No Beds in City Hall

Jackie starts the process of writing a condolence for a six year old
and travels down the elevator to see me.
Everyone has to check with me before finishing their condolences
But I walked around the corner just before she came in
and the three tiny children of a co-worker had piled into my chair and
were attempting to touch everything with a solution of saliva, starburst, and glue stick.
I came back, sat myself down in the chair amongst them like they were a viney bushel of berries
*Happy, they were, like the grapes from the fruit of the loom commercial;
And they parted as a school of jellyfish used to working their chaos uninterrupted around adults.
The youngest girl grabs the amethyst from my computer in her fist and holds it up to me and says IS THIS A ROCK !!!!
( no question mark )

Yes, i say, and think, why are you asking questions you know the answer to? what ARE you, a lawyer?

I began typing.

How are my fingers sticky? They're touching everything.

And I type the name that begins with 'Six Year Old' and I know it's not the regular protocol, and I know that's not the kid's legal name, but this is Baltimore, and we do things differently here and a little more descriptively.

And I love that it's Jackie who wrote it.
Because I love her so much for her only being my work friend.
And because Jackie can do whatever she damn well pleases when she writes a condolence because her son was shot a few years back;
and she doesn't seem like she's even old enough to have a son old enough to be around guns at all.
Like she took his youth into her when he died and maybe she'll never have wrinkles...

ever.

And I was just glad the kids were there because they added some levity to the situation.

It wasn't so heavy

Then, the oldest girl screamed, I LOVE IT HERE.

I LOVE CITY HALL.

I NEVER WANT TO LEAVE!

And she said she wanted to LIVE there,
and I laughed and I knew what she was talking about,

And I said, You can't live here. No one can. There aren't any beds here.