Young Writers Society

For a little while now, I've been thinking about getting a tattoo. I've never gotten one before, never even considered it until now. 

It would be something small: the silhouette of a rook, the chess piece. It would be line art, I think, and I'd put it on the inside of one of my fingers on my right hand. Partly because that's the hand I use to move pieces across the board, and partly because it will make it more difficult for my mom to notice. I've just been pretty nervous since I've been told that tattoos on the finger hurt a lot. 

But also, I'm not the best chess player in the world. I learned how to play chess by watching my older brother play my dad. They were sitting at the kitchen table. My older brother cupped his chin with his hand while his elbow rested on the edge of the table. My dad sat across from him, hands in his lap as he studied the board.

I asked for a turn, and so I played my dad afterward. He taught me the rules. 

There are six pieces in chess:

The pawns, which do exactly as their name suggests, are used to fulfill another purpose, even if that means sacrificing themselves.

The bishops, one white squared and the other black squared, move diagonally as far as they wish, as long as there are no other pieces in their way. 

The knights, which bear the image of a horse, move in 'L' shapes. One, two, and over. That's how they move. They're the only pieces that can move over other pieces without needing to take them first. 

Each player gets one queen, which is the most valuable piece on the board. The queen can move in any direction she wants, so long as there are no other pieces in the way. 

The king, the target of the game, can only move one square at a time. 

My dad held the piece to show me. He told me, "Chess is a fair game. You aren't allowed to make a move that lets you lose."

The king cannot move into a space where he can be taken. 

And then there's the rooks. The rooks move horizontally and vertically, but they start in the corner of the board. So generally, they don't get to move until closer to the end of the game. 

One day, I played a match against my dad. Using my knight, I attacked both his rook and his bishop at the same time. I thought for sure he would move his bishop away. But to my surprise, he moved the castle to safety, and I took the bishop instead. 

I asked him why. Why let me have the bishop? I saw the bishop as the more valuable piece. The rooks took so long to get into action, that I rarely used them if at all. 

And my dad told me, "I'd rather lose my bishop than my rook."

I asked him why again.

"The rook is my favorite piece."

He won that day, of course. 

As I developed as a chess player, I thought about that a lot, starting to see the rook through a new lens. My dad and I played a lot of chess as I grew up. Usually, he won the matches, but sometimes I would get lucky if he blundered. 

And it was always exciting to beat my dad at chess, at anything really. My dad was never the type of person to take it easy on you. So, winning was always real. 

The last time I played chess against my dad was on October 18th. I put my chess set in the trunk of my old car and drove downtown. I parked in the parking garage, took the chess board out of my trunk and walked into the building. I checked in at the front desk, put on a mask, and let the ladies put a guest wristband around my wrist that still had three others from the days before. 

I went up the elevators to the fourth floor. I walked down the hall to get to the Oncology Wing. The rest of my family members were already there in my dad's room. I asked him if he wanted to play chess. We played three times. And I won each time, even after letting my dad take back moves. 

It wasn't fair like it was supposed to be. I shouldn't have won. He was better than me. I wasn't lucky. 

I don't know what is worse; that the last time we played chess was in a hospital room or that we will never get to play chess again.

I don't think a tattoo could hurt that much.