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They sat across from each other, playing chess. The scene would be some kind of coffee shop, some place that sells coffee and maybe some little snacks; the bread and cheese variety. A place that uses lots of neutral colors and earth tones in its décor, grays and browns and shades of gray and shades of brown. They were sitting across from each other, playing chess, in this little coffee shop.
‘QKtxB7+’
One of them, the one whose story we are telling, stared at the board for a long time. He searched for moves mentally, scanning the playing field back and forth. His eyes bounced and jerked and twitched inside his head before he finally grabbed his Queen, not with his fingertips, but with his whole hand.
‘I have to use the bathroom’
He pushed his chair away from the table but when he stood up his shirt, maybe his knee; something caught the corner of the chessboard and knocked it to the floor. The sound was like dumping a box of nails onto concrete in a garage. Pieces rolled underneath the table, underneath other tables, all across the floor. Still holding the Queen in his fist he looked down and walked away, not towards the bathroom, he walked outside, got in his car and drove away.
~
‘Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.’
He would often get drunk and quote scripture at her. Nothing too Bible-intensive, mostly things he had heard on T.V. or things that had been once told to him. His tone was filled with venom and hate, like he wanted to convince her she was worthy of a spot in hell if she wouldn’t listen to him and confess her sins.
‘The truth will make you free.’
He spit the words at her. Standing in his living room, her living room, he was above her. He was above everything else, above the law; both man and nature, but never did he consider himself above Gods law. She would yell back at him but he never heard her. Her voice droned into the background, on the same level as the television turned up too loud and the alarm clock set to the wrong time going off in the next room. It was all a terrible sort of elevator muzak, like a backup band playing behind him. He rarely made sense to her, or anyone else except himself.
‘Bear one another’s burdens…’
She yelled something back, but he never heard what it was. He stood there screaming broken lines from the Book of Job at the door for at least half an hour after she walked out.
~
It was late and cold outside, and he was young. The trees let barely enough lite from the moon through to see where you were walking. He thought he might have been lost; there were no streets that he could see. His body ached and his head throbbed. His knuckles were covered in dried blood. He had been wondering for at least 3 hours, ever since they all ran and the cops showed up. He had run out of the parking lot, where he got the strength to run is unknown, climbed over a fence and kept running until he was completely out of breath. Then he walked. He walked in the same direction that he had run in, further and further from where he had been. Now it was late and he was lost. He continued to walk until he came to a little ditch, bigger than a ditch, maybe a little creek. There was an old wooden bridge a few feet to his left. It was old and falling apart and he stopped and sat at the end of it. Tired. Cold. He dug through his pockets and found a lighter; the old dead leaves caught fire surprisingly quickly. Tired. Warm. He backed away from his little campfire and held his head in his hands and closed his eyes. Maybe he fell asleep for a few minutes or maybe it was quite a few minutes or maybe it all happened instantaneously, but the fire had spread to the little bridge and it was burning; a bright yellow orange red blue burning. He lifted his head to see the fire and beyond it, maybe half a mile he could see a road. Calmly, he walked away from the fire on the little bridge and towards the road that would take him home.
~
They hadn’t moved in quite awhile. Laying there, just laying there. Sit up. Good. No, no. Lay back down. Let’s not get out of bed today. Ok, lets not.
~
Young people make stupid choices. That’s a requirement of being young. Save for a car accident or a bullet traveling at very high speeds, young people one day become old people. There isn’t much of a middle ground. Go to bed one nite young, wake up the next morning old. Every time you tell a lie an angel loses its wings and baby Jesus cries. Regrets. Karma comes around two times. Lennon might have said it best. Everyone regrets something. Some things. Everyone.
~