Purely by Accident

by Jim Beegle

  Mark stayed only a bit longer after Cecil finished his story, but he returned the next evening on his way home to check on his new friend.

  Cecil offered him a beer and asked casually if he would like to play a game of chess. The way Cecil asked him, and the fact that there was a board already set up and waiting for them, gave Mark the distinct impression that Cecil had been hoping all afternoon that he would be interested in a game. Mark resisted at first, claiming that he had not played in years. But, after a little more prodding, Mark finally gave in to Cecil’s request and, since Amy was out of town again, he welcomed the companionship. It became obvious when they finished their third game in less than an hour that Mark had not been lying about being out of practice. Despite Mark’s losses that day, a tradition was born. From that point on, and for the rest of Cecil’s life, the two men would play chess at least twice a week, and sometimes more often than that.

  After weeks of constant play, Mark’s game improved and, within a few months of playing regularly—and reading a few books at the library—Mark had gotten to a point where he was a pretty even match for Cecil. As their playing became more complex and intricate, most games ended in stalemates or had to be finished at their next meeting. But somewhere between the long games of chess and the talk over a beer, Mark felt his relationship with the older man move from a casual friendship to something much closer.

  Some days Mark would come by and, while they played chess, he would tell Cecil about problems he was having at work with difficult projects or software. At first, he did this because Cecil seemed to enjoy hearing about what was going on in Mark’s life. But it had not taken Mark long to realize just how sharp Cecil was when it came to the problems they discussed. On more than one occasion, Cecil had given him very real solutions to issues he could not figure out on his own. Sometimes he would help Mark by just letting him “talk out” the problem and pointing him in the right direction. With each passing week and each new game of chess, Mark’s respect for Cecil and his knowledge grew.

  In June, partly as a sixty-fifth birthday present, and partly as a token of his thanks for his help, Mark bought Cecil a desktop computer. Mark was puzzled by the fact Cecil did not already own one but wrote it off to the older man’s eccentricities. Mark explained to Cecil they could play chess on a daily basis through email. Mark began keeping a board set up in his office. Cecil would send him as many as five, but some days as few as two, moves a day.

  Mark knew there were easier and more technological ways to play chess but he enjoyed the pace of email chess as well as the three-dimensional view of the board in his office.

  Respecting Cecil’s knowledge of software, and often desiring his input, Mark began to email Cecil strings of beta software code he was working on and ask his opinion. Cecil would look over his work and, whenever Mark visited, would discuss it with him over a game of chess and a cold beer. Before long, Mark began to refer to Cecil as the best, unpaid consultant in Dallas.

  Just before the Fourth of July weekend, Mark invited Cecil to meet Amy and join them at their house for a barbecue. At first, Cecil declined Mark’s invitation, knowing that Mark would have to chauffeur him around. Cecil hated the idea of being a nuisance or a bother. He had been forced to give up driving for himself while his arm healed, but his masculine pride took a hit when, after the removal of the cast, he encountered a new problem. His reaction time had begun to slow—most likely due to the medication he was taking—and a few close calls in heavy Dallas traffic finally brought Cecil to the conclusion that it would be best if he did no more driving. Mark also guessed that the pain in Cecil’s body was beginning to take a toll on him as well, and he didn’t mind taking care of Cecil or driving him places. So, when Mark insisted that he would not be a bother, Cecil reluctantly gave in.

  Mark picked him up that Monday about noon and took him to the home he shared with Amy in Highland Park, a rather expensive and elite neighborhood of Central Dallas. Soon after DECCO had bought Micronix, Amy had insisted that this was where they needed to live. She said it would be good for her business at the bank and would show everyone their real status in life. Not one for materialistic ideals, Mark could not quite understand what she meant by that and could never get her to explain what their “real status in life” was. He had thought the house was too expensive and said so but, as with most arguments with Amy, Mark found it easier to give in than to continue to fight with her. It wasn’t that he was unhappy with the house or the neighborhood, it was simply the fact that the house they had lived in before moving to Highland Park was already too big. That and the fact that most of the time these days, with his late hours at Micronix and her never-ending travel, no house they lived in got used very much. Even with that argument he had failed to dissuade her. With Amy’s eye for their “real status in life” and a huge chunk of the money he had earned in the sale of his shares of Micronix, they had bought the new house.

  Amy had invited a few other couples from the bank to join them for the barbecue. They had already arrived by the time the two men pulled up. Mark made sure that Cecil was introduced to everyone and then turned his attention to the grill. He checked every so often to see how his friend was doing, but after about an hour he gave up worrying about him. Cecil had found the beer and an audience. He enraptured the group with stories of the faraway lands he had visited or lived in over the last decade. Cecil was in his element.

  After dinner Cecil told Mark that he wasn’t feeling too well, and thought it best if he went home. At first he insisted on calling a cab to take him home so Mark could spend time with his guests, but Mark told Cecil that they weren’t his guests and that he would have no part in allowing him to take a cab home. After Cecil said his goodbyes and thanked Amy for inviting him to her party, Mark drove him home. When they arrived at Cecil’s house, Mark hung around a little while just to make sure his friend was all right. The best way to do that was over a beer and a game of chess. One beer turned into three and the game lasted two hours until, like most of their games recently, it ended in a draw.

  Amy’s guests were long gone by the time Mark made it back home. He had expected her to be mad, but he had not expected her to focus her anger on Cecil.

  “And just where the hell have you been?” she demanded, before he even set both feet into the house.

  “I took Cecil home. I wanted to make sure he was going to be all right, so I hung around and played a game of chess with him.”

  “So that is more important than tending to your guests here?” she continued in a disgusted voice.

  “Look, Amy,” Mark said, putting his keys on the counter in the kitchen. “Those were your friends, not mine. Besides, Cecil is a sick and lonely old man. He’s also my friend. I just wanted to make sure he was all right before I came home.”

  “Speaking of your BUDDY,” she said, putting her hands on her hips, “I don’t think he’s that sick—not after watching him here. I don’t want him around here anymore.”

  “What do you mean anymore? This is the first time he’s ever been here,” Mark said, already uneasy about where this conversation was going.

  “And it had better be the last,” she stated firmly.

  “Now look here …” Mark began, anger rising in his tone.

  “No, you look here, Mr. Vogel,” she snapped back at him. “I don’t want that dirty old man around here anymore.”

  Mark stepped back stunned, as if Amy had struck him with her fist. “Dirty old man? Where did that come from?”

  “Oh, I don’t suppose you noticed how he was leering at Amber,” Amy retorted.

  Mark stopped trying to remember which one of the three women present was Amber. Oh, Amber, he thought to himself. She had been the one with that one-piece pants outfit—the top of which wrapped over her shoulders and connected at her waist. It showed a good deal of Amber and served as a poor covering for the top of her body—and a poor bra for her silicon-enhanced breasts.

  “Amy,” Mark beg
an, “Amber was dressed like she was with the express purpose of being leered at. She wore that outfit because, not only did it encourage “leering,” it offered a great deal of assistance for it. As I recall, when I saw her talking to Cecil she leaned so far into him that, at one point, I thought gravity was going to get the better of her and she would fall right into him.”

  Amy glared at him, but he was still feeling the sting of her accusation, as well as his anger, and continued. “If she had a brain in her head, which I doubt, she would arrange a deal with her doctor. She could let him tattoo his phone number on one of those ten-thousand-dollar wonders of plastic surgery in return for a reduced fee. He would get more exposure from that, I bet, than he does with his Yellow Pages ad.”

  Amy’s face reddened, and she set her jaw, eyes filling with fire. “You just don’t get it do you?” she asked through clenched teeth.

  “Get what?” Mark asked.

  “You keep thinking I plan these things as some kind of social event. Well I have news for you, every one of those people who were here tonight are people I need on my side if I plan on going anywhere in this company. That is, everyone but your pal, Cecil.” She paused, and Mark braced himself for what was coming next. “and you.”

  Mark opened his mouth and started to say something, but stopped himself. He closed his mouth, turned without saying anything else, and stormed out of the French doors that led to the pool. When he got outside, he took an old and well-used pipe out of his pocket, filled it with tobacco, lit it, and began to clean up after the mess Amy, Amber, and all the other people that counted had left. When he finally went back inside, the house was dark; Amy had gone to bed.

  As it turned out, Mark never did take Cecil back to the house in Highland Park. Instead, he discovered someplace Cecil enjoyed much better.

  With the money he had left over after buying the house Amy needed, Mark had purchased an old ranch about an hour-and-a-half drive from Dallas. He stumbled on it one day and immediately fell in love. With over two hundred fifty sprawling acres, an airy three-bedroom house, a bunkhouse, and a barn complete with a corral, the property seemed to be calling to him.

  The place had been empty and for sale for several years before Mark found it, but a faded sign on the property directed him to a real estate agent in the town of Runaway Bay. The agent was amazed that, after all these years, anyone would be interested in the old place and was happy to oblige Mark’s request to see the property right then and there.

  The house had been neglected long before it had been abandoned and it showed, but the foundation was in good shape as were the rest of the buildings on site. While in need of some work, they were still serviceable. Mark had signed the papers without a second look, and without consulting Amy.

  At first, Amy had taken to the idea without too much argument. She had always envisioned a country estate to add to her lifestyle. When it became obvious Mark’s idea of rebuilding and her idea of remodeling was as far apart as Dallas was from Runaway Bay, she quickly lost interest. She had not been to the place Mark fondly referred to as “the ranch” in over a year.

  Six months’ worth of weekends, several thousands of dollars of lumber and plumbing, and numerous coats of paint later, Mark had made the main house livable again. While it was still rough and in need of more work at that point, it was comfortable. Mark set up high-speed Internet lines for his laptop in the den of the old house to give him a ready excuse to make the trip out. It was a quiet place to work, away from the hustle and pressure of living with Amy and working in his office in Dallas. When Amy was out of town on business, he would spend most of his time there instead of in the cavernous house in Dallas. Thanks in large part to the wonders of computers, he could, and did, electronically commute to his office a good deal of the time when his physical presence was not required.

  Mark had brought Cecil to the ranch soon after the 4th of July barbecue and, like Mark, Cecil fell in love with it the first time he saw it. He began to look forward to making the long drive out to the place with Mark. They would sit up late into the night playing chess, drinking beer, telling stories, and discussing Mark’s grand plans for the old ranch. From time to time, during these conversations, Mark would attempt to ask Cecil about his life before he retired. Somehow, Cecil would always manage to turn the conversation away from that part of his life. After a time, Mark decided to let him keep that part of his history to himself. He was curious about what was back there that his friend did not want to talk about, but he remained respectful of Cecil’s desire not to discuss whatever it was.

  Toward the end of September, Cecil had gotten very sick and had to be admitted to the hospital. Mark visited him every day and attempted to play chess during the visits. However, Cecil’s heart wasn’t in the game and, after a few days, Mark stopped bringing the board with him. Cecil stayed in the hospital for almost two weeks and, when he was released, he was in better shape than when he had gone in, but Mark could tell that this episode had taken a lot out of his friend.

  A few days after Cecil had gotten out of the hospital, Mark received an email from him stating that he was going out of town for a few days, and he asked Mark if he would mind picking him up at the airport when he returned. Cecil gave him his returning flight number; a six o’clock American flight coming into Dallas/Ft. Worth International from Miami on Friday. Mark figured that Cecil was beginning to realize, just as he was, that his time was short. He must have decided to take care of some personal business. Maybe say goodbye to someone he knew in Florida. He would not ask Cecil what had caused him to leave in such a hurry. Cecil would tell him if he wanted him to know.

  When Mark picked Cecil up on that Friday, he was shocked to see how much his friend had deteriorated in the six days since he had last seen him. Cecil seemed to have lost twenty pounds that he could ill afford to lose. When they had reclaimed his luggage and gotten into the car, Cecil asked Mark if he could impose on him yet one more time. He would like, if Mark could get away, to spend the weekend at the ranch. Without a moment’s thought, Mark agreed. Amy was out of the country and would not be back until the middle of the following week, so he knew he would not be missed.

  The evenings in mid-October cooled off quickly after the sun went down, so Mark worked a roaring fire in the fireplace of the main house to try to keep Cecil warm. He lay on the couch under heavy quilts and slept on and off for most of the night while Mark kept a watchful, and worried, eye on his friend. The next day Cecil seemed better and spent most of the day up and about. He did not move far, though, before he would have to sit down and rest. Mark felt a pang of sadness whenever he looked at his friend, for he knew it would not be long before he lost him. Saturday night Cecil felt well enough to climb the stairs to the room that he used whenever he visited, but Mark insisted on bringing him breakfast there the next morning to save him the trip downstairs.

  When they drove back to Dallas, Cecil seemed once again to have regained some of his strength and insisted that Mark stay, enjoy a beer, and play a game of chess. Mark was worried about leaving Cecil by himself and tried in vain to get him to go home with him, but Cecil insisted that he would be fine and used Mark’s distracted frame of mind to checkmate him in ten moves. It would be the last game of chess he would play with his friend.

  The next morning Mark called Cecil as soon as he got to his office. Sounding weak and tired, Cecil assured Mark he was doing fine, but he was not fine for long. At three o’clock that afternoon Mark’s secretary pulled him out of a meeting with some of the management people from Phoenix to take a call from Cecil. Cecil apologized for troubling Mark, but wondered if he would mind picking him up and taking him to see his doctor. Cecil’s voice, sounding frail and far away, and scared Mark galvanized him into action. He ran to his car and called both Cecil’s doctor and an ambulance from his cellular phone as he frantically drove across town. He yelled instructions at all of them to meet him at Cecil’s house.

  The ambulance got there first, but
not by much. When Mark went into the house, they already had Cecil on the gurney and were fitting an oxygen mask onto his sunken face. He managed a weak smile at Mark as the attendants rushed him out the door to the waiting vehicle.

  Cecil was admitted to intensive care as soon as he arrived at Parkland Hospital. He was awake and lucid for several days. Mark was in to visit as often as the hospital staff would let him, but on each visit he could see his friend quickly fading farther and farther away. Four days after he was admitted to the hospital, Cecil slipped into a coma. Mark canceled everything else going on in his life and moved into the hospital room with him.

  While neither man had ever professed a deep religious belief, Mark felt inclined to borrow a Bible from one of the nurses, and he sat for hours at a time reading from it to his friend. It was something to do with his time, and Mark hoped that it would ease Cecil’s pain and give comfort to his soul.

  Into the second night of his vigil, about four o’clock in the morning, as Mark read the story of Moses leading the children of Israel across the Red Sea and into the promised land, Cecil stirred briefly, smiled slightly, and simply stopped breathing. Buzzers immediately went off in the room to alert the intensive care staff to what Mark already knew; Cecil Lawrence would be in pain no more.

  <<<<<<<>>>>>>>

  A sharp blast of wind brought Mark back to the present. Mark shook himself out of his memories and focused on the funeral service. The minister began the last prayer over the body of his friend as the casket was lowered into the ground. When the minister finished with “Amen,” Mark raised his head, walked over to him, and shook his hand. He received the man’s condolences for the death of his friend and thanked him for the service. When the minister and his wife had withdrawn, he walked back to the hole in the ground and stood for a moment over the casket.

  “Goodbye old friend,” he said, choking back his tears, “save me a game of chess and a beer.” With that, he turned and walked away, hurrying to catch up with Amy, who was already standing by their car.