Rosie

Rosie

    “Hello Rosie.” The doctor says as Rosie walks into the room, her head pushed down so that her chin is poking at her chest. She quickly takes her regular seat, next to the window and farthest away from the doctor.
“Are you going to talk to me today?” The psychologist looks at Rosie hopefully. Rosie says nothing and stares at the floor counting the tiles. She counts in her head, 1, 2, 3, 4. After a long moment of waiting for a reply the doctor carries on with her normal questions.
“How was group therapy? What did you make in art today? Why do you think you’re here?” The doctor pauses and lets out a long sigh. She hopes that Rosie won’t be here long, that someone, if not her, will get through to her.
“How are you this morning Rosie?” the doctor asks. This time Rosie decides to count the birds that fly by in a “V” outside the window. This goes by too quickly, so she looks up at the clock and begins to count the seconds till her appointment draws to a close, or until the doctor decides to draw to a close. Seconds go by, maybe minutes and the doctor stands speaking one last time for the day, “Well that’s enough for today.”, her voice showing no annoyance but a hint of depression as she walks to open the door. Rosie quickly rises as the door is opened, pokes her chin back into her chest and walks down the hallway, escort behind her.