After The Game The King And The Pawn Go Into The Same Box

He’d seen the man hovering on the periphery many times, muttering and plotting moves.

For a long time that was all he did. Watched and muttered. Never daring to come close or put himself forward for the challenge.

He was a chess player though. That much was obvious. The concentrated gaze, the wry smiles, the shakes of the head. He stood on the side lines but every game took hold inside of him, he was sure of it.

He’d seen it before, passers-by itching for a game, but too wary to approach.

He was too ragged. The glint in his eye too wild. The dirt under his fingernails too threatening.

Many times he was moved on. His presence unwanted among the shining precincts of finance and commerce.

They did not need to say to him “you do not belong here” he had long since understood the rules of the game.

But when he laid the chess board on the bench, set up the pieces and sat there waiting, the rules changed. Suddenly he was valid, ennobled by the authority of carved royalty.

On a sunny morning they sit across from one another, face to face at last.

He had approached quietly, nodded and took his place.

After The Game The King And The Pawn Go Into The Same Box

Kings Indian Attack to open. Which was a surprise.

He’d imagined something more aggressive. Something to match the crispness of his suit, the polished sheen of his shoes, the immaculate manicure. The power.

He responded with Tarrasch and it was soon over. Defeat met with the flipping of the board and a spit of contempt.

“God damn it!”

He watched the Bishop fly across the sidewalk and crack.

People stared and shook their heads.

“It’s just a game”

Though they were wrong about that.

It was also an upending of things. A re-writing of the rules.

A confirmation that after the game, the king and the pawn go into the same box.