Checkmate

“A thousand words won’t bring you back;

I know because I’ve tried.

Neither will a thousand tears;

I know because I’ve cried.”

-Kily Dunbar

Chess.

8 rows.

8 columns.

64 tiles.

It is the only thing I have known for 20 years. Playing it had been a nightly routine of…ours.

My hands shake as I lift the black queen from the chess board. The edges dig into my hands as I feel the smooth grip of the polished wood of the chess piece that was familiar to me as her smile. My grip tightens as my mind takes me back to the first time I had played chess. Back to sixth grade. Back to braces and a bad case of acne. She had been the new kid. Her auburn hair pulled back haphazardly, as if it was done in a hurry; she had limped into homeroom class breathless. Cheerful and bubbly and too eager to befriend the class reject — me.

“Chess?” Her eyes had twinkled eagerly, dimples pulling at the corner of her left cheek.

I had only nodded, too afraid my voice would sound squeaky like the pubescent boy I was.

“You must never leave the king unguarded,” she had told me adamantly while going across the many rules that chess apparently had.

After that, it became our thing — Chess during lunch. Of course, I never won.

“You were born to lose Faran,” She would teasingly laugh and I would pretend I was hurt but I was charmed by her dimples and her sweet words.

Her laughter rings in my ear.

My eyes water. Sometimes memories were the worst form of torture.

Thunder claps outside.

I let the queen fall from my hand. As if in a daze, I walk the hallway leading to our bedroom. Not in control of my own actions, I watch with a mask of hatred and longing as my hand reaches for our wedding album. I shake my head as if throwing off a glamour cast by fairies.

A photograph. That’s all it takes for me to break down. I clutch the dresser, the memories tear up my insides like they are knives. Furiously wiping at the tears, I gaze at her picture captured at a moment of pure bliss. Her warm caramel eyes beam at me lovingly; her veil pushed back, hands clutching at my shoulders. My eyes trace over her classically simple strapless dress of pale white embroidered silk which accentuates her thin waist and stands out stark against my checkered black and white tux. My eyes crinkled at the corners captured at mid laugh, I look so happy clutching her against me. My fingers hover over her hands remembering all those times she would skid to a stop insisting on clutching my hands. Always begging to be kissed thoroughly on the lips. Even in public. Drops of tears land on my hands.

I turn the page. I choke out a laugh. The décor had been unconventional. We had had a chess themed wedding. The cake had had a white queen and a black king. She would always pick white while playing chess pronouncing proudly, “Ladies first.”

“6 years ago, you wore white.” I choke out, tears blurring my vision. “5 years later –“

My voice cracks and I pause to drink water. “5 years later,” palms sweaty, I push my hair back, “You made me wear black.”

I slide down to the floor “Why did God take you? Especially on our wedding anniversary?” I moan, rocking back and forth. I clutch the album tight, pressing it hard to my chest, wishing to feel her head resting on them one last time while her hand traced circles.

Dizzy with her memories, I leave the house, my feet unconsciously leading me towards the hospital at the corner that was our dating spot. I drag my feet toward what used to be our bench at the corner swathed in darkness. So many memories made in one corner. I close my eyes. I can feel her icy hands as she snuggles next to me hoping to steal some of my warmth.

“So this is what snow feels like,” I smile teasingly.

She harrumphs and goes to pull away. I hold on tight, my smile stretching.

Car honks somewhere in the background. Someone yells for the doctor. The car door slams. All is quiet again. I am knocked out of my reverie. I blink away the tears that had unceremoniously stuck to my lashes. Everything brings back memories of her dimpled smiles and her tinkling laughter.

I was numb. It’s been a year since her untimely death but I am still in agony. I shove my hands inside my pockets standing up. Heading south, I walk. The sky resembled a widow’s face, dark grey clouds bunched together as if in mourning. I muster the courage to visit the graveyard. My feet drag against the grass leaving a muddy trail behind. Stopping to buy her a lily, I eventually wind up at her gravestone. The air is chilly and I shiver against the cold. I sniffle rubbing my nose.

“I loved you then. And in death I love you still.” I force a step, brushing the tears aside. Walking closer to the headstone, I let my fingers trail her name.

SHAZRAD WHITEMORE.

“You were the one who told me never to leave the king unguarded. But who is there to protect me now, my queen,” I said hoarsely. Wiping the tears from my eyes, I nod resolutely.

“I will play chess one more time,” I pause, my voice cracking at the end and then for effect, I add. “With death.”

Ripping open the brown leather case that was close to falling apart, I angrily take out the chess board, my hands fumbling like a new born fawn. Wracked with shudders, I set up the game.

“I will be white.” I sniffled.

Looking up at the churning gray mass growing in size, howling and whining, “You can be black,” I bit out.

I lift one of the white pawns. The game starts.

A black butterfly lands on my hand fluttering its leathery wings. I have a sinking feeling in my stomach. Hours pass by as I move both colored chess pieces one by one, pausing to cry uncontrollably between each move. The cries turn to gasps of pain as a black bishop knocks over my white queen.

“My queen,” I blubber.

“Forgive me, my queen! I am sorry I couldn’t save you!” I rock back and forth, insanity taking grip of my mind. “Death is a mighty foe. I couldn’t save you from him. Couldn’t save you!” I cry out. “I will join you soon my love.” I quieted. “I will join you soon.”

It starts raining then. The wind howls in fury stirring the leaves across the frozen hard ground of winter. The first drops hits my lashes slowly trailing down my face as if Heaven could already see how this would all end. The drizzle quickly turns into a thick downpour.

“I won’t let you face eternity alone.”

Hands shaking I lift the black queen and knock over my king. Eyes blurry, I watch the white king roll onto the grass stopping in front of my wife’s grave. Together at last.

“Checkmate,” I whispered hoarsely.

“The king is defeated.”

I lean in then. And place a kiss atop her grave. Atop her headstone, the tears leaving a salty trail towards my mouth. Taste of torment.

“I love you.”

It was a broken whisper. A promise.