Pumpkin Spice Chess

Pumpkin spice latte runnels are swirling around the inner regions of my body as my mind floats down the lazy river propelling me towards the end of the work week.

It is Wednesday and after 3 days of interrupting, obnoxious students; spontaneous, pointless meetings; and brain-crunching planning and prepping, I could use a respite.

The Borders Books and Music in which i am reading my Herman Hesse novel is teeming with animated men and one woman playing chess. These ragtag folks are shouting in excitement as they move their pieces and ponder said moves. A man in a white turtleneck, white hat, and windbreaker screeches in an Italian-American accent that could hail from Queens. A large black gentleman with a James Earl jones voice and the whitest eyes I have ever seen, clad in a brown cowboy hat, plays a disheveled man with a cement-mixing company's t-shirt tucked into his jeans. An athletic man in mesh shorts, the youngest person here, plays a middle-aged man wearing a black sweatshirt over a dress shirt and shorts, who said he didnt make it to Port Jeff library today because he finally found work.

I am intrigued by this group who is so involved in the game, one which is so intimately personal, yet surprisingly social. They know each other and talk about Borders chess players past like Charlie who's now out at the reservation texting the turtlenecked man from Queens, "I'm surrounded by happy brown men."

I am comforted by this group who makes me forget about Ben, who has been calling out and making wisecracks in class like it's his job. Or Karl and Brendan asking the most asinine questions like "Does 'odyssey' mean peanuts?" and interrupting our discussion with the faithfully annoying, "Can I throw my garbage out?" I know, at least he asked. Then there's Krystal, who seems to forget that I hate the question, "What're we doing today?"

Yet, these nuisances have driven me out of the house, and fate has lead me here to the Bohemia Borders to observe the fine people before me.

There has been a lull in the conversation--just some quiet, nervous chuckling amid the inner pondering--ever since the lone woman said, "Well, life is short!"

Her opponent, apparently losing at the moment, said, "That's true."