Little White Houses and Coats

Meet my roommate, Alayna Bosma.

If awesome could radiate through computer screens, you’d be fully aware of how stellar the next year of my life promises to be. We did a number of things together yesterday, including but not limited to: arranging our apartment, rearranging our apartment, getting the ID pictures that will define our status of life for the next four years taken, shoveling down dark chocolate chips, confronting irrational fears (the majority of which are mine), becoming buddies with Dean Lamberton (fun fact: he’s a University of Michigan football fan…go blue!), trying on our soon-to-be white coats, and snagging free furniture from the Little White House (insert more apartment rearrangements here).

Feeling the rough, starchy scratch of cotton-polyester blend on my skin gave me goosebumps. I’m fairly certain that over time it will be bequeathing unto me an itchy rash instead, but in that first bashful greeting, there was nothing but good. When they’re not from a chill, or being royally frightened, I think goosebumps are the skin’s way of having stomach butterflies. I have quite a few articles of clothing hanging in my closet, but this one is going to be different. Special. An initiation and rite of passage. The bridge to medical Terabithia. It’s going to have more than my name and school identification stamped onto it; there are unwritten words stitched all over. Responsibility. Challenge. Compassion. Stress. Learning. Growing. Helping. Falling, and getting back up again. Always getting back up again.

White light, when passed through a prism, fans out into the full spectrum of its component colors. That is, when applied, white is and does so much more than it seems. The coats in the dean’s office are dead on their hangers. Itchy, and bland, and cold. A bunch of ill-fitting, want-to-be-blazers lined up lacking fanfare. But once presented, pinned, and shrugged onto our shoulders, the prism will be applied. Their colors will start to dance. I love the fact that they’re white, because it means they are and do so much more.