We were relaxed in the South office. I was typing in Excel at the desk; she was playing with paint and glitter on the floor. She was making valentine hearts for all of the employees. She was going to tape them up on the wall in the kitchen. She was trying to bring the staff together. She's the politician of the management dichotomy. People need to like her. She wants people to like her. I'm the enforcer. I'm feared and hated. I like it.
She laughed as she turned the page on the black paper. She turned to the bright blue and pink constuction paper.
"What?" I turned to her. She was sitting cross legged on the carpet, her back against the brick.
"I probably shouldn't make anybody's heart black." She laughed again. Her tendons show in her neck when she smiles.
"Oh, Please, make mine black. And don't let anyone else have a black heart." I was laughing...hard.
"Okay, I won't." She was laughing, too.
She posted my black heart on the kitchen wall below everyone else's. It was bigger than all the others. It made me smile everyday. I was waiting for someone to write "bitch" on it. No one ever did.
Weeks later I ripped it off the wall. "Michelle! I'm taking my black heart. It's not valentine's day anymore." She was washing dishes.
Now it's on my kitchen wall.
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