Counting the Checkered Sea

“One, two, three, fou- No!” Mallory whispered, her pale cheeks flushed vibrant red as though they were smeared strawberries. She quickly spun around revealing more of her pink and purple striped tights under her flaring skirt and darted back to the beginning of the checkered sea of black and white tiles. Her bright blonde bangs danced in their air as she pursed her lips and exhaled. Her large green eyes narrowed. “One.” She stepped forward onto the center of the shiny, white tile of the first row like a pawn making the initial move. “Two.” She glided up-left to the next white square as a bishop securing the king. “Three.” The bishop slipped up-right to protect one of its pawns. “Four.” The queen moved and clapped twice to give orders. “Five.” A pawn starts an at-

“Mallory.” She paused. She hated her name. It meant “unlucky” in old French and that is exactly how she felt- unlucky. “Mallory.” It was unlucky when the other kids whispered behind her back tacking on “weird” or “freak”. “Mallory.” It was unlucky when her dad yelled it from downstairs in his drunken rage. “Mallory.” It was unlucky when her mom screamed it as she pushed her daughter from the rolling car. “Mallory.” It was unlucky in this particular moment as Oliver, a boy in her class, called it from around the corner. “Mallory... Mallory! Mr. Roberts sent me out here to look for you. Class started five minutes ago.” His orange shirt was the traffic cone in her way.

“SHHHHH!” Mallory swiftly raised her hands and pressed them against her ears. She was trying to push out the ringing of her name, her thoughts, the numbers. “...Oh no!” Mallory had forgotten what number she was on. She ran back to the start again and gazed at the never ending waves of black and white, like a giant crinkled newspaper. “One,” step forward. “Two,” diagonal right. “Three,” diagonal left.

“What are you doing, Mallory?” The little girl cringed at the sound of her name, but she proceeded without any other acknowledgment of the question. “Four,” diagonal right, clap twice.

“Um, hello?! What are you doing?” Oliver asked urgently. She stared at him directly with those piercing green eyes. “Nothing! I... I just have to,” she said with desperation. He raised an eyebrow. She could tell her answer was unsatisfying. “Every morning as I come into the school, I do this routine, and if I mess up I have to go back to the beginning. We were running late this morning, and then when I began, I accidentally stepped on one of the cracks, and then you started calling my name, and I forgot what number I was on, and now... I forgot the number again!” With each new line, her speech built like a rolling snowball that hit her with the final word. Mallory began sobbing. Not knowing what to do, Oliver extended his hand to comfort her. Mallory flinched at his movement avoiding the touch.

“Wait here,” Oliver said.

“One, two, three...” Mallory counted attempting to calm herself down. “...Sixty-six, sixty-seven, sixty-eight.” The little boy returned with handful of kleenex. Grateful, Mallory took them and sniffled her freckled nose.

“Thank you,” she said shyly.

“No prob,” he shrugged. “Let’s go back to class now.”

“No, I can’t. I haven’t finished yet,” Mallory protested.

“Finished what?” Oliver asked.

“My routine.”

“What is your routine?” Mallory lowered her gaze to the ground, and he quickly added, “Show me.” Mallory began again at the edge of black and white sea. She counted her steps as she walked in various diagonals, clapping on the fourth, eighth and twelfth tiles, and concluding with a spin clockwise and then one counter-clockwise. She glanced up at Oliver. He did not know what to say. To him, it just seemed like game of patterns, but he knew it was more to her.

“Why do you do it?” he asked in order to break the silence.

“I don’t know, I just have to.” Oliver knew she was hiding something.

“Why do you have to?” Oliver pressed the little girl.

“Because...” Mallory hesitated and whispered, “Because if I don’t, my mom won’t go to heaven.” Oliver knew about the car accident. When Mallory was absent, Mr. Roberts sat the whole class down and told them what had happened.

“Why won’t she go to heaven?”

“Because it’s bad luck if I don’t finish.” Mallory did not know how to describe it exactly. She knew what she was doing was not right, but she had to do it anyway. Her father, her teachers, her classmates, her own head told her to stop, but her whole body would not let her. She felt isolated; alone, trapped on an island, waves of black and white in all directions, and the only way to save herself and her mother was to complete her routine.

“Can I help?” Oliver inquired boldly, his sharp brown eyes shining and his lips curled in a smile. Lost in the little boy’s friendly gaze, his welcoming smile, Mallory could not say a word.

“Can I help?” Oliver repeated. “Maybe if two people followed the pattern, you wouldn’t have to worry so much about your mom.” Mallory just stared at him. “You’d have to teach me though,” he continued, “I know you start here.” He began at the first white tile swiftly moving through each step. “One. Two. Three. Four. Five,” he counted.

“Wait,” Mallory interrupted with a smile that showed off her dimples. “You forgot to clap.” They giggled together as she took him through each step.

“Thank you, Oliver.”

“You’re welcome, Mallory... You have a pretty name.”

“Thanks.” Mallory blushed.