Personal Narrative - Chess скачать в хорошем качестве

Personal Narrative - Chess

eltep winter 2021 - literacy It’s 8:05 and I haven’t broken my stare, even when C finally slouches in his seat and offers a pitiful excuse of a handshake. My mom didn’t know how to play chess, but she always taught me that you can tell a lot about a person by how they shake your hand. And C’s handshake told me that he didn’t want to be there, that he didn’t care, and thought he didn’t need to put effort in this match. I showed him with my firm grasp, that I practiced with my mom, that he was entering a battle, and that he insulted the wrong girl. It’s 9:15 and the silence is deafening. There’s only 10 or so games going on in the gym that was once packed with kids. C's dad is faithfully watching. I wonder if he can actually tell what’s happening on our small chessboard from his eagle-view bleacher seats. C has his elbows on the edge of the board, with both of his hands grasping his rosy cheeks. He knows there’s no escape for his king. He actually knew this 20 minutes into the game, when I captured his queen. The muscles in my face start to tighten, as I try my best not to let out a smile and gloat. From my experience with boys like CC, I know he’ll feel enough anger as it is, he is losing to a girl, after all. After what feels like an eternity, C moves his king to the left corner of the board... his final move. I swiftly move my queen in the same row as his tucked away king, and quietly say, “check mate”, while reaching my hand across the board to end the battle. But CC is what my mom would call a “sore loser”. His naturally rosy cheeks turn red, and I can feel the tension on the other side of the table. I hold my gaze with my hand still stretched across the board, but it’s growing tired from waiting. And then the unthinkable happens, C, still refusing my handshake, bursts out into tears. Now, you might think I’m feeling happy at this point, but really I just feel uncomfortable. Sure, I wanted to win because he thought I was a joke, but I didn’t want to make the kid cry! But as he’s crying, quite literally running to his dad who’s still on the bleachers, I start to feel guilty for the little guilt that I feel. It’s 9:20 and I’m walking through the halls of the school, with my notation pad in hand. I’m feeling conflicted emotions: embarrassment but proud, elated but sad, and above all else, I simply feel annoyed. Annoyed that CC, with his weak handshake, is taking away what should have been a victorious moment for me. I should be rushing through the twist and turns of the hallway to tell my mom I beat a highly ranked player. But instead, I’m sluggishly walking, dragging my feet with the weight of confused guilt. But then I remember my pep talk, not the “take him down” one, which isn’t very helpful in this situation, but the original one, “you got this, you do this. Every. Weekend, no big deal”. And then I recall all of the other weak handshakes, tears, and eye rolls I’ve witnessed on the other side of the chess board. I’ve done this every weekend since I was in Kindergarten, and yet I still don’t feel like I belong. I don’t even correct the man who hands out trophies when he announces my name in front of the entire gym as “Michael”. I feel my feet start to pick up as I walk faster and faster, I suddenly have no conflicting emotions, instead I just have one singular feeling of anger. After my epiphany in the hallway, I charged into the room where my mom and dad are camped out, I can’t believe I’ve only been through one game out of the five. I must look crazy because when my eyes lock onto my mom’s, she looks concerned and asks, “What’s wrong? Tough game?”. To which I reply, “No... if I had a tough game I wouldn’t be upset, I would just work harder and get him next time. I just beat CC and he didn’t even say good game or shake my hand! He ran off crying to his dad that he lost to a girl.” My mom cuts me off as soon as I started to ramp up to say, “Oh, congratu-” “No!” I rebuttal, “I am done with these boys making me feel guilty for doing NOTHING but being a girl who plays chess! I don’t see them crying when they lose to a boy, what’s so bad about losing to a girl?!” My mom takes a deep breath, because there’s no easy way to explain to her 8 year old girl that the rest of the world teaches this behavior to young boys. So she doesn’t, and simply says, “I’m sorry, you’re right”. It’s 9:25 and I have to get to my next table, table 11 this time. When my opponent sits down, I straighten my posture, hold my head high, and extend for a firm handshake. “You got this, you do this every weekend, no big deal”.