Black King For Black Queen

Abdul Rahman summoned me to his office one bright Monday morning, right as I arrived at work, and I almost shat my pants. I thought Yasmina might have told him about our affair, and I saw my life and ( brief ) legal career flash before my eyes. Turns out I was worried about nothing. The distinguished Somali-Canadian Muslim attorney who was one of our firm's founders simply wanted to be the one to tell me that they were satisfied with my work, and I'd been promoted to junior associate.

Yasmina thinks extremely highly of you and insisted that you get it, Abdul Rahman said, smiling faintly. Rubbing his hands together, he shot me an odd look. Don't screw it up young man and watch your back, he said. Oh, I said, speechless for a moment. Indeed, Abdul said, winking at me. I'll have to thank Yasmina, I said, then shook his hand, and excused myself. This is a bit much though I am happy to hear it, I said, apologetically. No worries we'll finish this some other time, the old man said, laughing. You have a new office now just so you know, Rahman yelled as I left his office, feeling, well, weird.

On the one hand, I couldn't believe that Yasmina Rahman recommended me for this promotion. For a minority rookie attorney fresh out of law school to rise to the rank of junior associate in a big, mostly white law firm, this was unprecedented. As I walked down the hallway heading to my new office, I ran into Liam Bosworth. Judging by the colder-than-usual look in his eyes, I figured the white dude had heard about my promotion. Aren't you lucky, he said with admirable false cheer. Later bozo I meant Bosworth, I said, grinning wickedly as I went into my new office.

As soon as I walked in, I saw an envelope. I ripped it open, revealing the note inside. You will go far my sweet Haitian prince but you are not for me, it read. It was Yasmina's handwriting. Flowery yet businesslike. Like her. I read the second part of the note. In chess queen protects king, I read it aloud. At the bottom of the letter were the words "visit me in Calgary sometime". I flipped the note over, turning it ten times in my hand. I pocketed it, and sat in my comfy new chair. I looked at the mahogany desk, the expensive dark gray carpet, and smiled as my eyes drank in the trappings of success. Clearly I was doing good. Thank you Yasmina, I said aloud, kissing the note. Then I got back to work. As soon as humanly possible I'm booking a flight to Calgary. I hate the little town with the redneck-style, anti-immigrant reputation with a passion but I'll gladly board a plane there if a certain Somali diva is waiting for me. What can I say? Some sisters are worth any amount of hardship. They have a brother's back at the end of the day.