I killed him. No wait, he killed me first. I killed him again and again and again. He smashed me. We didn’t stop. Frustration. Excitement. Fatigue.
He asked if we could just talk, now that we’ve damaged each other enough. He asked if we could relax. I asked him, do you want to talk about our dreary lives? About the work we do and how much we detest our monotony? About our dreams and our ambitions, which we hope take shape someday?
Your right he said, and continued to destroy me.
I laughed. Are you losing to a girl? He didn’t reply, patted my hand lovingly for a second, his eyes darted around and swung a blow.
We did it for 2 hours.
I won. But it was not easy. I felt bruised all over. We even altered our troupes so no lucky color would be a factor. I chose white twice and so did he. We got up and walked out of the café. Exhausted and refreshed. Tired and liberated.
I dunno how, but we always manage to re-invent our dates. But I’m sure the next time we play chess, it won’t be the same. The same hunger, sweat, blood and sweet intensity will always be reserved for the first time.