Rematch

By: Aurelio Rico Lopez III
September 10, 2008

Do you play chess? You should. People say it keeps the mind sharp. I’ve been playing since I was eleven. I don’t mean to brag, but I’m pretty good.

I remember my first chessboard, a Christmas gift from my dad. He didn’t play, but he read somewhere, during one of those rare occasions when he wasn’t drunk and beating up my mother, that it was supposed to build character. I remember staring at all the black and white pieces, intimidated and without a clue in the world what to do with them. Then Tobie, our pet labrador, came in the room and ate one of the white rooks. A few months later, Dad accidentally ran over him while he was backing the car out of the garage.

I never got the rook back.

Do you have a cigarette? No, that’s okay. I should quit anyway. Mom used to call them cancer sticks. My uncle Victor died of lung cancer, you know? Guess he should’ve paid more attention to my mom.

Bobby taught me how to play chess. He was our next-door neighbor, five years older than I was, and the closest thing I had to a best friend. He showed me how to arrange the pieces and taught me how to move them. We found a small stone to replace the white rook Tobie had eaten.

We played at the park, and we tied Tobie to a tree in the backyard so he couldn’t follow us. What if he ate a pawn or a bishop or any of the other chess pieces? We couldn’t have two stones on the chessboard. That would have been confusing.

We’d sit under the shade of a large ficus, arranging the pieces and playing against each other. Bobby taught me everything he knew. I was a fast learner, and in less than a month, I beat Bobby for the first time. He called it beginner’s luck, but when he lost a second time in a row, he knocked over the board and called me a no-good cheater.

Things turned sour after that. Bobby refused to play chess with me, but it was all I wanted to do. This was something I was good at. I was always the last kid who got picked for a game of stickball, and I couldn’t dribble a basketball either. But when I sat behind a chessboard, I was invincible.

God, it’s hot. I hope it rains today. Some rain would be nice. They say heat can drive a guy crazy. I suppose there are lots of crazy people in Africa on account of the heat.

I haven’t heard from Bobby in ages.

I continued playing chess at the park. Bobby no longer came around, so I challenged just about every stranger to a game. I beat the park gardener, a retired college professor, and some high school kid in front of his girlfriend.

I suppose I had made quite a reputation for myself, because months later, people started coming to the park just to play against me. Students, teachers, guys on their lunch break, retired war veterans… And I won every time.

You sure you don’t have a smoke? Just checking. I know, I know. Cancer sticks.

I never lost a game since I beat Bobby. I guess I was a natural. One of those gifted people, like that kid on the news a couple of days ago who could sing the national anthem when he was only a year old.

Then one day, a guy came to the park. I thought it was odd, him wearing a shirt two sizes too large and a pair of slacks that looked like it had been tailored for a shorter man. I always thought the devil would look different.

I never saw him before, which wasn’t odd. Most days, I played against people I didn’t know. But his eyes. They were all milky like… What’s that thing old people are supposed to get?

Cataracts! That’s it. His eyes were all milky like cataracts.

The game ended in my defeat. I couldn’t believe it. He anticipated all my moves. It was like he was reading my mind the entire game. That had to be the explanation.

I asked for a rematch, but he said he had to be on his way. I asked again and again, even offered him money, but he just laughed. Finally, he said he’d be back. Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. The wait was infuriating!

I had almost given up hope of ever seeing him again when finally, he came. I didn’t recognize him at first; he looked different. He was fifteen years younger, and his skin was darker. He also spoke with a different accent.

Yes, the devil! Haven’t you been listening?

I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. I’m just tired, that’s all. I’m sorry for my outburst.

Of course it was the devil! The devil can change his form and appearance, can’t he? It was him. I’m sure of it.

Because I lost again, that’s why! I never lose. I did everything flawlessly, attacking, blocking, defending, and always thinking three moves ahead. And I still lost!

I need a cigarette. Can I go now?

No, I don’t want any more of your damn pills! I need to go to the park. He’s there, waiting for me, under the ficus. You’ll see. I’m the only one good enough to challenge him.

I think I can finally beat him this time. I’ve been practicing.

Let me go! Keep that syringe away from me!

Please. I just want to play.





Dr. Quindipan read over the chart, and the nurse, a middle-aged woman named Gail shuffled uneasily beside the doctor.

“And you say he just died?”

“Yes, doctor. He was just playing chess in his room, and I saw him only moments earlier to check his vitals. There wasn’t anything wrong with him.”

The psychiatrist frowned and sighed. She closed the chart. “Thank you, Gail. Please contact his next of kin.”

“Yes, doctor.” As Dr. Quindipan turned to leave, the nurse cleared her throat. “Doctor?”

“Yes?”

“I found this in the patient’s room. It was inside the patient’s chessboard.” She handed the doctor a folded piece of paper.

“A suicide note?” the doctor asked, unfolding the piece of paper.

Gail shook her head. “I don’t think so. It doesn’t appear to be in the patient’s handwriting.”

Dr. Quindipan stared at the note, wide-eyed. On the piece of paper, were three words that troubled her deeply. An icy shiver ran up the doctor’s spine as she read the words.

LOSER BY DEFAULT