Originally Written: Sep 23, 2007

Edited: Sep 21, 2025

Morning’s gentle breath nudged the damp, sleeping grass awake and stirred faint ripples in a small duck pond. Oblivious to the wind, a black Bentley pulled up in front of the old café on Jefferson Street. For a moment it lingered in stillness, then the driver’s side door opened, and a grey-haired man emerged. Closing the door, his back fixed in a rigid upright position, he stiffly moved toward the little cabin-like building before him. Each step he took rang painfully audible in the quiet lull of the young day, his finely polished black shoes clacking noisily on cobbled stone. 

Pausing a moment before the brass handled doors, he took a second to view his surroundings. His bespectacled eyes followed the short white fence that wrapped around the side of the building to a small outdoor seating area covered by a blue awning. For a moment longer, his gaze wandered and then settled upon a smiling bear. It stood beside a small tree stump just outside the front door of the café, right arm beckoning for a companion to pull up a seat. 

So long ago, she had been there. His mind replayed the scene. 

A young girl fumed. Her dark hair, pulled into a ponytail, whipped about as she shook her head fiercely. She stood upon the stump, hazel eyes full of fury. A visage contorted into a wrinkled frown and an odious glare directed at the entire world defined her appearance. While her mother leaned close, attempting to calm the storm, her father stood by camera in hand. If he was hoping to capture a special moment, he seemed skeptical that things would go his way. Not too far away, a married couple and their young son lingered, apparently amused by the scene.  

The girl’s mother whispered something to her. She turned her gaze to the young boy, who shyly slid behind his own mother, hiding all but a portion of his dirty blond hair. “William, would you like to have your picture taken with Ara?” 

The boy did not answer. He probably thought silence would shield him, but it served him poorly as a protector. “Will, go and stand next to Ara so you can get your picture taken,” said his mom. Will's face blushed bright pink and he clung more tightly to her skirt, shaking his head in protest.  

“William Christopher Wright, if you aren’t the biggest baby. You go on over there.” 

Will continued his wordless protest. Exasperated, his mother forced the issue and lifted him into position. He had been bested, and he knew it. But being forced to stand there did not mean he had to like it—nor would he smile. When he twisted his face into a look of pain and disgust, his companion suddenly brightened. Seeing this, he scowled more resolutely. 

Will’s father edged over to Ara’s, who was holding the camera to his face. “Typical female. Got someone there to suffer along with her, so now she can be happy.” 

“Ain’t it the truth,” said Ara’s dad out of the corner of his mouth. 

Ara’s mother looked at them and smiled. “What was that?” 

“Nothing, honey,” said her husband. He ever so briefly lowered the camera, revealing thick rimmed glasses and an innocent expression 

“I thought so.” She returned her attention to the children. “Now, both of you make sure to smile.” 

The flash of the camera washed out the scene, and when Will’s vision returned, he was once again standing in front of the café. With a grunt, he pulled open the door and slipped into the building. 

Inside, a welcoming sizzling buzzed in his ears and the smell of bacon grease filled his nostrils. Old wooden boards groaned beneath his feet as he walked into the seating area. He waved off the girl who shot forward to direct him to a booth. Stepping slowly, he stopped beside a table where an old black man rested with his elbows on the table. He was dressed in khaki pants and a white golf shirt, a well-worn beret perched on top of his head. Before him lay a wooden box. He did not look up at Will but seemed instead to be pondering a deep thought that demanded his full attention. Without speaking, Will mechanically eased his thin, wiry frame into the booth across from this man. 

Only the man’s large eyes moved. They rested on Will, who reflexively straightened his Armani suit. “Been a long time since you set foot on this side of the tracks. I’d ask how you were, but I’ve had my fill of reading about the great William Wright in the papers.” His tone blended admiration and contempt. “Hell, the walls are covered with the stuff.” 

Looking around, Will could see the statement was true. The café walls were plastered with newspaper clippings, many of which focused on the various details of his career and economic ascendance. He scanned them out of the corner of his eye, as though indifferent to what they represented. 

Will’s gravelly voice rang with clarity. “Not like I put them there, Jack. For Christ’s sake.” He clenched his jaw and shook his head. “Now that we’ve gotten me out of the way, I might as well ask how you’ve been.” Jack sat quietly, apparently waiting for more. “Well, how have you been, you old bastard?” 

“I didn’t know you cared,” Jack scoffed. “Oh, I’ve been alright. Living life. Margaret got sick a couple years back. Still runs this place, though, when she can. Not here yet.” He removed his cap for a moment to scratch his head. “I thought I told you to dress casual. You look like you’re waiting for the Hearse to show up.” 

Will shrugged. “I’m old. This is old man casual.” 

Jack cracked a little smile. “However you want it. I suppose you know why I asked you down here?” 

“I have my guesses,” Will said with feigned confidence. He hadn’t the slightest idea. 

Raising his eyebrows, Jack turned to face Will straight on. “So, you don’t know.” He sighed. “Really don’t surprise me, I guess. Corporate bigwigs got a lot of things they got to do, I suppose. Still… don’t you read the papers, Will?” 

“Only the important parts. So, what’s going on? Why did I cancel all of my appointments?” 

“Your job all you think about?” He paused. “Never mind, I know the answer. If I had a wife like yours, I’d probably be the same way.” 

“Mrs. Wright, mind you, has a lot of positive qualities.” Will began to crack a smile then seemed to forget how. “But I’ll be damned if I know what they are. Anyway, enough of her. Why am I here, damn it?” 

“I guess you and me got different priorities these days—probably have for a long while.” Jack stroked the stubble on his chin. “Pains me to do it, but I’ll tell you. Ara died about two weeks ago. They held a nice little service for her. Buried her over on Seventh Avenue. I would have let you know sooner, but…” 

Will’s stoic expression strained to show emotion. His mind seemed to be trying to remind his muscles how to behave, and his movements assumed an awkward quality as his emotions battled with hardened mechanical mannerisms. Moisture gathered in the corners of his eyes, forcing him to blink. “So, she’s gone?” he croaked. “How?” 

“Cancer.” 

“Why didn’t she ever— She could have said something. Someone could have.” His voice was colored with an accusatory tinge, even though he knew deep down he had made this an impossibility—had isolated himself from everything and everyone but his work. 

“I’m sorry. I figured you’d know. I mean, she meant so much to you.” 

“What the hell would you know about it?” Will’s soul had turned suddenly cold; it surprised even him. Not knowing how to feel or what to think, he rose abruptly to his feet and strode out the door. Jack never moved. If not for the Bentley’s appearance on Jefferson Street, the entire scene could have been a painting. 

Will drove. He let the wheel, the road, and his thoughts overtake him. Here he was, seventy years old, behaving as though he were seventeen. 

A strange kind of surprise washed over him when he came to the realization that he had parked his car in a gravel lot across from a small playground. Seeing it now, he could not believe the place still stood. Somehow, even while the city had grown around it—just as with the old café on Jefferson—little here had been altered. While so many things had changed, these bits of his past had been left untouched. Harsh memories pointing to a cold truth.  

Will’s eyes remained open, but he did not see. The dusty earth flitted about his legs as swings caught by the same gust swayed back and forth. Monkey bars and seesaws at the edge of his vision were removed by the internal workings of his mind. He began to weep as memories pierced him like a thousand stingers. 

***      

A group of junior high school boys from the neighborhood surrounded a pair of figures huddled on the ground. Will straddled the crossbar of his bicycle and laughed with the rest of them at the pathetic creatures before him. 

Pete, the leader of the gang, kicked dirt at the gang’s victims. “Hey, so are you guys really gay? I mean, your last name is gay, man. Get it?” His laughter echoed seemingly for miles. 

Andrew, the more courageous of the two brothers, sprang to his feet. “It’s spelled G-O-E-M-A-N-N, you stupid jerk!” he screeched. “And if you don’t go away, I’m going to tell my grandma!” 

Vainly, he kicked at the tire of one of the boys’ bikes, missed, and fell back to the ground. An even greater roar arose from the crowd. Then, suddenly, one of the boys tipped off his bike, screaming and clutching his forehead. As Will turned to look, he felt something rush past his head. He whirled around barely in time to see another of his friends suffer the same fate. Two good sized stones lay on the ground in the boys’ midst. 

Will knew instantly who was behind it. The stones kept coming. Pete fled after the collapse of a third lackey, and the rest of the boys quickly followed suit. Andrew and his little brother, Eric, saw the chance to escape and darted from the scene. 

Will, however, stayed. For many years after, he seriously wondered why.  

Ara emerged from behind a house adjacent to the playground, every inch of her exuding anger. She was upon Will in a matter of seconds. At first, he stood still. Perhaps he had been expecting her to applaud him for staying. She did not. 

Bicycle and boy crashed to the ground, compliments of a swift right hook from Ara. Will, dumbfounded, scrambled to his feet. His stammering apologies proved hopeless under the relentless attack. All he could do was weather the storm. And even though she never tied enough words together to be intelligible, her laser stare spoke volumes. Will watched her walk away in silence. That was the last day he rode with Pete’s gang. 

Will’s mind left the scene and entered another. 

Now, years later in the same park, Will and Ara sat together on the merry-go-round. 

“Can’t believe we go to college next year, can you?” said Will, slowly spinning the carousel with his foot. 

Ara shook her head. “No, not really. Remember when we were little?” 

“I remember you beating the crap out of me in the sixth grade.” 

“I did not!” A smile replaced her feigned look of indignity. “Well, you deserved it.” 

“Uh huh. Probably lost brain cells because of you. Plus, you scarred my self esteem for life.” 

“Yeah, yeah, Mr. Harvard. It really shows.” 

Will’s smile faded as the merry-go-round stopped with a squeak. “I wish my mom could see me. I… I always wanted to thank you for being there for her.” 

“She’s watching somewhere out there.” Ara smiled at him, eyes glistening. “You know, Will, I’m going to miss you when you go. Maybe you can come visit sometime?” 

Will laughed. “Of course. Not like I’m going to war or anything. Besides, you’re hopeless without my genius to guide you, to light your path, and to reveal the folly of your ways.” His assumed posh accent showed signs of polish. 

Ara rolled her eyes. “Self-esteem issues. Definitely.” 

“Seriously, though, I’ll miss you too. A lot.” 

Will’s stomach, the boy and the man, fluttered as Ara kissed him. 

*** 

The sun had climbed high overhead by the time Will returned to his car. Hours alone had done him good, shades of the past easing his mind. He resolved to return to the café and finish his dealings with Jack. When he got out of the Bentley this time, his stride seemed to have regained some of its long-lost vigor. He spotted Margaret, who had come in late. She motioned toward the café’s back door. Will stepped through it and walked onto the little private deck that stood over the duck pond below. 

Jack was seated at a small table covered by an umbrella. An unfinished game of chess lay before him. Will recognized the chess set as the same wooden box Jack had with him earlier that morning. “We figured you’d be back, just weren’t sure quite when. Have a seat.” 

“Much obliged.” Will plopped into the chair and examined the arrangement of the chess pieces. “You always play with yourself?” 

“Too old for that.” 

Will chuckled. “You know what I mean.” 

“Yeah. Nobody else can keep up. Old folks are too blind, middle folks are too busy, and young folks just play video games.” 

“I was always a fair hand at chess, but I can’t stand it. Too slow. It, I mean. Not me.” 

Jack nodded. “I seem to remember that. Well, to be honest, I got a bit of a quandary settin’ here. Look at the whites and tell me what you would do, Will. The way I see it, we got two choices. What you think?” 

Will studied the board for a moment. “I guess that’s about right.” Silence grew heavy before he abruptly shattered it. “See, now that’s the problem with this damned game! A decisive man can go crazy wondering if he chose right. There are too many variables. Checkers for me. Simple and to the point. More like life.” 

“That so?” asked Jack sardonically. “Makes a guy wonder.” 

“Sure. I mean, take my life for example. I chose what I wanted, I went out and took it, and I’ve never looked back.” He had looked back, though. All the time. 

He barely heard Jack say, “I see.” Memories blanketed his entire being once again. 

Ara and Will sat at one of the small tables inside the café. It had seemed to them both a fitting place for a reunion. 

She was beaming. “We’ve heard so much about you over the years, Will. I missed you! Are you home to stay?” 

Will nodded. “I’ll be head of R&D at Gordon.” 

“You’re pretty young for something like that aren’t you?” 

“Yep. Impressive, huh?” 

Ara sniggered. “Guess it doesn’t hurt that you’re practically engaged to the boss’s daughter. That’s what I’ve heard anyway. It’s true, isn’t it?” 

Will shrugged. “Yes and no. There’s nothing formal yet. It’s not like I’ve sold my soul or anything.” He held up his left hand. “See, no ring.” 

“Oh. Well, that’s good.” She smiled. 

“I think so. I’m free for awhile, at least.” He paused before adding, “I just hope that when I do decide to enslave myself that I pick the right one. Know what I mean?” 

“I think so. I’m sure you’ll find the right path in life, Will.” 

From that day, their entire relationship had been a series of missed chances. Had he found his path and stupidly turned his back on it? 

As he sat in the late afternoon sun with Jack, Will pondered the question. “Do you think I chose right, Jack?” 

“What?” 

“Do you think I chose the right path in life?” 

“How would I know? All I can tell you, Will, is that the road and the car you drive matter a whole lot less than getting where you want to be.” He said no more. 

Will considered this for a time, then pushed himself to his feet. “I think it’s time I was going. See you around, Jack.” 

“Wait a second. Take this.” Jack handed him a small envelope. “Go and see her, Will. You owe her that.” 

Will nodded and swept past Margaret. “Later, Marge.” 

“Bye, Will.” Margaret stood looking at Jack and glancing at the chess board in a questioning way long after the purr of the car engine faded to nothingness. “Did he… Does he still…?” 

Jack hung his head. “Now more than ever.” 

*** 

The cemetery harbored a surreal quality in the orange glow of the setting sun. Will followed the directions Jack had given him and soon found himself stooped over Ara’s resting place. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he read the name inscribed on the simple metal plate cemented above her grave. He mulled over the events of the day. This is why he hated chess. Play the game, and you inevitably lose something. Every victory comes at a cost. After all that living, he still proved indecisive at the most pivotal moment. Life had proven more like chess than he liked to admit—had foiled him in his victory. 

His sobs only grew as darkness snuffed out the sun. I just wanted you to know, Ara, that I’m sorry. The fork in the road led two ways, no more and no less. A choice was demanded. He had chosen the surer of the two. Easy made sense then, made sense even now. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t have the courage to risk it. But look at all that I’ve become.” 

As Jack had said, only two options existed. Will had seen it from the start, just as he had seen it in his youth. Save the queen or let her go. A sure win or a gamble. 

Logical to the core, he had married the boss’s daughter. Pure reason. 

No one could blame him. I blame myself. What he had abandoned, though, tortured him the most. She didn’t slip through my fingers, I let go. Remembering the envelope, he opened it and took out a small object with a piece of paper wrapped around it. His sobs ebbed to silence as his eyes scanned the words written there: “Loving wife, cherished mother, and giving soul.” 

All that I’ve become! He wept in silent solitude as he placed a queen of white upon cold metal.