by Drew Knapp

Created on: March 15, 2010

THE BATTLE FOR CUTLER PARK

The woman died three days ago today.

“It’s euphoric,” she said the first time I met her.  “There is something so comforting about being able to wage a ferocious war, sacrifice everything, and then simply shake hands when the battle is done.”

That was in late March.  The trees in the park were growing stronger, shaking off the last of the winter snow.  It was my first week in the city and I was on lunch break.  A walk in the park to escape the hustle and bustle of a new office job.  A nice peaceful place to eat my bologna sandwich and banana yogurt.  These were the things I was looking for.  What I found in the park that day was a gladiator.

She called to me from the right side of the path.  “White or black?”

I stopped on the path to look at her.  Her strong voice masked her frailty.

“White or black?” she said again.

I had no answer for the woman, but I was alone and hungry and I hadn’t found a better place to eat yet. 

I shrugged.  “White.”

She was seated at a small square table.  It was made of stone, as were the two seats on opposing sides.  As I left the path and moved towards her the question of colors became clear.  The table was topped with a black and white checkerboard.  Eight squares by eight, alternating black and white.  A myriad of pieces stood at attention at each end of the board.  Knights, bishops, rooks, pawns, queen, king, they were all there, standing boldly at attention in the afternoon sun. 

I sat down behind the white soldiers.

“This is a beautiful chess set ma’am.”

She smiled, piano teeth under sun-cracked lips. 

“Welcome to the battlefield,” she said.  “Are you prepared?”

I looked across the table at this woman who I’d never met before, suddenly challenging me to wage war against her in the park.  Her skin was weathered and wrinkled like scored leather.  Her eyes were sunken in but they sparkled as if she knew something she was keeping from you.  The skin crinkled beneath them and furrowed along her cheeks and forehead.  A bright scarf held back her white hair.  It was beautiful, a mixture of blues and greens that swirled and ran together, dolphins fading into birds and back to dolphins.  It reminded me of the March weather.

“I assume you know the game?”

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