The Chess Set (part 1 out of 3) resubmitted and reformatted

Everyone makes mistakes; some mistakes are easy t’ fix and others ain’t as easy. Then again, those fancy people called sociologists or whatever they’re called say that it’s natural for humans to make mistakes; they say that humans aren’t perfect. Believe it or not, this is pretty true; no one’s perfect. Anyways, who’d want to be perfect? If you’re perfect, you’re like a machine: emotionless because emotion drives people to do imperfect actions, without personality because that’s what makes everybody else not perfect, and a strange, physical body since it’s got to be perfect in every single viewpoint of every human being on this planet. But I’m not here to preach about perfection; (you should got to a priest or your parents for that) I’m here to talk about my life, and that’s what I’m going to do……

My life wasn’t very interesting to begin with. I was a good, little boy who kept his shirt tucked in, his mouth shut, and his report cards and records clean (enough). I was a hard worker back then, and opened one of the largest toy shops in town: Roland’s Land of Toys, Collectibles, and More. Yeah, yeah; pretty dumb-sounding name but then again, I didn’t have much creativity in my head to begin with.

I was successful; rollin’ in cash for the most part. I didn’t get a wife because I didn’t need one (who needs a wife when you have money?) Yet, after awhile, I got pretty lonely. And when the time came around, I made one stupid, god-damned, mistake which cost me my life.

When I said life, I didn’t mean that my mistake caused me to die. No, I was spared and left mercilessly on the cold streets to suffer. Once a well-respected store owner, I was reduced to your everyday tramp.

“Pardon me, ma’am, if you would be so kind to give me some money so that I can buy some food and-” That crazy woman screamed and hightailed away from me while pushing her stroller as fast as her skinny legs could travel before I could finish my begging. She turned around the street corner screaming, “If you come near my baby, my husband is going to kick your raggedy-bottomed ass!”

“Sheesh, I thought ladies were well-brought up,” I sighed to no one in particular. Rule number one of the hobo: no one pays any attention to you when you’re talking because they think you’re some kind of a loon who’s talking to some hallucinations. Believe me; I wasn’t any loon. “She could have at least to have the courtesy of dropping a few pennies into my hat before taking off.”

“Mrs. Silverstein is pretty hysterical when it comes to tramps,” a young, female voice replied. “It really wasn’t your fault.” I turned around and spotted a pretty girl. She had chestnut hair and eyes that sparkled with curiosity and wonder. A backpack was slung on one shoulder. I figured she was about in her late teens, somewhere around seventeen, perhaps.

“You wouldn’t want to be associating with folks like me,” I told her hastily. This girl seemed well-brought up and the last thing I wanted was someone to think that I was mugging the girl. “Folks like me are pretty wild and dangerous, especially around the full moon,” I added, imitating a werewolf’s howl and growling savagely.

The girl laughed and I then noticed that she was holding two textbooks in her arms. “According to scientific research, hoboes’ behaviors have absolutely nothing to do with the full moon.” She laughed in a childish manner. “Besides, I don’t think you’re of the dangerous sort. I bet you’re tender-hearted towards kids, aren’t you?”

I snorted derisively. “You ain’t no kid; that’s for sure.”

“That depends on the way you look at it.” The girl tilted her head. Her eyes seemed to penetrate my head and I looked away, feeling uncomfortable.

“Don’t you have somewhere to go, miss?” I asked, trying to avoid her eyes. “Pretty lass like you shouldn’t be wanderin’ the streets.”

“Aw….have you got something against innocent pedestrians?” The girl asked teasingly.

“If I didn’t make a mistake in my younger years, I wouldn’t be sitting here with your smart-talking mouth right now,” I snapped moodily. “I might be one of the innocent pedestrians right at this very moment, strolling down the sidewalk with nary a care in the world…”

“You made a mistake?” The girl was all ears. “What did you do?”

“It ain’t important,” I grunted. “Now, go run off to school.”

“It’s three fifteen right now,” the girl informed, checking her watch. “School’s out. I’d like to know what you did wrong.”

I waved my hand dismissively. “It ain’t a pretty tale. Anyways, it ain’t right listening to old, crazy coots like me.”

The girl wouldn’t give up. She seated herself beside me. “I don’t think that you’re a crazy, old coot. Now tell me your story. I like stories.”

I was rather reluctant. “You sure? It ain’t like those stories like Finderella and Beeping Weauty. My story doesn’t have a happy ending.”

“It’s Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty,” the girl corrected me.

I sighed. “Didn’t your folks teach you not to talk to strangers?”

“What’s your name, then?” The girl asked.

I shrugged. “Myers Roland; I used to own one of the largest toy stores in town.”

The girl’s eyes focused intently on me. “Tell me how you became a beggar,” she intoned firmly.

I heaved an exhausted sigh and began my story.

(Part 2 coming up soon!)