19. Nathan
nineteen
The library is quiet today.
That sounds like an oxymoron. The library is quiet everyday. But not quiet like this. Not quiet like none of my regular opponents are here.
I came here to be distracted by the Tuesday evening regulars, but have been playing chess against myself for the last thirty-seven minutes.
Chess is my activity of choice. It requires brain power and critical thought. It forces you to think several steps ahead, something I’ve trained myself to do anyway since my life turned itself on its head with cancer and death. Chess forces you to see the bigger picture. To meticulously plan, and meticulously back-up-plan.
And, it can be done alone.
My little routine began when I ran out of homework to attend to in college, but didn’t want to be at home. On the nights that my brother’s pediatric oncologist—and my dad’s best friend—Dr. Marty, and his wife June, graciously took Cal so that I could have a free moment for my school work, sometimes, I just needed the time to myself. All the same, I felt as though, without an excuse, I’d be obligated to go back to Cal.
Regret had tugged in my gut that first night that I consciously decided to steal an extra moment for me. And then, like a sign from above, I rounded the corner of the library to a group of senior citizens playing chess.
And just like that, any vacancies in my schedule were suddenly filled.
Tonight, it seems like it’s just me. Ever since Norman had his stroke and went into assisted living, the group has kind of dropped off one by one. I thought we had a decent influx of players, until tonight.
I’ve played two rounds of the game by myself, and am halfway through a third.
I could go home. Could pace around my impeccably spotless house. Could crack open a book or switch on a documentary. I know I’ll be distracted though.
Home without something to do means idleness. Idleness creates room for her to sneak in.
I shouldn’t be thinking about Claire. Shouldn’t be letting depraved thoughts of her fill the crevices of my mind. But I touched her. I put my hands on her body and I put my mouth on her skin, and it’s safe to say the chemistry of my being altered. I know what she tastes like now, what she feels like, and it’s safer if I just stay away. Because now I know what I can never have, and that’s worse than not knowing.
She is my employee. I am her boss. Regardless of her temporary status in our building, I can’t have her. I have to let her go somehow, despite the ways we’ve opened up to one another, despite the way I want to keep going back for more conversation. The deeper I dive into the well of Claire, the more trouble I put myself in. In the grand scheme of things, I can’t put my job on the line for her, can’t put the future of my family’s house on the line for her.
Then why, as I stumble my way around the chess board of my life, am I still trying to configure a way that, for once in my life, I can have my cake and eat it too?
Of course, in my attempt to distract myself from thoughts of Claire, I think back to when, by happenstance, her sister sat across from me—and nearly gave me a run for my money. I recall how Claire had mentioned her ineptitude for chess, and a softer image of her waves in.
It’s me, giving Claire chess lessons. Her, studying the game because she wants to do well for me. Her, calling me out when I sacrifice an easy move so that she can feel proud, and demanding I give it my all.
I sigh, shaking my head intensely, because this was supposed to be my escape from her.
As I’m judging the current spread of white pieces that sit across from me defending their queen, I feel eyes on me. With my hand tensed above the board, I shift my gaze carefully around the room until I spot him.
Rocco Thatcher is standing thirty yards from me, his school bag dangling over one shoulder. He’s staring like he recognizes me from somewhere but just can’t place it.
Which is odd, considering how often he’s been in my office these past couple of weeks.
I could ignore him, like I usually do when I see students in public—I do like to keep my personal and professional lives separate. But the longer I sit there pretending I don’t see him, the longer the hairs on the back of my neck stand beneath his stare. I finally turn my head, and when my eyes meet his, they widen like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
I would know. I caught him trying to shove three chocolate chip cookies from the cafeteria snack line into his hoodie pocket last Thursday.
I slowly lift one brow, my hand still paused over a pawn, and tilt my head toward the seat opposite me. He swallows, but approaches the table and takes a seat.
“Mr. Thatcher.”
I don’t make eye contact, instead choosing to focus on the chess board. He seems like he didn’t want to sit down at the table, but also wanted to be noticed. I make my selection, moving my pawn to capture the rook, and place my winning to the side before swiveling the board so that the white pieces are now facing me.
“Checking out books tonight?” I ask, surveying my playing field before making my next move.
Rocco clears his throat. “No, uh… I’m uh… There’s this homework club thing. It’s over, but my mom can’t pick me up until later, and I’m not allowed on the internet anymore.”
I think of Claire, and the suggestion she’d made about setting Rocco up for success. I wonder if this homework club is her doing.
“What time is she coming?”
“Like, five or something. Soon, I think. What are you playing?”
“Chess. Do you play?”
“Is it like checkers?”
“Not exactly.”
He shakes his head.
“I could teach you. Did you get all of your homework done?”
He hesitates, then shrugs.
“No. Not really.”
I hear the scrape of his foot against the carpet as he kicks it lightly.
“Were they not able to help you at homework club?”
“I don’t know. They, like, don’t believe me when I say I don’t get it, and then they make me try to figure it out on my own.”
He shrugs again, and I take a second to absorb how much he has cracked open like a book. Carefully, I replace the rook and fold my hands in front of me, giving him my full attention.
“That doesn’t sound very helpful.”
“It’s not. Kind of a stupid club, but Ms. Benson told my mom about it and…”
His eyes find the ceiling, and his cheeks grow red.
“And you like Ms. Benson, and want her to be proud of you.”
There’s a small smile, a small nod, and I feel my chest start to beat faster both at the heartbreak I have for this student, and for the teacher he’s grown so fond of. At the way that I find myself wanting to make her proud too.
“Ms. Benson was helpful?”
“Yeah. She like, let me listen to The Outsiders on YouTube as long as I followed along, since it was hard for me to read.”
My chest warms at that thought, of Claire thinking outside the box to accommodate him.
“And did you follow along?”
His cheeks flush, and he smiles and rolls his eyes, muttering, Kinda.
“Do you want my help with your assignment?”
Rocco’s expression scrunches incredulously.
“You’re a principal, bro. What do you know about English?”
I chuckle. “I was a teacher before I was an assistant principal, Mr. Thatcher. You’d be surprised. Here, let’s see what you’ve got.”
His backpack was already unzipped, so he pulls out the worksheet and slides it to me.
“Synonyms and antonyms. That sounds simple enough.”
I lift my gaze and smile, but his signature Rocco-scowl stares back at me.
“You sound like the ‘helpers.’”
“Well, it’s just?—”
“Cinnamons and antonyms, I know. Problem is, I’m too stupid to know what the words mean in the first place, so how am I even supposed to know if they’re the opposite or not? Friggen stupid.”
I pause, and reevaluate my reaction. Just because this is simple for me doesn’t make it simple for him.
“Okay. Let’s take a step back. Can you tell me what a synonym is at least?”
“Yeah. Means the same thing,” he huffs.
“And an antonym?”
“Opposites.”
“Okay. See. You know more than you think.” I tread lightly, then put my finger on the word he’s supposed to be analyzing. “What is this word?”
“Bro, I don’t even know, I just told you that.”
“Mr. Thatcher,” I say. But even as I do, my tone just hinting toward a warning, I think again of his favorite teacher. The one who asked me to call her Claire. “Rocco.”
I try again, and see him soften fractionally.
“Can we try stretching it out?”
“Like I’m in kindergarten?”
“No. Like you’ve come to an unknown word and need to piece it together. Start with the prefix.”
“What does that even mean?”
Lord, we’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.
It takes us ten minutes to find a synonym and an antonym for the word Inherent. But the pride on Rocco’s face afterward was the prize to this assignment. We’re about to start on the next one when a disheveled woman barges in, reeking of marijuana. As soon as she sees Rocco, she barks his name.
“Let’s go. We’ve gotta drop Tim off at work, and he can’t be late again.”
Rocco tenses at the name, but obediently packs up all of his things. Contrary to my typical “avoiding parents in public” routine, I stand and follow him.
“Hi. You must be Rocco’s mother. I don’t believe we’ve met yet. I’m Nathan Harding. Assistant principal?—”
“Yeah. We’ve talked on the phone. We’ve gotta go.”
I’m taken aback more than I’d like to admit at her abrasiveness, but let it roll off my shoulders. Rocco eyes me apologetically.
“Hey, Rocco?”
He pauses. His mother looks annoyed, but this is more important.
“I’ll email Mrs. Ford about getting you an extension on that assignment for tomorrow.”
“For real?”
“Absolutely. In fact, Ms. Benson is still floating this week. I’ll see if she can work with you tomorrow to get caught up.”
He grins and follows his mother, claiming his own victory in the same moment that I do—because I now have an excuse to talk to Claire tomorrow. My heart is pattering at the simple notion, and I have to will that feeling away, because I started this evening reminding myself of all the reasons to stay away, and ended it with another reason to get closer.
It isn’t until he’s completely gone from the library lounge that I realize how exhausted I truly am. I sit back at the table to reset the board before I start packing my things, but stop.
Right there, written in the black and white of the pieces left behind, I’ve left the king entirely at mercy to the queen.