One Step Back

by Neel Murthy (12)

I used to pay no attention to the bees that flew by my ear; those with the audacity to approach me, the nerve to beat their wings with no regard for danger, the incredible poise to maintain that ever so dangerous proximity in the face of death, were no more than a band of buzzing idiots. This attitude was a deadly combination of the primal nature that I grew up with and the prideful culture that grew up with me. I never looked down. I only looked up. But in not looking down, I failed to notice the thinness of the ice that I was blissfully treading on. In not looking down, I sacrificed my only eyes for the pleasure of conceit; I made myself vulnerable to a world that was more than capable of putting me down.

Such a world was that of chess. So competitive, so unpredictable, with millions of hopeful players seeking to surpass one another on the globally renowned elo system, the realm of chess enticed new people like myself to become more involved in improving their skills. I began learning chess at a very young age, and after a few years, I discovered that I enjoyed it. At school, there were programs for kids to play chess games with each other after classes. It was at these programs that I realized I excelled at the game. Every day, I would play a few matches after school. One after another, opponents fell to me like brittle statues upon a hardwood floor. If I defeated an opponent who was much older than me, my self-confidence soared. In particular, a clever triumph against the widely respected Conrad Chan elevated my morale to the skies. Peculiarly, it remained there, and, in fact, kept rising. By the age of ten, my ego was inflated like a red hot-air balloon. Just one subtle prick of a needle would cause it to explode.

It was a rather tranquil afternoon when I traveled to San Francisco to compete in a chess tournament. This event would muster up many players from multiple areas across the bay. I had been to many tournaments prior to this occasion, but none of them approached the size of this one. The games would take place inside a lavish hotel, and they would continue until the evening, when the winners would be rewarded. I finally arrived and entered a finely-lit room. The sweet smell of luxury greeted me. Massive chandeliers hung from high ceilings like polished apples from trees. Intricate patterns covered the walls and bordered fancy abstract paintings. Circular lamps spanned the entire room, pointing straight down. All of the articles in the room seemed to communicate but one message: this is a big deal. Before me sat an abundance of wooden tables, and on top of those were chess clocks and chess boards, the two essential components of tournament play. Everything was prepared. Crowds of people thronged the room and were eagerly waiting for the games to begin. Indistinct chatter flooded the halls. I admired the room for a few more minutes until a call diverted my attention: the matchups for the tournament were assembled and posted for all to see.

The games were about to begin. I shuffled over to the door, where the matchup pairings were posted, and then to the board that was designated for my match and sat down. My opponent hadn’t arrived yet. As I waited, I began to speculate about the mystery person who would eventually sit across from me. Would he be near my age, or older? Brimming with confidence, I believed I could comfortably defeat any person around or below my age. I was in a jovial mood. After ten minutes, someone filled the seat in front of me. This mysterious entity that I was musing about was finally given a face.

It was a…little kid. My opponent was a young Asian-American boy who appeared to be either five or six years of age. Nothing seemed to make sense. Here I was, at the biggest tournament that I had ever been to, expecting insurmountable obstacles, formidable opponents, incredible challeng- es, and instead, I got…a little kid! It was unbelievable!

Frantic with emotion, I glanced over at the young boy once again. He was wearing a puffy, purple jacket and a tiny, plush hat, both only exacerbating my disdain toward him. From his backpack, he retrieved a small bottle of water and a pocket-sized notebook used to record the game. I didn’t bring a notebook. But my ego was soaring, and it was carrying my brain with it. I strongly felt I would comfortably win. However, the vanity, the pride, and the enmity added pressure to the catastrophic whirlwinds roaring in my head. On the other hand, the young boy seemed to emanate a very powerful air of nonchalance. His swift, cleancut motions and brief but sharp glances didn’t seem to affect that dark, stolid expression on his face. While my mind was bubbling with emotions and thoughts, this young fellow was as dignified as a cat, silently but vigorously asserting his presence toward me. How did he do it? I was in no mental state to figure it out. Just a few moments after he sat down, all of his materials were neatly arranged before him, and a pen rested in his hand, when he looked up at me and said in the most solemn voice, “Let’s begin.”

Once the clocks were properly set up, the game began quietly. At each turn, the boy would follow a certain procedure before moving a piece: he would first record in his notebook what he was going to do while placing his free hand side-

by Kiley Haberkorn (10)

ways like a wall to prevent me from catching a glimpse of his writing. Then, he would briefly pause and examine the board to avoid any costly mistakes. Once he was satisfied, he would raise his stubby arm, relocate the piece in question, and tap a button on the chess clock to signal the end of his turn. When it was my turn, I would calmly glance at the board for a second or two and emphatically move a piece of my own before hitting the clock. Then he would restart the process again — recording, perusing the board and then taking action — and I would once more follow suit and reply without delay. Back and forth we went. Not a single awkward movement, not a single uneven breath, and not even a single crooked glance would break the pattern. The pieces themselves danced about like ice skaters; they were far more entertained than the robots moving them. After the millionth repetition, an irregularity was detected. The game was in its middle stages, and the balance of power was beginning to shift.

By this point, I was astonished that the toddler was keeping with my pace. He wasn’t making any exploitable errors, and the grave countenance that he displayed did not make it seem like he was about to. The game was in a deadlock. I eventually convinced myself that I would have to employ a better strategy in order to defeat him. So after he completed one more iteration of his idiosyncratic procedure, I broke the pattern and studied the board in depth.

My mind visited every single square on that board like I was a representative and they were my loyal constituents. After a painstaking examination, a plan was constructed. It was a perfect plan. There was no stopping it — even an advanced challenger would struggle to counter it, so how would this infant last? I breathed a sigh of relief. I had figured it out. No meager little child could beat me. My mind returned to a peaceful state, and that hot-air balloon of confidence began to rise once more. A few moments later, I realized that I had been idling for the last five minutes while precious time was wasting away like flesh in a coffin. Immediately, I reached for a piece. It felt slippery in my small hands. Imperiously, I initiated my plan. Upon ending my turn, the boy looked up at me. That dour expression that he had worn for the longest time had vanished from his face, and in its place emerged a sly grin. Just the sight of it made me feel uneasy inside. I swallowed. The air tasted of salt. Moments later, the stern look reappeared and he looked back down at the board.

It was the kid’s turn to make a move. He surveyed the board for three seconds, and then, without hesitation, drove a knife right into the heart of my defense. In my entire lifetime, I had never been so confounded. How did he find a weakness? It couldn’t have been too obvious! Thoughts and emotions raced through my head as I was trying to compose myself and think of an answer to save my fate. All plans were out the window! In addition, all of the time that I had spent devising that elaborate plan left me very little time to fend for myself now!

I evaluated my options at a frenetic pace. Eventually I was able to settle on one to mitigate the consequences of my terrible blunder. But this move only opened up a gateway toward an even more deadly attack! The boy’s emphatic reply ripped apart the spineless covering of my fortresses and exposed a weak, vulnerable underbelly. His subsequent move disabled any useful movement and suspended any chances of saving the game. What was happening? Fear had seized control over my brain! Logic and Reason were nowhere to be seen! I was truly about to lose! Before I knew it, the boy unleashed a series of fatal attacks on my pieces. But he was no longer merely a young boy. His eyes shone with fiery thunder; his jacket morphed to solid metal; the apparition of Julius Caesar appeared before me! With one swift motion, Caesar surrounded me from the right. With another, he occupied the area on my left. When his turn arrived once again, he bridged the two areas by blazing a file right up the middle, effectively tightening the noose on his distraught victim! My opponent was stronger, smarter, and more alert than he had ever been before; I was a mere puddle of water, melting from the unbelievable fires surrounding me.

One move later, the young boy wrote two plus signs in his notebook, indicating that he was about to end the game. Then he paused for a second, inspected the board, and made his final move. Looking me square in the eye, he straightened up and proclaimed that universally dreaded word: “Checkmate.” Filled with fumes of acrimony and excitement, my hot air balloon of confidence finally exploded.

The impact of the blast extended far beyond the reaches of my young conscience. The once-towering bureaucracy of hubris that had governed my head since the moment I was born was incinerated to dust. What emerged was a new person, to whom it became clear that human nature extended far beyond superficial qualities — that within every human mind existed a new world with infinite complexities and wonders. From the ashes of despair, this new person had a newfound capacity for empathy and respect.

Nowadays, I spend a lot of time walking in the park. Frequently, I see wildlife in the gardens, including bees. As I watch a bumblebee glide from one plant to another, I don’t dismiss it as a mindless gnat. I see the courage of a hero, the resilience of a warrior, and a perpetual reminder of the man that I want to be.

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