Chalk

In preschool we played an unwritten game. Theoretically the rules could change at any time, but they never did. They were never discussed.

When the game first began it commenced with two players. Myself and a friend. The game was simple: draw as big of a region. A region was one where you had no other pigment other than your own.

And you’d think the winner would be the one who captured most of the concrete court, but it had to feel right too. When you looked at the region you had to concede to a theme, or sometimes you could tell, at a glance, which was mine and my friend’s. Some call it essence, but if I had to give it a label, maybe it was harmony.

When a rainy day reset the board we held our strategies close, but it was all for nothing. There was no score, other than capturing that which seems missing everywhere else in the world.

Eventually other students wanted to join in. There was a push and pull with an arena of two, perhaps likened to the hidden divinity of the Go board, though we were usually sequestered toward the far-end of the recess arena, beyond the swing sets and spider nets. Nevertheless two soon became four, to ten, and rising with each rainfall.

Then I got sick. Looking out from the upstairs window so you could follow the flood from the gutters and out toward the street. Makeshift ponds circling tires. A few more days and good sunshine, and it was what I expected upon return: a court all mangled.

It was strange to watch the game seize all the other eager players. On the sidelines, even if I attended every game since inception.

I took the mint green and looked for any opening, to continue the streak. It wasn’t about winning, but maybe leaving a history however primordial. Some hidden inclination to bestow order with the endless canvas between recess and bus commutes, lunchboxes.

Eventually I found a spot between five different regions yet to be claimed. Crouching down I drew my best impression of a circle, stepped back, and realized then I couldn’t see any colors anymore.

For a moment the mint flickered, but then the circle started pushing at the edges, pushing the concrete upward and cracking the diameter. All the color drained from that mound outward.

In a dying breath the colors ping-ponged in saturation as the devourer advanced. All the other players were still engaged and wondering the next ambush, defenses, but it was then I realized whatever this had, held, singular of the whole world, well, it vanished.

So I put the chalk back and started walking again.

The goal was simple: see how much one could venture into the rubble and grey silence.