Chess Table

I remember sitting on my uncle Villamor’s custom-made chess table.

He would play with me whenever I visited him, when I was young and even later on. After law school, I would sometimes go there without an appointment, sit with my aunt, and wait for him to come home so I could try again.

The ending was always the same. I was beaten after four or five moves. Once, it took him eight. I considered that a win.

He was the only person I couldn’t beat in chess.

He gave me books. The kind you keep and return to.

He made time. That’s what I remember most. No matter how busy things were, he would sit down and play.

He liked throwing parties. The house would fill up, people would come and go, and everything felt alive. That’s where I learned something about myself. I can be around people, but I prefer quiet. I prefer a chessboard.

I miss him and our games. It’s been three years. I’ll never beat him now