Checkmate, Raccoon! - A Chess Short Story!

“Checkmate, Raccoon!” by Liah Igel is a creative short story about an experience in a chess tournament she had back in 2019.

BY LIAH IGEL - THE ANDERSON SCHOOL - COACH & HER NEWS CONTRIBUTOR

Center: Liah Igel competing at Marshall Chess Club

Checkmate, Raccoon!

A shadow suddenly looms over me. I slowly turn my head and see somebody who’s taller than my dad, which means they’re really tall! I observe him for a moment. He’s wearing a formal uniform. He has a buzz cut, and he has a clip attached to his dark green uniform jacket. West Point. I’ve heard that name before. Next to him, I see other people wearing the same dark green uniform with the same black and gold clips and buzz cuts. Are these the people I’m playing? They’re all so big and old. I push away my negative thoughts as I spot a familiar face slide past the tall cadets.

“Jaden!”

I smile. My good friend from school smiles back and waves to me. His black hair is spiky and wet. I’m guessing he took a shower earlier. He’s wearing a navy blue sweater with our Anderson chess team shirt under it. I realize that I’m also wearing our chess team shirt: “Property Of The Dragon.” The dragon is our school mascot, by the way, so a dragon is printed onto our team shirts.

“The pairings for our chess rounds are up,” Jaden informs me. His voice is a small whisper as he glances at the cadets surrounding us.

“Okay. Can you show me where the pairings are?” I ask as I stand up, pushing away the plastic blue chair.

He nods, and beckons me to follow him. We shift through the crowd, trying not to get stepped on. This place is really disorganized. There are people roaming around, speaking in a strange language I can’t understand. I think they just moved here or something. I note that we’re getting close, as I see a crowd of a wide variety of ages clustering around a wall. Jaden and I squeeze through.

“Excuse me,” I mutter, sliding past a girl with long silky black hair and accidently bumping her shoulder.

“Hey, be careful!” she snaps. Sheesh.

Jaden and I manage to push through the crowd of chess players, until we stand in front of eight sheets of paper pinned to a bulletin board by thumbtacks. I recall my mom telling me I was in a section called Future Masters. Weird name. I finally spot a paper that says Future Masters on it, and I look down the list until I find my name. I reach into my bag of wonders, (which is full of everything I need to survive, including an umbrella, a compass, and some snacks) and drag out my notation book, along with a pencil. I jot down my opponent, my board number, 39, and hurry out of the crowd before I get trampled. I breathe a sigh of relief as Jaden hurries out soon after me.

“I’m nervous. Are you?” I whisper, as we walk down the hallway.

“Just a little. The thing is, I do lots of puzzles, so the thought comforts me. Don’t doubt yourself. I bet you’ve practiced, too.” Jaden smiles.

“You’re right, I guess.” I remember all the tough chess puzzles I’ve done preparing for this tournament. As I think about the well over 2,147.23 chess puzzles I've completed, a thought creeps into my mind. Perfect timing.

“Hey, Jaden, wanna know just how many puzzles I do?” I say, grinning.

“Sure, I guess,” he responds, confused.

“You know, I do puzzles morning, noon, and knight. Knight, get it? Get it!?” I laugh.

“Oh c’mon! You have got to be kidding me!” Jaden groans.

“We’re at the room,” I whisper. “If we have time, let’s visit each other’s boards during our games.”

“Sure. Good luck!” Jaden waves to me while heading to board 64.

“Yeah, you too!” I grin and walk over to board 39, which is at the very end of the room.

I put my notation book, clock, and pencil on the desk. As I start to set up the pieces, I see someone walking toward me. I quickly finish and take my seat. I pretend to look at the far wall, but out of the corner of my eye, I analyze the person approaching me, whom I’m pretty sure is my opponent. I drop the pencil I’m holding. Suddenly, all the chatter around me vanishes. The person I’m playing is none other than the tall guy who had the West Point clip attached to his jacket. The same buzzcut. So I’m playing these really old people? My hands start to tremble. The cadet walks in front of me, pulls up his chair, and sits. I slowly breathe in, then out, but doing so does little to calm me. I’m starting to have second thoughts that I won’t be able to win the tournament. Actually, I probably won’t even be able to win the first match. I twist my wrist toward me. It’s 9:54. We’re officially starting the match in six minutes. Deep breath in, deep breath out.

“What’s wrong, Liah?” my dad says in Russian from behind me. So he didn’t get lost in the mob of people after all.

“Nothing. Everything’s good.” I don’t feel fine, I actually feel like I’m about to explode, like a cube of ice in some hot, scorching cocoa.

“Ya nye toopoy. Ya znahyoo shto tih nervneechaesh eez-za eegrih (I’m not dumb. I know you’re nervous because of the game),” my dad comments.

“Ya nye hotchoo eegrat, (I don’t want to play) ,” I plead.

“Predstavitev shto onee yehnote (Imagine they are a raccoon),” Dad replies.

A raccoon? What the heck does this tournament have to do with random raccoons?

“All parents, please exit the room, so the games can start,” The TD (Tournament Director) calls. “I repeat, parents, exit the room.”

“Good luck,” Dad tells me, and then leaves.

“Players, it is now ten o’clock. I wish all of you the best of luck. Now, shake hands, press white’s side of the clock, and begin.”

I shake my opponent’s humongous hand, and then he starts my side of the clock, since I am white. I scan through the openings I’ve learned in my head. I’ll go with the King's Pawn Opening. I take a pawn in my hand, and move it to the center of the board. The cadet thinks about my move for a moment, and then counters with pawn to e5. We counter each other’s moves for a while, until we reach the middlegame. By now, we’ve traded off almost all of our minor pieces. We play a few more moves, and thankfully, I manage to keep the position equal.

Check. The cadet takes a pawn that is defending my king. This is bad. My position is weak, and I don’t have a good attack. He’s checking my king. I’ve left my king alone. Useless and undefended. I have to think what to do. Where to move my king. Or should I block the check? No, that can’t work. If I do that, he’ll just check me over there. What’s going on with me? I have to win this game. I must. I quickly move my king away. That’ll do.

When I come out, I can tell Dad that I won, and he’ll be so happy! I have to win. The next move, the cadet takes a free pawn. My position falls apart. I’m losing. I can’t think straight. My brain is overflowing with lines and strategies I spent hours working on and memorizing. I can’t make a stupid mistake and blunder all my pieces. I take a slow inhale, and push all my negative thoughts away. Relax. Just focus on the game. I force my eyelids to stop drooping, and I look at the board. I have to calculate. I glance over at the battered-up clock that I’m using, and see that my opponent is low on time. Two minutes and fifty-three seconds. Suddenly, I remember what my dad said about raccoons. I imagine the huge cadet sitting in front of me as a tiny raccoon with little circular glasses. I smile.

Wait--my mind is wandering again! I have to stay on track. I look at the board, trying to find all my opponent’s small weaknesses, looking for every square I can take advantage of. I consider a move, then decide it isn’t right. I keep looking, until I land on a square where I find an interesting move. My heart quickens, and it gets so loud, its boom boom boom drowns out all the other people in the room clicking their clocks and moving their pieces. This is the move! I’m sure it’ll win me the game. I have to believe in myself. My trembling hand moves toward my queen. I inhale as the tips of my fingers land on the piece. I lift the queen up, analyzing the move one last time, before placing my queen on the square. Checking one last time, I force my shaky voice to declare that I win.

“Checkmate.” The word hangs in the air for a few moments.

I force my hand up to shake my opponent’s hand. The cadet frowns, then nods, and shakes my hand. I knock down all the pieces, and then set them up. My opponent does the same. I really did it! I beat the raccoon! I didn’t think I’d actually win.

I pick up my stuff with my shaky hands, and walk out the door, heading to the ceremony room, where my dad told me to meet him. The room is small, with a tiny stage in the front. I see Jaden in the third row on the left. He looks at me and asks if I won or lost by signaling his thumb down and then up. I ignore him and keep on walking. To try to fool my dad, I put on my best poker face, and head toward him with a grim expression, as if I have been gravely defeated. I quietly sit next to him, and put my face in my hands to hide my smile, while also trying to make it look like I am crying. My dad frowns. I’m sure he has no clue what to do in this situation, since he doesn’t normally take me to chess tournaments. He taps my shoulder, and I spring up, grinning.

“Fooled you!”

“Of course you did.”

2 ½ Years Later - Marshall Chess Club Tournament (Coordinates:P2M3+M8)

I look at my friend’s board. She’s playing an adult. She’s nervously tapping her pencil eraser on the table, which means she’s definitely anxious. I want to comfort her, but how can I help?

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine,” I say.

I don’t think I sound too convincing, since I am pretty nervous about the fact that I’m playing an adult myself. I look at her, stand up, and lean close to her ear, cupping my hand around my mouth so that I can whisper. “Just imagine they are a raccoon.”

She looks up, so confused, but she stops tapping her eraser.

“You got this! Beat that raccoon,” I say in Russian, laughing to myself