He knew when he sat down that morning that he would be limping home later with deep red hickeys on his behind from the wide slats in the bench, but a man his size becomes used to that sort of thing. Benjamin held his hat in his hand and arranged his linen jacket around him as he sat down, breathing in short puffs and fanning himself with the brim of the white Panama. The sun was not fully as high as the phone wires at the edge of the park, and he was the first to arrive.

The benches were placed around chipped and scarred concrete tables, much like booths in a diner, and Benjamin’s fingers were sure and practiced as he arranged his section; clock to the far right and centered exactly between the two benches, board perfectly centered, score sheet pad just to the left and precisely aligned with the edge of the table, this position would later be adjusted to directly line up with the pad of his opponent. Benjamin preferred to keep his pencil in his pocket until needed. Beside the pad, it seemed to look precarious and untidy.

Though Benjamin left the rest of the pieces safely inside their felt-lined compartments, he gently lifted one from the bag and traced its lines with a thick, manicured finger. The piece was weighted, and despite its age, the set had been well oiled and maintained a deep, sable gloss. Curling his toes inside his polished shoes in the utter enjoyment of his rook, Benjamin looked up to find that a small group of ragged figures had begun to fill the surrounding tables.

Chess players are not social, nor are they usually very dapper, but they are punctual, and more than one preliminary game had begun. From his carefully chosen vantage point, Benjamin watched a slope shouldered man in a tattered yellow cardigan castle against a tall, reedy boy with finger-less gloves. To a passer by, the two men would appear vacant, dirty, and ill-mannered, and each of them was all of these things. Benjamin allowed a pinched smile behind his hat brim as the elder player cleaned his ear with his fingers. The player’s name was Davis Petrolovski, and his rating was well over 2700, ranking him International Master. Benjamin did not immediately recognize the younger of the pair, but he noted the man’s heavy sweater, despite the heat, and could surmise that the greasy paper bag at his feet contained most of what he currently valued.

The remaining faces were at least familiar, for chess tournaments make for small circles of travel. Benjamin’s survey of the area revealed three scruffy Grand Masters, a couple of hollow-eyed speed-chess hustlers, and one blank-faced Chinese girl. The girl was silently pressing one of the Masters into a position of weak defense as her mother sat beside her, small feet dangling above the grass, knitting something from a gigantic shopping bag.

Taking note of the wisdom of the child’s position, Benjamin wondered if the girl had seen the advantage of having her back to the trees, able to view neighboring games, or if her mother had chosen it simply to keep the midmorning sun off her daughter’s shiny black braids.

When his own opponent arrived, Benjamin did not immediately look up. Instead, hands below the table, he continued rubbing his thumb along the ridges of a pawn as he carefully raised his eyes and assessed the fellow across the board.

The youth’s scrawny chest was bare except for some sort of shell on cording around his neck and he was presently sucking on the straw of an enormous 7-11 cup. Over shaggy curls, he wore a purple cap and the bill had been turned to face backwards. He carried over one shoulder what appeared to be a pink T-shirt and a grungy white backpack.

Thirst apparently satisfied, the boy lowered his drink to the table top and pushed it to one side, nearly toppling the stainless steel chess clock into the grass below and leaving a shiny trail of water on the gray table. He smiled then, revealing brilliant, even teeth as he began digging in his bag and pulling out random, plastic pieces.

“I lost one white knight last year, but I just scrounged a replacement piece from my buddy and it works out great.” The boy grinned and slid a small, tan action figure across the board towards Benjamin, “Its Yoda, he’s the wisest of the wise.” He finished with a small chuckle.

Stunned, Benjamin quickly returned the clock to its previous symmetry and assured the boy in clipped tones that he had a perfect, and complete, set of pieces. From his own leather case, Benjamin removed the roster that had been mailed to him weeks ago and checked the name of his adversary, Brent Robertson. Noting the fat man’s hands, the boy nodded, dug more deeply into the bag and pulled out his own crumpled copy.

“You’re Ben Brooks, right?” A thick silver ring glinted from the thumb of the hand thrust over the board.

Benjamin ignored the hand, as well as the name, and glanced wildly around for someone in authority to announce this obvious mistake and arrange for his proper partner. Seeing that all of the other players had paired and begun, Benjamin knew that he had no choice but to play against this ungainly child. He dropped his head in disgust.

Seemingly oblivious of the slight, the boy continued brightly, “Says here you’re pretty good. We should have an awesome game then. I been studying.” The goofish grin glowed brightly against the golden cheeks and Benjamin was struck for a second by the simple beauty of the young man before the words returned that acid tightness to his own ample belly. Benjamin knew that there was no hope for a quality game with the upstart boy and resigned himself with a petulant, wheezing sigh as he centered each of the pieces in its square.

Because the tournament did not specify, Benjamin set up the pieces so that he was the white player, and after sliding his King’s pawn two spaces, the metallic thump of the clock showed that he had hit it with far more force than necessary. Though the play had begun, the boy continued his animated enjoyment of each and every move, bobbing his head to silent music and nodding admiringly as Benjamin deftly claimed more of the board.

As the board began to clear, Benjamin pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his reddening face. The trees around their clearing cast no shadows now, and he noted that the Chinese woman had fallen asleep and snored lightly against the back of the bench. His own board was beginning to shape up, for Benjamin had known that the boy would be a frivolous player and he had chosen a simple opening that would allow him to lead the game to a quick victory. Benjamin even allowed himself a smirking return of his opponent’s smile after he had sacrificed his queen and the boy had happily taken the bait.

Despite his obvious advantage, Benjamin continued to absently rub at the burning in his belly. So very insulted by the mere presence of this opponent, Benjamin knew that his only hope for relief was to humiliate the boy, proving his superiority, and figuratively slapping the happy grin from his face. His own shiny, mottled face broke into a broad grin when he imagined the boy slinking away, with neither smile nor pride. Watching the golden youth thoroughly delight in his own clumsy attempts at the game made Benjamin hate him, to want to perhaps strike him. Yes, Benjamin realized as he saw the angry half moons his clenched fists had carved into his palms, he wanted to hurt the boy.

Momentarily lost in his growing purple rage, Benjamin absently eased his rook into position, and only too late realized that the boy had not followed the script that Benjamin had written for the match, and the boy’s Queen only had to advance slightly to destroy all that Benjamin had built.

Benjamin pulled clumsily at his collar and again wiped his face, drawing a great hiss of a breath as the fiery sun’s rays reflected rainbows off the silver ring on the boy’s thumb. He beheld in dumb disbelief, as the lean hand hovered briefly before pulling the black Queen into her place.

As white flashes of light began to dance in front of Benjamin’s eyes, his throat closed and the flat roaring in his ears drowned out the softness of the boy’s voice as he quietly declared a checkmate, and his own victory. Benjamin’s final thoughts were of the injustice of such an unworthy adversary, and as his massive body slumped down on the bench, his bulk actually jostled the heavy concrete table, knocking over the White King.