The Day We Meet

A flash piece

They were sitting and playing chess. The park rivalry. I’ve watched this game occur countless times. The old man seated with the white pieces wearing the worn heather grey cabbie hat almost always plays pawn E4 and the young man in the peacoat and the undercut almost always responds with the Sicilian Defense. There are a few cumulus and altocumulus clouds fluffing and flitting their way into the afternoon. It might rain this time. It doesn’t usually, but it has before. I like it when it rains more, just a little. It makes your eyes twinkle in the afternoon light with more depth. It’s hard to explain. They shine when I see them. As precious as Colombian emeralds, cut into a clear marquise by the deftest faceter. A flock of birds is flying overhead today too. When the birds flyover, I get scared of them ruining this moment somehow–though they never do.

The older man laughs loudly as he takes his opponent’s bishop. I wonder what piece he chose to sacrifice this time–sometimes it’s a pawn or a knight, but I recall a time when he risked his queen for that piece. No matter what, the gambit works. I kept my eyes closed and played a game with myself. I think it’s a rook this time. I hear the musician panhandling next to the bench I’m sitting on. It’s always discordant jazz. I’ve not been lucky enough to hear anything pleasant come from the bass-boosted crackles of the blown-out speaker his backing track eeks through. His voice would be better if he sang from his chest and not his throat–but I’d never tell him that. Maybe just a little tweaking on the settings on the autotune of his microphone. I don’t know for sure. I never bothered to learn that much about music.

I opened my eyes when I heard the young man curse loudly. The old man sacrificed his knight. The old man wins every time, but he’s never sore about it. He tells the young man as he always does that the Sicilian is too aggressive against someone who knows how to counter, such as himself. He’s obviously a learned man, wise beyond his many years. I’d like to talk to him one of these times, though I’ve no idea how. The young man asks for another game, but the old man humbly denies and instead offers a trip to the bodega down the street for lunch–so long as the loser pays for his sandwich.

The weather is perfect today. The breeze touches my face and I feel the coldness of a brisk early spring day. I’ll miss the cold when it’s gone.

You’ll run into me. I’ve no idea where you’re going. I’ll never find out. I’ll never ask. You never tell me. You’re flustered. The blood vessels in your cheeks dilate, flushing the soft features on your face. You apologize to me over and over while you scramble to gather your files. I make a joke about how you should really get a briefcase. I’ll get one for you later on. You never use it. You purse your lips in feigned annoyance. A small section of your hair drops into your face. I want to push it behind your ear, but you take care of it too quickly. For the best. You remark how this reminds you of a terrible romance movie you watched recently. I tell you that I’m pretty sure I know which one you’re talking about. I’m lying, I have no idea which you’re referring to. You notice a small tear in my jacket and a tiny scuff on one of my shoes. You offer to pay for their repair. I politely decline, saying that the damage must have already been there. It was, I put it there. You insist. I handed you a business card, I don’t remember the number on it, nor do I remember you reaching out for the first time, just that our lives will start together.

I will die before you. There’s nothing that you can do–in a way, I asked for it. Pay the piper, right? It’s what I get for being so foolish. I made a deal. A silly one at that. I’d like to think I’m smarter than that now, but that would be a lie–I’ll always face those same lapses of judgement when it comes to you.

I don’t have to watch you wither and die; that’s the best part of this whole arrangement. I’m aware of how selfish that makes me, because that’s also the worst part. I don’t get to hold you through the pain that I leave you with. I don’t get to be the last person that you see, I don’t get to tell you that I will see you again. I don’t get to tell you that I did this all for you. I don’t get to tell you that this pain is temporary and that we really do have forever.

I didn’t break my promises to you and you’ll never be able to understand. I will see you again and again, forever.

My watch buzzes as it always does at this time. It always comes too soon and too late. I stood up, put a five-dollar bill in the panhandler’s overturned hat and I walked past the table where the men finished their chess game. I brushed the cold stone with my hand. A small shiver runs up my spine, but my body is heated with anticipation. I walked to a small clearing right off the path.

I was to flip a pebble and move it two paces to the left. That was the deal this time. It was usually something simple like that–move a pebble, push a chair in, pick a single petal off a flower bloom. I never got to stick around long enough to see what would happen or what I was even responsible for., Though it was made clear that these tasks were vital or else I’d face the consequences. The tasks might get harder some time, maybe. I’m not particularly competent, nor will I act like I understand what I’ve done, or what I will continue to do. Who knows if I’d ever be trusted with some greater tasks. I really only concern myself with what I get from it.

I only concern myself with you.

In the distance I see someone storming this way, tentatively holding their folders together on their way somewhere they’ll be late to.

My watch stops buzzing, finally it’s time. I’ve waited an eternity for this.

I will see you soon, my love. I will see you again.