“I’ve learned some interesting things about chess lately,” Karley said.
Tyler smirked and made his first move, the frosted glass pawn advanced, “What did you learn?”
“Well, way back when there was no Queen. Beside the King was an Advisor.”
“That Advisor must have had a lot of power if in chess he could move any direction on the board, diagonal or straight. Why did the Advisor become a Queen?”
Karley grinned, “Well, for one, Queen Elizabeth I. But around her time and after, there were many powerful Queens. The Advisor becoming Queen was meant to please Queens, rulers who weren’t male.”
“Do you think Queens in the monarchy were as ruthless as Kings?” Tyler asked watching Karley bring out her Bishop.
“Of course. Queen Elizabeth I had no trouble executing those who opposed her. She also never married. I think power was her raison d’être,” Karley said placing her finger on the clear glass Queen.
“But yet the Queen still protects the king?” Tyler mused.
“He doesn’t really get to move much, though, does he?”
“No, just a space here and there.”
“Checkmate,” Karley said.
“What, what does that mean? How’d you do that so fast?”
“It comes from Arabic and French. Literally, it means, ‘He is Dead’ or ‘The King is Dead.’ I did it so fast because I’m the Queen.”
“Hey Liz, what’s your kitchen chair doing out in the middle of the lake?” Barb asked.
Liz was perplexed, “My first thought was that my boys had done this, thinking it would be funny. But this is just the type of thing their Dad would think was hilarious too.”
“Maybe Mark did it?”
“No he was out like a light at 10:00 pm. The boys were genuinely surprised about the chair and ran to the window to see it. I actually believe they didn’t do it,” Liz said.
—–
The next day the snow was blizzarding, the temperatures so frigid the lake froze thickly. When warmer weather returned Liz saw her Dad outside fishing through a hole in the ice.
She smiled walking out to the ice where her Dad sat:”Dad, did you move this chair outside for fishing?”
Liz’s Dad laughed,” I did not. But it was just sitting here so I figured why not use it?”
The mystery of the chair in the middle of the lake continues.
It began in an elevator. One of those unexpected moments which occur in life. You were gazing at me and I looked up at you transfixed; there was a sparkle in your blue eyes.
As the elevator went higher, the people emptied out onto their respective floors. Eventually, we were alone.
I felt my breathing quicken and could hear your breath speed up beside me. I listened to you breath, in and out, desire for you rushing through my veins.
There had been a meter between us in the elevator, now you somehow were right beside me. I could smell your cologne: ocean, vanilla, and a note of something sweet.
I felt your eyes peering down at me, inspecting me from head to toe. The mirrors around the elevator reflected my image: Shiny black booties, polk-a-dot hose, a black A-line skirt, and a hot-pink sleeveless blouse. Makeup lightly done, eyes bare except for mascara and black eyeliner, and pink lipstick. My light blond hair was braided, stray hairs framing my face.
You saw me, catching you giving me the once over and you smiled genuinly, daring me to look you over. My eyes discovered your form: tall, and lithely muscled, wearing a navy pin-stripped suit, grey dress shirt, and a grey-blue tie. The tie matched your blue eyes exactly and your face was freshly shaved with a defined jaw; your brown hair curled slightly at your collar.
I blushed, staring at my booties, comparing them to your designer shoes. It felt as if the elevator wasn’t moving at all, or maybe time was standing still.
“You look pretty,” you told me. Your voice deep and a bit husky. “I like your perfume, it’s floral but not overwhelming; it smells delicious.” You gave me a devasting smile and I nearly swooned.
Instead, I gathered my wits and smiled back at you, blushing again.”I like your navy suit,” I stammered. “The blue, blue of the tie and the navy of the suit, it matches your eyes. And your cologne, it smells wonderful.”
I couldn’t believe what I said. I saw you grinning at me from the corner of my eye as I stared shyly down at my boots. It wasn’t normal for me to be so nervous, my heart beat so furiously.
You tipped my chin up to better look me in the eye.
“The elevator.It’s not moving,” I said.
You chuckled, “I made it stop. If only for a moment or two.”
“Why?”
But then, your lips touched mine. Soft and questing at first. Gently, coaxing my month open, until your tongue danced inside. Rubbing and sucking on my tongue, causing me to sigh and fall against you.
I returned your kiss grabbing the lapels of your jacket, kissing you harder, wanting more of you, of your magic taste, your delicious mouth all over my skin. Your arms came around my body, holding me close.
Suddenly, the elevator started moving up again. We both pulled back from each other panting.
“Why did it start again?” I asked.
You gazed at me with your intense blue eyes, still gathering yourself. “I’m not sure. You have to have high-clearance to make the elevator start and stop. I didn’t make the elevator move again. Believe me!”
Before we could say more, a beautiful woman with dark hair, walked into the elevator on the twenty-sixth floor. The woman smiled at as both, not oblivious to what had gone on between us minutes before.
“You have lipstick on your face, darling,” she said to you. Your face went pale and you tried to speak but the woman only laughed at you.”Don’t say a thing, you do this all time. But I’m your wife and I know, you’ll always come back to me.”
Your wife exited at the top most floor and you gave me a longing gaze, whispering: “I’m sorry.” In only a few minutes, you broke my heart.
——-
What is it about elevators? I wondered later. My recent experience with you made me think of many TV shows and movies, where elevators have great symbolic and/or metaphorical value.
Elevators are the place for the beginnings of trysts and romances, as I had hoped today would be. They are the places stopped for people to reveal truths and secrets. They are a place where the everyday manners and values are quickly forgotten. Elevators can even be symbolic of life and death.
Today, I felt cheated. I thought the elevator was our beginning. In reality, I had been caught in the middle of some rotting relationship. You were extremely deceitful and right now, I can’t forgive you for what you did. Your lies have killed my attraction to you.
So much so, on Monday when I see you get in an elevator, I will wait for the next elevator going up to arrive. I know you’ll notice, it’s exactly what I hope.
I do not jest when I request, please don’t break my heart again.
And we move on in the steps of the dance, the game of life we play,
Begun again and shifted, sorted, sifted from the steps we danced before we fought — before summer hit us as bricks that fall from tall buildings up high.
Oh, what a surprise it is to step these new techniques and follow the footprints that many will trod.
But fear is a feeling hard to misplace, did I make the correct decision, revision, conditions to change — the course that lies before us and fine tune the game.
If I am a part of you, then you are a part of me; we are no longer apart from each other.
That was a twist to think that we could be after all this fighting, flight, forging for truth.
If you could just talk to me then I think we would see eye to eye, I think you’d see my soul if you looked hard enough.
It wants to understand you, to find the path that we must wander together.
It has a need to comprehend what little dips we must take to continue the dance; how many times can we trip without being told to get off the dance floor and walk away.
I mind that communication is difficult because dancers must keep in count 1,2,3,4 and 1,2,3,4 just to match their feet.
Keep your steps aligned with mine, tell me what’s on your mind so that we can continue to spin and flip and practice the moves the most faithful make.
Faithfulness occurs in action not by not only cheating but by staying attuned both you and I to each other and this music we call our lives.
So you are away and I needed to think but it wasn’t long before I took you back.
Decided to stop breaking pace to shimmy and shake as we take our place and step in time to the method, the song.
I always thought you were the one to slide with me as fireworks explode rushing up and smashing light into the sky, raining diamonds on the floor.
And moving this pace isn’t always easy, if I step on your feet, and you step on mine, were bound to become angry to react and retry to gain a connection, a tempo, a beat — to make the rhythm that is required of us.
We must bend and be flexible, be patient, be sincere, and take the steps as they come and move to the magic that occurs so little in life.
A thousand moments sunset bright to make it through to darkness into light.
Mandibelle16 
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