I sit patiently in the large blue chair. Nervously messing with the red bow in my hair and satisfied that I passed the metal detector test 5 minutes earlier. I cross my ankles, rubbing them together though my white tights. I have a feeling I’ll be wearing tights more often because of the ‘no shaving’ rule that is implied by the fact that we have no razors.
I am taken out of my thoughts by hearing the loud beeping of the metal detector going off and it makes me cringe at the repetitive noise. I look over at the door when the noise finally stops and it is silent again. I see a tall boy, his bright blonde hair is almost all covered up by a loose black beanie, jeans and a lose tee-shirt, worn out converse that they are taking the laces off of. He doesn’t look much older than me. Nor does he appear to think he would’ve gotten caught with whatever he had.
They pack his bag back up and tell him to go sit in the room with me to wait for his room to be ready. I move my red suitcase closer to me as the boy comes over. He slumps in a chair next to me.
“I’m Ross.” He says after about 3 minutes of an awkward and pleasant silence.
“I—I’m Snow.” I say softly, looking at the black and white polka-dot fabric of my dress.
“Snow?” He asks. I nod in short fast motions. It’s quiet again till I bring up the courage to talk.
“Why’d the metal detector go off?” I ask in a gentle tone not wanting to stir him. Ross kind of sighs before adjusting his beanie.
“I tried to sneak a razor blade in.” He tells me shaking his head to himself, almost amused with himself for packing it in the first place.
“Oh, okay.” I nod.
“Might I ask why such a quiet girl like you might be doing in a psychiatric hospital?” Ross questions as he turns back to me.
“Me? Oh—I—um—I tried to kill myself…” I mumble and look at the tile floor. “For the fifth time…” I add even softer. I slowly look up to see his reaction. He slowly nods.
“Why are you here?” I ask taking the attention off of me.
“Same reason. Tried to end it.” He admits. “I’m also bipolar so…” He adds.
“Oh, well I—I have depression.” I say bluntly. I’ve gotten so used to telling people that saying ‘I have depression’ just seems right.
“I like you, Snow. You seem like a…nice girl.” Ross tells me.
“Oh, well, thank you.” I push a loose strand of curly black hair behind my ear.
“Snow Evering? Your room is ready.” A nurse walks into the waiting room and tells me. I slowly stand up and grab my suitcase.
“I hope to see you soon.” Ross smiles. I nod and follow the nurse to my room.
A rectangle about 6 by 7 inches is on the right side of the door. ‘Snow Evering’ my name is typed on the first slip. ‘Depression, Suicidal.’ Is typed on the second slip. My files are under it in a pale folder. I walk into the room. The floors are white tile and the room is painted a rose pink color.
“You mom told us you liked pink.” The nurse says in a slight questioning tone.
“Yeah, I do. Thank you.” I say wondering if for some reason they asked what my favorite color...