When In Real Life, Loses to Its King
Life is but a game of chess. See it as a cliche, but like the Jabawockeez who first started in Seattle to now performing in Las Vegas, someone came up with masking the performers, a marketable ingenuity, in my opinion. This allows interchangeability between performers. For all we know, those who started out as Jabawockeez could all have been replaced, and still, the name stands. This is chess, everyone. There are rolls of pieces in the game, but the overall objective stands since 6th century AD, protect the king.
The kings, queens, knights, rooks, bishops, and pons have continued to be replaced on the game board and still, the game of chess continues.
My life has truly played on the game board of chess within many chapters of my life. I, as the roll of the queen, have used my ultimate powers to play also the roll of all positions other than directly that of a knight (knowingly understanding that a rook, bishop or a pon can eventually travel to positions of any knight).
I have lost some games, but I would humbly like to think, given the advancements I have gained in life, that my Papa would agree I have definitely been victorious in all my battles.
My oldest brother learned to play the game of chess before he learned his ABCs. Since then, his love for it has never failed. Unlike me, however, I held back from playing all my life. Similar to my other brother learning to play the piano as I watched my belated favorite aunt instruct him from just a few feet away or one of my uncles teaching my older brothers to play the guitar, I refrained to directly learn as a child. It was always fun to watch my siblings play instead.
The real truth, as I have come to realize now, goes back to that 0 or 100 percent personality I uphold. I hate disappointment and thus, if I start something, it is not easy for me to just turn down any built up energy if all of a sudden I have to stop.
Recently, I came to the peace within of getting over this fight in me. So, when one of my sons started to ask me to play chess with him, I heard myself say, “Yes”. Just like that, I was playing the game of chess just as I had naturally watched all those years. I’m no master, but I’m good enough for my son to challenge. It’s just a game, after all. Until, of course, the “king” suggests we play.
I must remind you that I have been married to my husband for almost three decades now. Comfortable being his queen, me never bowing down to moving about to protect him, as I know he has gone beyond to do the same for me, it is to say the least how nerve-wrecking it can be to accept his challenge. If you know the story of Queen Esther, playing a game against my husband feels like a need for days of fasting.
I can’t stand losing. It takes me awhile to get over a loss, most especially to my husband. He once beat me with his eyes closed playing the video game, Street Fighter, and that silently still gets to me when I think of it. So, I knew I had fallen into a challenge I may regret after, but I had accepted and the game immediately took to existence before me.
Playing with my husband leads to two outcomes: 1. I will win and we would play again (and again) until my husband “wins”. 2. I lose and he would get that victory I would have to swallow like pins and thorns until I forget about it. (I lost to Street Fighter almost three decades ago.)
So, there we were, in heavy focus. I knew I had him. But what does a man who has known your ways for almost three decades do to make sure you don’t beat him? He psychologically gets to you.
“Go.”
That’s all there was to it. Just as soon as he had spoken those words, I knew my focus had been broken. I heard annoyance in my voice as I snarled, “You aren’t supposed to speak to your opponent.” And as I painfully made a wrong move that I knew right when I did that he would be taking my rook, I childishly had to add, “That’s so annoying.” No exclaiming the words- just irritatingly stating them as my husband smirked. He knew he had me. He had entered and broken my psyche. I was mentally disturbed. My focus had been replaced with pure agitation.
I played on for another half hour, refusing to accept defeat although knowing the game had already come to an end. And when I tipped my king over, walking away from the board in silently loathing defeat, I quickly took note of that sparkle in my husband’s eyes. The king had beaten me. I wanted to yell injustice to his form of play. But that would have just given him more sandpaper to rub against my skin. I sat in silence, not looking at him all night, pretending to watch our youngest two play instead.
My chest felt heavy with defeated anguish. I sulked in silence, eyes ahead, pretending and yet, looking past our youngest sons as they played before me. While I kept my head and chin up, my entire face, my entire body heavily fought to look undisturbed. My husband has known me far too long to know I didn’t take the loss lightly at all.
The king had defeated the queen. He walks over to where I was silently seated, and as he approaches me, he holds out his arms to put around me. With no words, he gives me a long embrace. I accepted the embrace and did my best to pretend I was well. We have known each other far too long. He knew I was bothered, but dare he not mention to me why. I had to suck it up and just LET GO as the evening was coming to an end.
The king won. Perhaps not game rule fair and square, but he nonetheless beat me. My only thought to ease my defeat was, who else best to beat the queen?
After all, the most powerful piece on the game board to protect the king? You know. The real game of chess awaits another chapter. Reset.
