I sit in the rolling chair at Sadie’s nail station and get myself comfortable. I always look forward to this bi-monthly treat! Sadie comes out from the break room and sits down, throws out a “hi” and we exchange pleasantries- about how it’s been seven weeks since I last saw her, and since that was just before Valentine's Day, I ask if she did anything special. She doesn’t answer me, and then I realize she’s got one side of her earphones in and she might be listening to something; unfortunately, this is the usual routine, so I just let her do her work. Why do I hope this will change?

Several minutes pass. I ask, “Do you think of yourself as an artist?“ No response. I do think Sadie is an artist because she makes my hands look pretty and my nails neat, fresh, and colorful. My hands have always been a part of my body that I don’t like. Maybe this is why I used to walk with my hands balled in a fist- hiding my fingers &...