Look at her face.
Look into her eyes.
She’s a little girl.
But she’s not so little anymore.
Her innocence is gone.
Her face says that.
Her tears say that.
Look at her face, sit her down, and explain it to her.
Tell her that the pain and anguish she’s experiencing,
The fear and terror,
Were unavoidable.
Tell her that there’s nothing we could have done to prevent it.
Nothing we can do to stop the killing.
The killing of innocents.
The killing of children.
Look into her once-naïve face and tell her that the big people that make all the rules,
That are supposed to protect her,
Can’t protect her.
Explain to her that it’s not the guns,
It’s the people.
Tell her how getting these guns is supposed to be this easy.
That this is the price of being free.
Tell her that America was created by the gun,
So guns are necessary.
Tell her that armed guards could have stopped it.
Tell her that her teachers should have been armed.
Tell her about metal detectors and good guys with guns.
There were good guys with guns.
We called them the police.
She probably knew about them,
But didn’t think she would get to know them so well,
So early,
If at all.
Tell her that you’re sorry about her dead classmates,
And the dead teachers,
And the blood,
The horror.
The carnage.
Tell her that she will understand one day.
Tell her that she will learn to live with it.
And after you’re through telling her,
Explain it to me.