground.

Dana sat up and grinned. “I think I know who you wish was in your classes.”

I rolled my eyes. “Here we go again.”

“Come on, we both know you like him.” She teased, something that was typical in our girl-talks.

“It’s just a crush.” I shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “No big deal. Besides, you liked Benjamin for a while.”

“Not anymore.” She scrunched up her face. “There’s no future there.”

“I still don’t know how you rationalized your way out of it.” I said, still in awe at my friend’s ability to get over a guy simply by using the old trick of self-talk.

“I don’t know how you’ve had a three year long crush and managed to stay sane.”

“Valid point.” I admitted.

“So do you think it’s mutual?” Dana asked. “Do you think he likes you back?”

“I don’t know.” I said, sighing more dramatically then the moment called for. “Who knows what goes on inside of guys’ heads? I’m not going to drive myself crazy over it.”

Dana laughed. “Alright, I won’t drill you.”

“Thank you.” I grinned, emerging from the mess of pillows. “How about you, any new guys in your college classes?”

“Not really.” Dana said, making a face. “I mean, there are some that are kind of cute, but I have to get to know their personality before I can tell.”

“Gotcha.” I nodded. “Yeah, I’m the same way.”

“So how is your English class going? Your teacher for that period sounds pretty rough.”

“Mrs. Manchester.” I said, letting out a slight grown. “A little better since the first day, but she’s kind of cold. Nothing like our teachers back at Holy Cross.”

“I’m sorry. Most of my teachers are pretty OK, except my science class is sort of killing me.”

“How so?” I asked.

“Just the evolution stuff. The worldview is very different.”

“I’m sure.” I nodded empathetically.

“The scary thing is, the way they word it, it almost sounds convincing.” Dana admitted, her hazel eyes holding a note of uncertainty as she clutched a pillow to her chest. “I mean, they make it sound so scientific and factual.”

“Well, that is sort of their job. If they didn’t sound convincing about what they were teaching, they’d be pretty bad teachers, wouldn’t they?”

“I guess.” She admitted. “It’s just different than I expected, that’s all.”

“It’s not ‘Saved By The Bell: The College Years’, huh?”

“Not even close.” She agreed, laughing at my 90s reference.

“We’ll get through this.” I said, trying to remember a Bible verse that would help us have peace about college, and the new stage of life we were entering into. “We just have to be trust God, and not our own understanding of things. Right now, college looks pretty crazy, but God has a purpose in all of this.”

Dana smiled and sat up, as if she had gained the strength she was missing from my paraphrase of Proverbs 3:5-6. “You’re right Liv. We’ve got this.”

“And we’ve always got each other.” I reminded her. “And Nathan and TJ.”

“The squad.” She joked.

“Yup, the squad.”

“And your future husband.” She added in a sing-song voice.

“Don’t start again.” I rolled my eyes, tossing a pillow her way.

The rest of the night, we watched movies, made cookies, and had your typical all-American sleepover. Nonetheless, my words remained in my mind throughout the night.

Trust God and don’t rely on your own understanding of things.

Those might just very well be the words that will carry me through all of this.

God has a plan, even when I don’t—and it’s times like these when we’re called to lean on Him the most.

And He will direction our path.

Whatever that may be.

Dear Diary,

They say there’s a season for everything.

A time to laugh, and a time to cry.

A time to be born, and a time to die.

A time to weep, and a time to laugh

A time to mourn, and a time to dance.*

In high school, it was a time of everything predictable. I’ve been around pretty much the same people since grade school. I knew the hallways as well as I knew my own home. I alternated between ordering the same three meals every day at lunch. It was a time when we were not-quite-kids and not-quite-adults. It may have had it’s confusions, but movies told us what to expect. It was a time of finding ourselves, a time for developing lifelong friendships, and a time for feeling things intensely, as if for the first time.

College, on the other hand, is a time of change. Nothing is the same anymore.

The hallways feel a million miles away from the halls of Holy Cross high school—cold and sterile. Lacking any sense of familiarity. With the exception of Dana, Nathan, and TJ, I haven’t spotted one familiar face. I may not have been friends with everyone at my old school, and it may have had it’s share of cliquey-ness and cattiness, but I could tell you the name of nearly every kid I passed in the hallways. These were kids that I went to school with from kindergarten to 12th grade. I knew what to expect. Now, it’s like a whole other culture.

On my first day here, I heard the F-Bomb dropped about ten times, in the presence of our professors. Sure, some of the students cursed at Holy Cross – that’s to be expected nearly everywhere. But never words like that, and never in the presence of teachers. If one of the adults at Holy Cross heard one of the students talking like that, they would have sent them on their way to the principal’s office in a second. The rules were strict and pretty obvious as to what you could-and-couldn’t get away with there.

Not to mention that there were about as many different kinds of lifestyles and beliefs among the students as there were students themselves. No longer were there moral absolutes – things that everyone knew to wrong. Things that were scandalous and gossiped about at Holy Cross were spoken about in broad daylight at Westside Oak. Nothing was off limits.

Perhaps the strangest thing was the student-teacher interactions. At Holy Cross, my teachers knew the name of every student in their classroom. They all shared a common faith and I could look to them not only as teachers – but as mentors and role models. Most of them were kind and seemed like they really wanted to be there, desiring to help each of us live up to our potential. As hardworking student who put her all into her work, I got along with nearly all of my teachers. Even instructors who taught subjects I struggled in were patient and happy to help me understand concepts that were difficult to me. Now, I’m lucky if my teachers even know my name.

One teacher in particular seems ready to stand in the face of all I believe in. My college english teacher asked on the first day who was Christian. Slowly but surely, I raised my hand, along with a handful of other students, uncertain of what she was doing.

“Alright.” She said, looking as if it was anything but alright. “You have your faith – that’s fine. But, in this class, I hope this won’t hinder you from being open minded to the reading material. We’re going to be reading a lot of different viewpoints. Not all of them will be consistent with fundamentalism. Most of them won’t be.”

Already uncomfortable with the way she was referring to my faith, I shifted in my seat, trying to figure out what she meant by that. She than went on to explain class procedure, as if to distract from that weird paragraph she just uttered. Finally, she handed us our first assignment – a short academic essay. My stomach churned as I read it – an explicit reflection an erotic encounter.

Was this really allowed in a classroom? Could they hand out something so full of filth to the students without any consequences? There was no way I would ever pick up something like this on my own, yet here I was, stuck reading it in school – of all places! I guess the shock on my face showed, as I stared blankly at the writing, because my teacher soon walked over to my desk.

“Ms. Bennett, are you doing alright there?”

I glanced up, trying to look less uncomfortable than I felt. I nodded my head quickly, hoping this moment would soon fade to the past. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Alright, I just want to make sure you can handle this class – that it’s not to hard for you.”

My face burned with frustration. Too hard for me? I was an AP student in my high school and made straight A’s in all four years of English! My dream was to become a journalist and write professionally. This was not “too hard” for me.

Although I suspected that she had a very different meaning in her words. It was a challenge; a dare.

A challenge I was willing to accept.

There’s no way I’m dropping there’s class now. I’m not going to prove my teacher right – that I can’t handle this. After all, I’ve always been a strong person. Right?

“No, it’s not too hard for me. I’m fine.”

I had just told my teacher that I could indeed handle this – no matter how horrible it may be. I told her I was strong enough to do it, even though it’s possible that my answer stemmed more from pride. I had made my declaration. I was strong and capable.

The only question was, did I believe it myself?

*Ecclesiastes 3