Who Broke The Chess Board?

Hey Mama, 

I just want to tell you that the memory of us sitting opposite of each other at the small wooden table outside, with nothing but a marble chess board between us will always be my favorite. The warm desert air upon my cheeks filled me with such content. A feeling I have tried hard many times to recreate, and a feeling you could give me with such ease.

Not more than 7 years of age, you taught me the rules of chess. The patience and strategic frame of mind needed to take out the opponent. You taught me to care for and clean the marble we spent hours playing on. Carefully wiping down the dust off the light gray and opposing black pieces, and how to hold the board tight to my chess as I walked what felt like a thousand dangerous steps through the desert, passing the rose garden, over the porch and finally back to the safety of our home. You taught me to set it back on the desk while it patiently awaits another game of wits. I take this care and patience with me daily. So many life lessons wrapped up into simple but mindful movements of pawns and royalty.

I hated when our sessions would end. I hated going back into the house. As I'm sure you knew, I would do anything I could to extend our times. Begging for another game... Offering to do the chores you were dreading to do once we walked in the house... Even holding it in when I had to use the restroom, because I knew once I walked in the house, even if I went as fast as I could, you would already be walking back holding my precious pastime.

But I just wanted to explain how the chess board eventually broke, ending our playful getaways...

On one of our days outside, I got you to agree to another game with me. I begged and begged even though I felt the all too familiar pressure of my morning juice starting to fill my adolescent bladder. I played the game with a hurried fierceness, knocking down easy targets, and making silly mistakes. I was trying my hardest to not let you see my high level of discomfort, hoping you would chalk up the beads of sweat on my brow to the increasing heat of the day. 

Finally we finished, and I grabbed the board while you grabbed the black leather pouch to start packing up the pieces. Before you even picked up one pawn, I had already grabbed the board and was walking back to the house as fast as my little legs could carry me. My normal caution and protection of the board became nonexistent at this point. I threw the porch door open and the first thing I saw was the kitchen table. I beelined for it and slammed the board down, with my only thought being to get to the restroom.

Mama, at that moment my world stopped. I was frozen. Even my urgent need disappeared temporarily as the force of my actions caused the board to crack. Right. Down. The. Middle. I went into panic mode. I knew you were still in the backyard so I ran to the restroom and sighed a huge sigh of relief. One part of the problem was solved. Now it was time to hustle. 

I grabbed the board and placed it in its designated place on your desk. Perfectly lining it up in the only square untouched by the desert dust. In my mind, just piecing the board back together wasn't enough. I had to fix it. I ran to my room, and frantically searched through my bin of art supplies and grabbed my secret weapon. My purple glue stick. 

I hurried back to the desk and ran the glue along the crack of the board, leaving a sticky violet residue. As the two pieces of the board connected by my shaking hands, you walked into the house. Immediately I offered to place the pieces where they go. You allowed me to do so and by the end of it, everything looked perfect. The weight on my chest dissipated. We carried on our day like nothing happened, and the worst was behind us. I was actually off scot-free...

Until the day came I heard you very loudly announce your question to the house, "WHO BROKE THE CHESS BOARD?"

Sorry, Mama.