Maybe is a Loser's word ~ Benny Watts Fanfic

Chapter 7 ~1966~ The Waitress Who's Name I Cant Remember

I tear my eyes away from the window and get dressed into something clean. I fell asleep in my black jeans and shirt so I go into my bag to pick out an exact copy of the ones I was wearing yesterday. I really need to buy some different clothes, I've been wearing the same thing since I was 15.

I perch myself on the end of the bed, sliding my big black combat boots onto my feet. I sit there for a while procrastinating; thinking about all the things i must accomplish today to get a good win. Although honestly, winning this stupid tournament eight years in a row has started to become boring. Would slacking off a little on year nine be so bad? I mean, I have been asked to play for World Champion in Russia multiple times now, but don't think I will ever accept. No American could stand a chance against those Russians. They play like robots. Besides, It would take a whole bunch of Americans to win that... and I don't know many people, so I guess I should really just settle for US champion as I have been told that is a pretty big achievement for a 23 year old.

I turn my wrist round to gawp at my watch. I'm running late, the tournament starts at 8:00am and I still need to practise. It's currently 6:30am and I have spent way too long staring into space, and I haven't eaten anything for at least fourteen hours at least. I grab my tiny travel chess set and shove it into my pocket alongside a small chess book, lock my door, and then hurry myself to the elevator and push the button for the first floor. My stomach grumbles as I walk down the hall to the morning buffet. There is a large array of fruit, meat, and pastries.

I get into the queue and pick up a cup of coffee, an apple, and two croissants. I hadn't ever had a croissant before, so I was surprisingly excited to try it. I take a seat at one of the tables for two, and find myself wishing I had someone to sit with at these kind of events. The random girls that I hookup with are just for fun really. It's never serious. Eagerly I stop my thoughts before they take over my whole morning. I take a big gulp of my coffee and take a bite of my croissant and jam. It's actually really good. Once I finish, I begin to eat my apple and go over pawn structure on my mini board.

As I'm munching down on one of the croissants, I realise that there's a possibility that I won't win the tournament. I had a draw with my opponent in my last game and if the person I'm playing in the final has won all of theirs and then win against me, I lose. There's not much more I can do, all I can do is study and hope for the best. I mean it wouldn't be the end of the world if I lost, I would just miss out on the prize money.

An hour or so passes by and the tournament is about to start up again. I stroll up to the desk and greet the person sitting there. "Watts you are playing Black against Miller at table 2. If you win you will play in the final match" they tell me. I nod and walk over to the desk where I'm playing. Miller and I shake hands, avoiding eye contact, and we both sit back down to start the play. He moves his knight to F3 which I find intriguing.

I play the Sicilian defence (one of my favourites) and I watch him move some more pieces. We play another few moves each. Its as if he's moving pieces at random, but I have a feeling that he's plotting something. We play further into the game. I can see what he's doing now. Its Childs play. How on earth did this guy even get this far if he's doing things like this? A few moves later and he's already laid down his king.

I walk away from the table, a sense of pride washes over me. It feels great to win a match this easily after drawing in my last. I submit the game sheet to the front desk and wander over to the buffet table that has been set up for lunch. I stack my plate high with crackers and cheese and carry a whole bowl of tomato soup in my other hand. I sit down at a white clothed table and start stuffing my face full of the delicious cream crackers and slurping down on soup.