Chess

I was 9

When my mother

Taught me

Chess;

Her disguise was still intact then,

The mask of a rational woman,

With a job,

And justified anger;

She’d smoke,

And exhale memories

Of being

The Barmaid Who

Could Beat Anyone,

And tell me to think

Moves ahead;

I tried, but

My sense of the future was seconds,

Tiny increments of feeling

Safe from others’ sickness,

Hers most of all;

It was her game,

And in learning it I thought I could

Follow the eel-twists of her mind,

Predict the explosions and melt-downs,

Learn how she put on the disguise;

But, as a boy,

I couldn’t become good at the game,

And the frustration enraged me;

She tried to throw a game once,

And I told her to stop it,

That I actually had to beat her

Or it wouldn’t feel like victory;

She was happily merciless after that,

Beating me time and again on the board.

When I was 17 her mask became

too heavy

to wear;

No longer playing chess,

She spent her time drinking,

Weeping,

Threatening,

Blaming,

And hating men.

I escaped into girls, and drugs,

Putting on a mask of stability and wisdom

That I, at least, was fooled by,

And left her to her shrieking;

When I was 21

My mask became too heavy

And I dropped it;

Seeing in the mirror

The reflection of terror long

Ignored

I slipped into depression,

A chaos of self-hatred

And disorganized, irrational thoughts;

Some days my only solace

Was that I could end myself if I felt worse;

I started playing chess again,

Fervently using it to force order

Onto my mind,

Teaching myself to think instead of feel;

And I surprised myself by becoming good,

finally understanding the game,

thinking ahead, and planning;

I went to see her,

And challenged her to a game;

There was no disguise left for her then,

No clothes, only bathrobes, and cat-piss stench,

the house a maze of baubles,

1,000s of buttons arranged by color

On every horizontal surface that she termed

“A Map of My Mind”;

She accepted with a meek shrug,

And played ineptly,

Looking at the pieces in a way that said

She remembered remembering 

how they worked together,

But couldn’t make them do now;

And, more resigned with every move,

She finally admitted defeat;

I had won, but it didn’t feel like victory.

Chris Walters

February 20, 2014