The Chess Game

A long time ago, when I was quite beautiful and had a sharp mind, I was seeing a young man just to spend some time.

He was slim, average looking, studious and religious.  Not my type.  He liked to play chess, and fancied himself a good player.

I was learning the game.  My ex husband had been a ranked player and had taught it to me.  One day he beat me in a few swift moves and jumped up from the table to proclaim Fools Mate!  He shouted for his mother and announced his big win to his family.

As I hardly knew the game, this was not such a great achievement.  I felt a bit hurt, and embarrassed.

Now that we were divorcing, I was living alone and had been on a few dates with this poor fellow.  Let’s call him Joe.

We whittled away some time playing chess.  I was still perfecting my game, but could now hold my own.  We sat in my dining room, with the chess board between us.  Ready for game 2:  I was plotting for a kill.

In several swift moves I put him away.  Fools Mate!

I’ve never done that before!  I knew full well how the words cut his ego.

He went home, and I didn’t see him for a few days.

One day about a week later, Joe knocked on my door.  I was surprised to see him, but disappointed.  When he told me he would not be seeing me anymore, I was dispassionate.

It was preferable to having to break up with him.  Good. I thought, starting to close the door.

But he wasn’t done.  He wanted a reaction.  He told me he had planned his life around me.  I was the center of his life and his future and now he was done.  He was emotional and upset.  All this over a chess game.

I was getting bored.

You’re breaking up with me?

Yes!

Ok.  I tried to close the door.

But more protestations of how I would have been the center of his life.

He had no idea it would never have gone that far.

I tried to look sad, disappointed.

You’re breaking up with me?

Yes!

This time I said nothing.

He finally left.

I shut the door.

Never thought of him again.

But I hate that game.