Bridge

Written by Jacob Ibrag

This morning my boss called me into her office and asked me if I was happy, if this is where I wanted to be. She didn’t seem angry; no it was more of an inquiring expression that painted her rosy cheeks. She couldn’t have been upset with me; her lazy like curly mane was dancing upon her shoulders. That’s how everyone in the office knew whether or not to approach her. If her hair was in bun, it was a clear sign to avoid interaction as much as possible. This was different; she was genuinely interested in knowing if I was happy. Connecting eyes with ease, I smiled and remained silent.

‘I’ll take that as a yes then?’ She asked smiling back.

Slowly panning from her eyes to the wall on my left, I noticed a painting of the golden gate bridge she had installed a…