Endgame
Free until they cut me down.
L I N K S
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“Nothing here to see. Just a kid like me.
Trying to cut some teeth. Trying to figure it out.”
– Figure It out, ROYAL BLOOD
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in character►
library►
cast►
discussion►
“Nothing here to see. Just a kid like me.
Trying to cut some teeth. Trying to figure it out.”
– Figure It out, ROYAL BLOOD
A N T H O N Y .
“When you see a good move, look for a better one.”
It was uncharacteristically hot in Seattle. The sun sat directly overhead of them as its golden rays perforated the thinly shaded cover of a maple tree in half-bloom, casting drifting shadows over an army carved from granite. It was the second hottest day in May on record for two years in a row since the nineteen-eighty-four high of eighty-eight Fahrenheit.
“Who said that, Alexander Alekine?” Anthony asked rolling a pawn between his fingers before it fell upright onto the board.
Despite the shade, Anthony’s t-shirt stuck to him with perspiration. His forehead glistened with sweat. But if he felt the heat, he didn’t show it. Instead, he sat casually in his seat spewing smoke from a Lucky Strike like a nineteen-eighty-one Toyota Tercel.
“Not a Russian,” the older man corrected, “a German chess player. Emmanuel Lasker.”
Henry sat across from him with his dark hands pursed around the top of an ivory cane. His chin was tilted towards a cerulean sky to direct the sounds of traffic into his “good” ear. He sat adjacent to the chess board rather than facing it to maintain a better orientation should he ever have need of an escape. But it was never really about needing an escape; chess only ever occupied half of his attention. The other half preferred to people watch – although “watching” wasn’t exactly the word Anthony would use to describe what Henry did, but “people hearing” wasn't exactly a conventional term.
“Yet another dead guy with unsolicited advice,” Anthony tsked, leaning back on the cement seat. Flicking the ash of a burning cigarette onto the stone pathway, he repositioned it to the corner of his mouth. “Pawn to D1. Check.”
The older man smiled amusedly; teeth a bony barricade in a shadowy landscape. “You’re in a foul mood. No customers for that five-finger discount you call a performance today?”
Anthony didn’t answer, but he made a face that billowed smoke; one that could be caricatured by a Chinese dragon and wouldn’t go unnoticed by his companion.
“Rook to D1. You saw her today, didn’t you?” Henry paused, arching a brow over the metal frame of his sunglasses. Without an ensuing answer, a quirk of his lip suggested he came to his own conclusion as he tapped the pad of his index finger against the handle of the walking stick. “I take it your silence means yes. When you’ve been blind for fifty-two years you pick up a thing or two. You know you’ve two choices: Continue lusting after a life that is no longer yours or move on. There was never anything in the rulebook about life being fair. You were dealt an unfortunate hand, but most people would know when to fold and wait for the next one.”
Collecting the cigarette from his mouth, Anthony disregarded the sour looks and gestures towards the non-smoking sign positioned directly overhead. “Look Rain Man, I don’t recall asking for any advice—and you’re not fifty-two. Knight to A2.”
“Bishop to C8.” Henry grinned again and realigned the walking stick between his knees. “Rain Man was autistic, not blind. And I wasn’t born this way, but I figured someone as astute of you would have figured that out. Did she know you were watching her?”
“She doesn’t know I exist, remember?”
“Sucking the marrow out of life doesn't mean choking on the bone.”
“Now you’re quoting Dead Poet Society?” The Drifter inspected him carefully. “You know that I have you. Queen to B3.”
"’Not so fast, Louis. Nobody is gonna be arrested. Not for a while yet.’ Queen to D7. Check."
“Seriously? Casablanca? Bishop to A2—”
“—Let me finish. Check. Mate.”
Anthony’s gaze fell to the board, and with a little reluctance and surrender, he toppled his king.
It wasn’t the first time he had been beaten by a blind man and certainly wouldn’t be the last given their prolonged history; nevertheless, it left a sour taste in his mouth that even the best hot dog stand in Seattle couldn’t quell.
He stood up, dropping the expired cigarette onto the ground and a few dollar bills onto the table between them.
“Don’t spend that all in one place.” The Drifter finally replied replacing the expired cigarette with a new one from a freshly opened pack.
Henry waited to collect the cast until he heard the flick of Anthony's lighter. “You know half the people in this park are from Seattle’s Cancer Care Alliance down the street. It specializes in lung cancer.”
“I know.” Anthony quipped. “Why do you think I’m smoking? Same time next week?”
Henry waved him off with a dismissive gesture. “Same time next week.”
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