Ruby

There's a children's hospital in Melbourne. In Carlton I think it is. And at one point I had occasion to be working a day in that hospital. For the life of me I can't remember how I got there. I seem to recall catching a train into the centre. Silver and sleek, graffitied vistas along the way. From there on I think I must have walked. I ambled uphill for some ways, that I know to be true. It was quite early as well. Vacant building blocks and black gum stains on ashen paths. The security at the hospital was amazing, as well it should be. One of the first people I met during my day was Ruby. Ruby was four years old. And only just so, as she proudly told me. She wore these red Mary Jane style shoes, all shinny leather and sparkling silver buckles. They matched her name perfectly and seemed to me to be the perfect kind of shoes for splashing about in puddles. From then on I don't remember more than a handful of seconds or so that Ruby wasn't at my side. She turned out to be one of the coolest kids I ever did meet. I remember climbing on the playground and racing toy trucks with her. Ruby gifted me with a hug before I left that day. Given to a person that eight hours previous she didn't know from a bar of soap. Her little arms barely had enough length to wrap around my knees.
I lived for a further year and a half in the city of Melbourne after that day, but not another time did I see Ruby. She'd be a fair few more years older than four now, but every time I think of her she's wearing those bright red shoes. S.H.