We didn't speak much. I don't remember him being in any of my classes. But we shared a love of chess. We played together on those odd occasions when class periods were shortened so that the chess club could meet. We played at the public library a couple of times, too.
I remember us playing a game of chess outdoors one time. It was sunny; we probably used the little folding set that I carried around in my book bag. The set was missing a pawn, but Brian didn't seem to mind. When I explained that I'd lost the pawn and substituted a little piece of clay, he just smiled. He smiled a lot.
I remember us playing a game of chess outdoors one time. It was sunny; we probably used the little folding set that I carried around in my book bag. The set was missing a pawn, but Brian didn't seem to mind. When I explained that I'd lost the pawn and substituted a little piece of clay, he just smiled. He smiled a lot.
That smile was amazing! It came to him so naturally, so effortlessly. It was so genuine and open and full of joy. He must have been smiling on the inside; it was so powerful that it had to work its way out to where the rest of us could see it. I loved that smile. It made me feel reassured and instantly comfortable.
I was hoping to see Brian at an upcoming class reunion. I wanted to say, "Hey, remember me? We used to play chess together!" I wanted to enjoy that beaming smile one more time.
We won't have the chance to reconnect. He's gone now - gone, but not forgotten. If I could say one thing that his spirit might hear, it's that I appreciated our brief time together pursuing our mutual interest. I'm sorry that we missed the chance to shake hands and catch up one final time. And maybe squeeze in a game.
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