Chess

“Chess?” I ask, not believing what I have just heard, “You want me to play chess with you?” The man I stand opposite of nods, just once. Coldly. Confidently. I shrug, “Sure,” I give my consent, “I have nothing better to do.” We move over to a low table against a dark wall. We sit facing each other, a magnificent chessboard the only barrier between us adversaries. “You go first,” I tell him, motioning at the board. He has seated himself, most likely purposefully, before the white players. I stare at my own blackened-wood pieces. They are beautiful in themselves, each pawn a delicately carved soldier, as one would see in a medieval army. The knights perch triumphantly on rearing horses, lifting long lances in the air. Two beautiful towers stand proudly on the outward sides of the knights, and the bishops on the inner squares, flanking the royalty. The King looks majestic and powerful, his crown gleaming strangely in the dim light, and the queen is also magnificent in long, flowing robes that seem to move even as I looked at them.

I glance at my opponent as he slides his first piece. Queen’s pawn two forward. Typical opening move. This way, his queen, king, and queen’s bishop are at the ready. I move my king’s pawn forward two spaces, mirroring his decision. The small soldiers face each other bravely. By the end of the game, they will both be gone. His next move is a puzzling one, choosing to release his king’s knight, rather than fiddle with pawns for much longer. He is impatient, and busy. Odd, since he was the one to suggest this little duel. That was beneficial to me, though, I thought, sliding another pawn forward just one space. In this game, impatience heads only to failure. He stares at my move, and then up at me. I avert my eyes back to the board. I do not want to look at his face. De-humanizing the opponent leads to victory. Realizing the person you are playing is the same as you creates pity, and then mistakes.

“You’re move,” he tells me. His king’s pawn is moved forward to stand beside his queens. I knit my brows at him. That’s odd. Then I slide my black pawn diagonally, taking the piece he moved. How could he not have seen that? I now am ahead. I have one piece, he has none. But I am nervous. Is there now a hole that I did not see that I created by stealing his pawn? Can he now get at my queen, bishop, even king? I check the board again. All the main players are secure, and I relax. He must have merely slipped. That was all. I do not let my nerves show upon my face, however. Emotions could be easily used against me in a game of wit such as this. In the next few moves, I set up for an arrow-head attack, centering around the king’s pawn that is now in his lady’s row.

Time ticks by, and I am glad we have no clocks. I do not play well with clocks. As the game goes on, I play hard, contemplating each move for minutes at a time, and re-checking before I take my hand away and it becomes too late to save a key piece. I move carefully, whether it is merely a pawn moving one up, or my queen taking the whole field. I play as if this game was a matter of life or death. Then I laugh gently at my own feeble joke. Life or death. Right. This game is beyond that.

“What is so funny?” my opponent asks me, he deep voice coming from far within him and sounding against the walls to echoe back and move through my ear. I will never, not for the rest of eternity, forget the sound of his voice.

“Nothing,” I say, sliding my black-square bishop forwards three spaces. He steals the bishop with a knight. We are so far into the game that I am not sure whether it is his queen’s or king’s side piece. I was expecting him to take the bishop, of coarse. Now I can steal his knight with my castle. You have to make sacrifices in this game. Just like in life. I sacrificed my marriage for money. Was it worth it? I shake the memory from my head. Old regrets will not help me win. I must focus.

The pieces on the sides of the board increase. I do a quick count. Six for me, including his knight and one bishop, and five for him. I am winning by pieces, but he has me backed in a corner, surrounding my players with his. Not for long. Using my queen and remaining bishop I break through his offensive line, and begin a play of my own.

The same way that, in my company, I shattered the attempts of a co-worker to get a raise in order to receive one myself. In the end, that particular co-worker had needed to move, with her three young children, to a much smaller two-bedroom apartment. She had sold her condo to pay for the divorce from an abusive husband. Oh well, I got what I wanted. The surround-sound stereo and wide-screen plasma TV that the raise had paid for still sat firmly in my three-bedroom apartment over-looking the park. I sighed, suddenly regretting what I had done to that woman.

“Your move.” Once again I shook the thoughts from my mind, focusing on the task at hand. The past didn’t matter. Right? As I slid player after player forward, sometimes defensively, sometimes stealing one of my adversary’s pieces, I thought about the things I had done in my life. Chess is much like living. Possibly why I loved it so much. In chess, sometimes you win, and sometimes you loose. I almost always win in chess. In life, I loose. We all do. No matter how rich we get, no matter how happy our marriages, and no matter how many children or dollars we have, we all loose. We can live in a card-board box, or in a mansion. We could have nothing but a shopping cart, or everything but happiness, and we still loose. You see, in the end, regardless of what we did or didn’t do with our lives, we all die. That’s it. No more. Game over. No second chances in life. This, I am realizing for the first time, and I hope it is not too late.

But chess, on the other hand… You can always have another game of chess. Another chance to redeem yourself. That was the difference. His castle slides forward, removing my own from the board. My mouth forms a small “o” of surprise. That I had not expected. I swallow hard. Now we are tied again. Breathing deeply, I move a knight to capture his queen, but he evades me and steals a pawn in the process. Yes, just like life, it is you that controls your fate. You cannot blame anyone else for your mistakes, no matter how hard you try. The whole world is against you, but you can manipulate it. You protect some things, and give up others. Some of the things you give up are for things that are better, though. See? Like just now, where I sacrifice my pawn to… there! Now I have both of his bishops.

“Good move,” he praises. But even the compliment sounds like a threat in his deep, scratchy way of talking. I can tell that his voice was once sweet and melodic, but age and time have rusted it. I almost offer him a cough-drop, thinking that perhaps I can scratch away the roughness and reveal the melody below. I know, though, that he would not take my medicine. He enjoys the tone of his voice. He enjoys the way people cringe in fear when he speaks. Not me, though. I will not cringe.

My piece moves, and then his. A seemingly endless dance that goes on and on. How long have we been playing? Is it only minutes? Is it hours? It may be days, months, years. I do not know. I am good, but so is he. Every move he makes is elegant, graceful, practiced. It is as if he was created souly to play this game.

“You’re good,” I admit as he steals away my second knight. “Yes,” he replies, “I know.” He says it without cockiness or pride, and I have a new respect for my opponent. Very few could admit talent without seeming arrogant or boastful. Ten to eleven for him, now. We have few players left. This is the way I like it. You don’t have to worry about a lot of things when there are only a few pieces. I have two pawns, and he has one. He is left without bishops, but I have no knights. Now we are even, and for a moment we are allies. Both fighting each other, but fighting the world together. Breaking the bonds. We know the threat we pose to one another, and so, understand the emotions we both feel. Then the moment passes and we are enemies once more.

His last pawn moves and I snatch it up with a bishop, leaving him without pawns. He nods, approving. No protest. No insult and no fury. He knows how it works, and accepts his mistakes. I respect him even more.

Chess has rules. The rules are simple, but the execution is complex. Life has rules, too. But no one obeys the rules in life. They find ways to get around them. Ways to cheat. In chess, one does not cheat. There is an unwritten code in chess that is stronger than the one in life. There is an understanding as the pieces move, and the players are taken.

I frown and lick my lips as he takes my queen. That was not very good. I hesitate, and now he scoops up my remaining pawn, having taken the other three moves ago.

“Good move.” I echoe the praise he gave me earilier, and he nods, knowing it to be true. Breathing in deeply, I almost give in then and there. He has me on the run, and there is no way I can win. But I will not give up on this game. I will play this game as I played my life; ruthlessly, without concern for anyone but myself. That is how I am.

I pause a moment to think about the irony of my relating this game to my life. And then, smiling slightly, I slide my bishop, stealing his queen. Then I see it! The opening! My next turn comes, and I move my castle, then my bishop, then my castle again. Two more moves and I have him! He will move in to take my bishop, and I will steal his king! Yes! That’s it. Come on… his hand hovers over his castle, and then slides away. What? No! Move the castle! Please, move the castle! But no, he will not answer my silent plea. His knight slides ahead, as though guiding his hand.

Oh no. Oh, sweet mother of Jesus, no!
“Check mate.” He says, his knight sits squarely in front of my king. I can’t believe it. How did I not see that? How did I not know. “You loose.” He knocks my king down, and, as though he had struck me, I collapse on the ground, my chest heaving, and my throat tight. A single thought swims around in my mind. How did I not see?

“No,” I moaned, whispering the word, breathing heavily as my eyes fill with tears. “Please, no.” I swallow hard. “Please! Give me another chance! I have so much to do! So much I want to do again! So many things I have to fix!” I am not talking about chess any more, but pleading as though for my life, for the years I have wasted.

“You loose.” He repeats, and stands then, staring at me with hollow, dead eyes. “No more games.” I had not seen it coming. Just as I had not seen the semi that had crushed my brand-new mustang. “No second chances.”

Then, suddenly, I cannot breathe as the many fires of hell envelope my body and I scream. I can feel myself being pulled down, where these fires will burn me for the rest of eternity, in which I shall never forget the voice of death.