White Out Doesn't Work

White Out

I just wanted to pee.
I put my backpack on the right corner of the stall. I sat on the toilet. I wanted to do my business and go to my next class. But there they were, some in the corners, some in list form, some that were spur-of-the-moment and others cowardly waiting at the bottom of the door. It seemed like they always were there.

On the bottom right corner of the door:
Julia is a stupid BITCH.

The white-out woman.
“Do you think it was nice to write these things?”
“No Ms. Kubasak, we don’t. I don’t know why they did that. I don’t know why we started doing it either.”
“I think it is because it is a tradition.”
“Okay, well we should just stop this before it gets out of hand.”
“I agree.”
”I think the easiest way to get rid of it is…”
She picked up two full bottles of white out. Our teacher liked white out.

Rachel and I headed to the girl’s bathroom White Out in hand. We pushed open the bathroom door that separated Baker Elementary School from National Louis University. She looked back as I stepped into the dimly-lit mirrored room. I think she was checking for teachers. The off white door’s paint was chipping off, but the memories still held firm. We opened the handicap stall, the last stall on the right hand side. We looked, stared, and stood completely still, ready to destroy it.

New addition to comment on bottom of door:
Julia is a stupid BITCH SLUT

Do you know her?
Do you know a girl named Julia? No. Well I don’t either.