Fiction #3: Small As We Are

The window reveals the glow of the moon reflecting across the waters, painting streaks of pearly silver. The blanket of velvet is broken above. A flock of seagulls can be heard, fishing for their evening feast.

The wooden figurines are scattered across the table.

The room is empty, save for the man in front of me. He smells of a unique combination of musky cologne and the faint scent of coconut. Hazel eyes peep forth from his spectacles, and his face remains in deliberation.

I pine for the forgotten days of my youth, my mother’s roots stretching into the honeyed soil along the banks of the stream, nestled amidst the chorus of birds and the perfumes of wild strawberries and blackberry blossoms. Like a dandelion amidst a field of lavender, I feel as though I am seen as an unwanted thistle amidst a row of roses.

Leaning on the table, we peer over sixty-four squares, their black and white colors blurring into milky opal. I rub my sore eyes, stretch my aching arms, and let out a quiet yawn. Visions of checkmate bombard my mind.                

Look too quickly and you might miss me. Think too slowly and you might miss me. Who am I that someone would notice me, small and simple as I am?

My feet can feel the ground sway gently to the rhythm of the waves crashing quietly against the hull of the vessel. I feel small on this ship. I miss home. Why am I even here, bound for America? A floating palace of dreams and dreams gone by. I have to accept that we are immigrants, now.   

I am slid across the checkered ground.

He counters, gently, his hands moving his own wooden figures in a waltz. Listen, he seems to tell me. Don’t just think. Think ahead.

My eyes flit left in the direction of my compatriots. Most of them preoccupy their minds with visions of skewering his king and forking his rooks. Their eyes, fixed ahead to the other side, seem like pools of pride and vengeance. I feel alone. Yet the one in armor, the knight, nods at me, acknowledging my presence. I remember his words.

Like organs in a body, we must work and function as an entity of one. Dare we envy one another? Dare we compete with one another? If we are to find freedom in America, if we are to start anew from the pains of war left behind in our motherland, let us be patient, bearing with one another in love. Are we not all members of one body? Molded from the same, yet each of us unique. Each has a role. Each needs the other. We are in this together.

Small as we are, we matter.

Just as I reach the border of the board, the game is nearing the end. I stand, tiptoeing on the edge. What is beyond? But now, I am neither fearful nor afraid.

My eyes perceive a grin beneath his bearded chin. His fingers press the clock, the seconds ticking down, the hand swinging like a pendulum, and yet time stands still. I reach the edge.

I am transformed from a pawn into a queen. Sometimes I have to remind myself that I am spoken for, part of a story of mini galaxies, years of happiness and heartbreak compressed into a few hours over a black-and-white checkered board decked with wooden figurines.

My grandfather points outside the window. We have arrived.