Uncle Tom (standard:Inspirational stories, 3425 words)
Author: Baron	Added: Apr 23 2005	Views/Reads: 3577/2300	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
In order to have peace he has to fight.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story


“Tom what do you want?” Michael asked, as Tom raised him into the hot
van the mechanical lift whining. 

“I just want to be happy.” 

“Yeah well that's pretty vague. You should have something you really
want.” 

“Not many people do though, Michael. I guess that's why people are never
happy.” Tom shut the door and walked around the front of the white 
Dodge van, and climbed into the driver's seat. He turned on the air 
conditioner and pulled away from the mobile home. Soon they were on the 
freeway. 

“This is a big day, Michael. If you can beat Springfield you'll be in
the nationals. You won't have any trouble finding a real coach. You'll 
win some key matches. Write a book about your life and settle down 
retiring by the time you are 35.” 

“You know what, Tom? I hate to play chess. I hate war. You know that is
all chess is. The pieces on the board represent parts of me. You know 
chess is a battle of two minds and I don't know how to take it if I 
lose. We've never lost, Tom. I frankly don't know how to take it. All 
I've got is my mind. If someone else beats me then what is there?” 
Michael looked down at his crippled legs. 

“Michael, I've never heard you talk like this before a match. I know
there is a lot of pressure but you've been able to handle that before. 
I think that Springfield has got you scared. I don't know what it is 
but unless you can see yourself beating him and really believing it's 
possible. What's the point? How can you do something, you don't believe 
is possible?” 

“You know, Tom? What I hate about chess is the look of loss in the eye
of someone when I beat them. I only see it for a second and then they 
cover it up, but I don't want to have Springfield see that in my eyes.” 
Michael looked out the window watching the pattern the bricks made on 
the wall of the freeway. 

Tom swerved and exited the freeway crossing three lanes. A chorus of
horns followed. “I almost missed the exit.” Tom chuckled. “Well anyway, 
Michael you have to realize that life is war. You can't fight with your 
body like some people. You have to fight with your mind.” As he spoke, 
he slowed for a traffic light. 

“Springfield has a better mind than I do. He has everything. His parents
are rich. He has nice clothes, a nice truck; he was captain of the 
debate team. He has everything.” Michael watched a kid kick a ball 
across a front yard. 

“You're building him up bigger than he is.  You know when I used to play
football every team we played scared me to death. Once we got into the 
game I didn't think about losing anymore. I just took it one play at a 
time. I didn't worry about what anyone else thought. I just did my 
job.” 

Michael looked at Tom's reflection from the rearview mirror. “You know
Tom, Springfield isn't like anyone I've faced before. He studies 
psychology. He prides himself on knowing all about you, your fears, 
insecurities, weaknesses, and he uses them against you. I remember when 
I first met him on the first day of eighth grade. Springfield asked our 
Math teacher if he remembered his older brother being in his class, a 
couple of years before. The teacher told him he did. The teacher 
remembered his brother and went on and on about how great a student he 
was.  Well after class I asked Springfield about his brother and he 
told me he didn't have one. I asked him why he had asked the teacher to 
remember his brother.  He said he wanted to see how honest the teacher 
was. Wanted to see if the teacher would make a fool of himself; talking 
about a person that never existed. I asked why Springfield was so 
honest with me. How did he know I wouldn't tell the teacher; that 
Springfield just made a fool out of him? Springfield said my physical 
condition made me co-dependant.  As a result, I was incapable of 
telling someone the truth, if it would hurt them.  My fear of their 
disapproval was too strong. Well anyway I didn't like Springfield and 
didn't like what he said to me. So the next day I told the teacher what 
Springfield had done to him. Well it turns out Springfield really did 
have a brother. I was the one that made a fool of myself; trying to 
convince the teacher the brother didn't exist. That was the first time 
I met Springfield and he played me like I was an old fiddle.  I‘ve seen 
him manipulate others like they were puppets and he had all the string. 
What he did to me was nothing. I've seen him mess up some people real 
bad.” 

Tom didn't say anything. 

They pulled up in front of the school gym. It was in front of the high
school and had been remodeled recently. The new windows and fresh paint 
set it apart from the rest of the school. The old gym had a long 
history. It was an original building and was over 80 years old. In the 
past it had been used as a playhouse. Two masks were painted above the 
doors one happy and one sad, a gesture to ancient Greek theatre. Today 
the old playhouse was where they were going to have the regional chess 
championship, where two people would leave one happy and one sad. 

Michael sighed deeply. “This is it.” “How much time do we have, Tom?” 

Tom looked at his watch. “We've got about fifteen minutes.” 

Michael listened to the cars stream by as Tom lowered him from the
mechanical door. There were a few people filing into the gym. They were 
Springfield's family. 

Michael looked at Tom he had dark eyes and a black mustache his head was
naked to the bright sun. His glasses were well worn and he had a black 
string that held them around his neck. 

Tom wheeled him out of the van and closed the door. 

“Tom, can you take me around the block? I need to think.” 

“OK Michael.”  He pushed him along a sidewalk in front of the school the
highway ran along side them. The cars rushed by. When a big truck drove 
past, the wind tussled, their hair. The grass in front of the school 
was lush and wet. 

They turned a corner and saw Springfield drive into the parking lot. His
new Toyota truck was lifted and had tinted black windows. He pulled 
into a spot and got out. His black hair was wet with gel and his dark 
eyes locked onto Michaels. 

“Michael, this is the big day isn't it.” Springfield said walking toward
them. 

Michael smiled. 

Tom stopped pushing Michael. Springfield continued to walk towards them.
He stepped up to Tom. “How are you doing? My name is, Terry 
Springfield.” He shook Toms hand briefly. 

Tom took two steps back. “Hi my name is, Tom. I'm Michael's Uncle.” 

“Do you mind?” Springfield grabbed Michaels wheelchair handles. 

Tom shrugged. “Um yeah sure, go ahead.” Tom took another step back. 

“Well, Michael I guess we've known this day was going to come.”
Springfield pushed him slowly towards the old gym. 

“That's a nice truck.” Michael said quickly. 

“Yeah I just got a new stereo system installed. I'm really looking
forward to this match, Michael. I've known you would be here with me. I 
knew from the very beginning.”  Springfield began pushing Michael 
faster. 

Michael started to grimace; he could feel Springfield's hot breathing on
the back of his neck. 

Tom scratched his arm and wrung his hands. 

Michael blinked quickly. “Terry, I hear you're going to U.N.B.C. You got
a full scholarship, congratulations.” 

“Thank you, Michael. What about you? I worry about you. You know there
is a lot more to life than just chess. I hope that you have something 
else in your life.” Terry Springfield looked at the back of Michael's 
head where Tom didn't comb it and the hair was matted. 

Michael tried to chuckle. “Well, Terry my gymnastics scholarship didn't
pan out, and my tap dancing career hasn't taken off yet. So for the 
time being this is it.” 

Terry Springfield looked down at Michaels crippled legs. “That's too
bad. It would be funny if it wasn't so sad.  Did you hear my brother 
graduated Cum Laude?” 

Michael sighed. “That's great, Terry.” Michael began to grit his teeth. 

Tom stepped in. “Michael is planning to be in San Diego in September,
for the national Chess Championship, It's a shame you won't be there. 
Well at least not as a participant. Do you mind?” He asked, as he 
motioned towards the wheelchair. 

“No not at all.” Springfield said as he stepped back. 

Tom pushed Michael up the ramp to the gym door.  Springfield rushed
ahead and opened the door. 

“Good luck, gentleman.” He said. 

“We won't need it.” Tom said smiling, as he pushed Michael passed
Springfield into the gym. 

“Boy that was awkward” Michael said softly to Tom. 

“Well, that kid is creepy.  There is something about him that just isn't
right.” Tom traced his mustache with his thumb and forefinger; as if he 
was making sure his mouth was still there. 

The old gym smelled like old air and fresh paint. There were about
fifteen people already there: Springfield's parents, three judges, 
various chess enthusiasts, and others who had played and lost to 
Michael and Springfield. They all sat on the bleachers facing the chess 
board and the two empty seats. 

“Are you ready for this?” Tom asked. 

“No, I can't think of any reason why I would want to do this.” Michael
looked around the room at all the people who would see him fail. 

“Remember what we talked about earlier about wanting a ranch.  About how
sometimes you have to fight in order to have peace.” 

Michael looked at his uncle he wondered how a man with so little could
be so optimistic. “You know, Tom I don't think anyone ever gets what 
they want. I think this life is just a gauntlet that we run through. It 
has no meaning and the only reason people keep running is because they 
get the notion that things will change. That there will be a winners 
circle at the end of the line, that then they will have everything they 
wanted.  They will finally have peace. There is no end, Tom. We just 
keep running chasing an illusion. The only end is death and death is no 
comfort to me.” 

Tom slowly thought about what Michael said his brow was furrowed.
“Michael, I guess you're right, there is always going to be trouble. If 
you had a ranch, I'm sure it would have all kinds of problems too. 
There are times though when life is good. When I first fell in love 
with Mary and I knew that she loved me. I can't tell you how good that 
time was. When I saw Sandra playing in the park her little feet 
barefoot as she ran through the grass, well that was good, that felt 
real good. It's times like that when you see a glimmer of hope; that 
somehow as miserable as life is, there is the potential for great 
things. This might be a really bad time for you. This may be a time 
when you get knocked on your back, but you will get up again. This can 
also be a time when you reach out for a glimmer a little sliver of 
something good and reach it. Then be happy, because those times are few 
and far between but they are worth it.” 

Tom smiled and patted Michael on the back. “You ready to play a little
chess.” 

Michael looked doubtfully at his uncle and smiled. “Yeah I'm ready. For
what, I have no idea.” 

Tom wheeled him up to the chessboard it was a wooden board with wooden
hand carved figures. One of the Judges realized Michael wouldn't need a 
chair and awkwardly dragged the existing chair away. Michael swallowed 
“Can you get me some water please, Tom?” 

Tom smiled. “No Problem.” He walked towards the door and left the
building. 

The Judges came and tried to shake his hand but it didn't work. So they
just patted him on the back and spoke kind remarks in his general 
direction. There was a pretty woman with blue eyes sitting in the 
bleachers. Michael wondered if she was there to see Springfield. The 
judges talked about the match with him. He breathed deeply. Springfield 
was staring at him. 

Tom came back inside with a bottle of water from the van. Michael looked
at the clock it was time to begin. Tom put a straw in the water bottle 
and held it while Michael drank. Michael looked around the room and 
blinked quickly. As he swallowed he felt like everyone in the room was 
watching him anticipating every move he made. Terry Springfield sat 
down across from them. The match began. 

Michael spoke. “F1 to F3.” 

Tom reached forward moving the designated piece to the designated square
on the grid. He then stepped back behind Michael his face blank and his 
steps soft.  Terry Springfield moved his pawn forward confidently with 
his strong right hand. He looked into Michaels eyes knowingly.  
Michael's heart beat quickly his head felt light. His arms and legs 
wanted to run; to run far away. 

It was a battle, two minds colliding on a vast plain; just as its
medieval originators crushed into each other with steel armor on fierce 
steeds. Each piece symbolized a warrior each loss a piece of ones own 
self. Michael had very little to lose. The match was one sided; 
Springfield dominated. His mind picked apart Michaels attack. Michael 
had a hard time keeping up with Springfield's strategy. Springfield 
took Michaels horse; then he put Michael into check. Michael was 
struggling to see Springfield's plan. He tried to figure all the 
possible ways Springfield could beat him, there were so many. He knew 
he would never be able to beat Springfield, not at chess. Terry 
Springfield seemed to know every move Michael made, to know why he made 
them. It seemed Springfield knew Michaels very core, had measured it 
found it lacking, and swept it away, with all the other dust that had 
collected on his scale of superiority. 

As Michael tried to formulate a defense he couldn't help thinking of an
infomercial, he had seen late at night when he couldn't sleep, and 
there was no one around to turn off the T.V. It was an ad for a fishing 
lure. The lure simulated a wounded minnow. The ad claimed that fish 
were genetically programmed for generations to eat the wounded weaker 
fish, even if they weren't hungry. The superior fish had to eat the 
weak or wounded fish to insure it didn't procreate and weaken the gene 
pool. Michael didn't necessarily believe it, but he knew Terry 
Springfield probably did. He knew Springfield was probably sick with 
pity for him. That he wanted to put him out of his poor sorry misery. 
That it was his responsibility to do so. That was what made Springfield 
weak. 

Michael let Terry move his horse into position to set up his queen. He
let Terry get his Queen into position to take the pawn in front of his 
king. At the same time he moved his queen into position. Terry didn't 
care to find out what Michael was doing. He knew that all he needed was 
one move and the match would be his. Michael moved his queen forward 
and softly said. “Check.” 

Terry took a deep breathe he seemed angry at the minor annoyance. Then
his face turned, as he analyzed the situation, and for a brief instant 
Michael stared into Springfield's eyes. Michael stared right into 
Springfield's inner being and saw his shame, and then it was over. 
Springfield smiled and gently turned his king on its side. He said 
softly to the crowd. “Checkmate.” 

The judges confirmed it. Tom shook Michael's shoulders from behind. “You
did it, you did it.” 

Later that night Michael had dinner with a chess teacher who had watched
the chess match. Tom had taken them both out to eat with his family. 

As they ate in the neighborhood grill, Steven the chess teacher neatly
poked the edges of his mouth with his napkin and asked. “What do you 
want out of life, Michael?” 

Michael looked at Tom and shrugged. “What do you want, Tom?” 

Tom shrugged. “I think I'll have some Cheesecake.” 


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