Non-Tinted Windows
Laura had never been in handcuffs before. She had never been in the back of a cop car either, tears streaking her cheeks as she refused to look out the window. She had never realized that the windows were not tinted. The fact that any family in a minivan at a red light could peer in at her, dressed in maroon paper scrubs with greasy hair and no seatbelt, terrified her.
She hadn’t committed a crime, but she was about to be locked indefinitely. Her stomach rolled, her nausea spiking from its constant low level. Her foot kept tapping a steady, racing beat. Her handcuffed hands flexed fingers that pounded an unrecognizable beat.
“You ever been here before?”
Laura’s head whipped up from the hanging position that had been assumed, “Huh?” she asked, hearing but not understanding.
The police officer, a large lady that gave off the feeling of blonde fury and strict eyes, glanced at Laura in the rearview mirror, “Don’t ‘huh’ me. Have you ever been to Silas before?”
Laura’s thoughts zipped around her head, bouncing off her skull with force that made her ears hurt, “Yeah. I mean no. I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t really know where I’m going.”
The police officer shook her head, “At least you have some respect. You’re going to Silas. It’s about another hour and a half from here. If you want any music on, just ask and I’ll see if I can deal with your tastes.”
Laura shook her head, then abruptly stopped when the police car took a sharp turn and threw her off balance, “Music is too much right now,” her wide eyes glanced to the control panel in the front, “but you could turn the siren on.”
The police officer, who had never introduced herself, set her mouth in a firm line, “No, I cannot. I suggest you get as comfortable as you can.”
She turned a country music station on the radio and did not acknowledge Laura the rest of the ride.
Laura’s stomach stopped rolling quite as much, just leaving a sick feeling in her chest, and her tears dried. She had been in the hospital for four days, doing nothing but laying back on a plastic mattress, eating when a tray was handed to her, and guessing the time based on how many episodes of Law and Order SVU had flickered past on the TV that was sheathed in a protective case on the wall. The sun filtering through the transparent window should be taken advantage of.
She kept her eyes on her dancing hands, keenly aware of the warm sun on her face. The long ride may as well have entered into warp speed, since the next time Laura was aware of her thoughts in a conscious way was when the officer pulled up in front of a squat brick building.
Laura was pulled out of the car carefully, the handcuffs glittering and mocking her. The walk up the cracked concrete felt like a walk of shame, and Laura knew this moment would forever be cemented into her mind.
The next two hours were a dragging whirlwind that flew by while taking an eternity. Her picture was taken. The officer went over paperwork with a lady at the front desk, which was blocked off by a thick panel of cloudy glass. A TV droned in the corner, with no remote in sight. A lady sat under the TV, wrapped in a thin white blanket and staring with a blank expression that Laura recognized somehow.
A loud buzzer ripped through the air into Laura’s heart. The officer told Laura to stand and hold her hands out in front of her. The handcuffs were removed and suddenly she felt too light and sharp for her skin. She jumped up and down, minutely in place, until she was led into a backroom that only held blank walls and a plastic couch. After another hour, Laura was sure the sun was setting behind the walls due to the sheer number of times she had paced around the room. The door finally opened after minutes of her staring at the security camera in the corner.
A nurse with tired eyes and inky black hair had opened the door, “Laura Hollis? Follow me.”
There were numerous long hallways and an elevator that she was told she would not get to use again, since patients used the stairs. There was also a long barrage of questioning in another room that had no windows, but did have heavy wooden chairs with cushions and a table.
“You tried to kill yourself?” asked the nurse.
Another woman, a technician dressed in khakis, blinked at her, expecting an answer.
Laura nodded, “I took some pills. A lot. Ibuprofen, my dad’s Xanax, some other stuff I found. They pumped my stomach and told me I’d be sick for a while. I guess I’m still sick but it’s what I deserve, right? I don’t know.”
The nurse blinked at her, “Alright then. Do you have a diagnosis?”
Laura only shook her head this time. The questions continued, asking about her home life, her school, her friends, and whether she was currently homicidal, suicidal, or self-injurious. Her responses consisted of either a barrage of information or merely a nod. She could not sit still. She was no longer worried, she was just too still.
Finally, she was released from the questioning room, but was promptly led to a small bathroom that witnessed her strip search and measurements. She did not even bother protesting, letting her eyes dart around the room to drink in the details.
A detailed search of her bag that her dad had packed allowed her to change clothes. She was led to a room that held two beds, bolted to the floor, two sets of shelving that were bolted to the wall, a bathroom that had no door, and a roommate that was laid out on her bed. Her dark hair spread over the pillow, leaving Laura free to stare at her closed eyes.
The nurse, who was actually quite nice and acted concerned for the scattered girl, handed Laura a folder containing a pile of papers explaining the rules and expectations of Silas.
She smiled and patted Laura’s shoulder as Laura sat down on her plastic mattress, “Welcome to Silas Psychiatric Hospital, honey. It all gets better from here.”
The nurse, whose name Laura did not catch, left the room and closed the door. Laura noticed the lack of a typical door handle. This one could not be locked or even held onto well.
She flopped back onto her mattress, head resting on her short pile of clothes.
A laugh broke from her new roommate, “Welcome to the crazy house, cupcake. Good luck getting out.”