I Carried a Small Crowned Chess King With Me Everywhere I Went
It was a chess piece, no larger than my thumb, made of dark wood with a pale stripe near the base. The crown was slightly crooked from the beginning. I had picked it up from an old set after a game with my daughter, when one of the pieces had been left on the kitchen table for several days. I put it in my pocket without much thought. Then I kept doing that.
It did not solve anything. I never used it to open a package, tighten a screw, or find something under the couch. It did not make a waiting room less boring. It was not especially comfortable, either. The base has a little weight to it, enough that I can feel it shift when I sit down. If I am wearing thinner pants, it presses against the seam of the pocket in a way that becomes noticeable after a long drive.
Still, once it was absent, I kept checking for it.
The piece started out as a kind of leftover from the day. I had been sorting the chess set into its box and found the king under a chair. There is always one object in a house that gets moved without anyone admitting to moving it. I put the king on the counter, then in my pocket while carrying a stack of plates to the sink. By the time I left for work, it was still there.
The next morning I found it on the dresser and put it back in my pocket. That was probably the point when it became part of the carry, although I did not decide anything. It joined the small collection of things that get checked at the door without much ceremony. Wallet. Phone. Keys. Light. Chess piece.
The king has migrated around a little. For a month it lived in the coin pocket of my jeans, where it made my change harder to retrieve. I moved it to the front pocket and disliked the way it sat beside the flashlight. The flashlight is longer and tends to settle at an angle, pushing the chess piece toward the corner. I tried the back pocket, which lasted one afternoon. Sitting on it made me nervous, even though I knew it could survive being sat on. Some objects acquire a fragile status simply because they are small and familiar.
Now it usually goes in the left front pocket by itself. On days when I carry a notebook, it sometimes rides in the inside pocket of my work bag instead. That arrangement makes more sense, but it also means I forget about it. At my desk, I will reach for a pen and find the king beside the charging cable, standing upright in the shallow tray where I drop receipts. Then I put it back in my pocket when I leave for lunch.
I have tried leaving it at home. This happens whenever I am wearing dress pants, running errands in gym shorts, or taking a flight with too much already stuffed into my pockets. The piece gets set beside the keys, and by the next day it is usually still there. Nothing is worse without it. I do not become less capable. I simply notice the missing weight during the first few hours, the same way I notice when I have forgotten my usual light or moved my wallet to a different pocket.
There is a small distinction between missing an object and missing the habit of an object. The king belongs mostly to the second category.
Sometimes I turn it between my fingers at a red light, though I try not to make a habit of handling things while driving. More often, I touch the top of the crown when standing in line or waiting for a file to download. The points are rounded, and one of them has worn down enough that the crown feels uneven. I know this without looking. The piece has become something my hand recognizes before my attention does.
A couple of people have asked about it. I usually say it is from a chess set. That answer is accurate but incomplete in the way most explanations of carried objects are incomplete. It is not a reminder to be strategic, and I do not think of myself as a king, whatever that would mean. The piece does not represent a philosophy. It is just a small, slightly imperfect object that made its way into a morning routine.
There are practical limits to how long I will tolerate that kind of thing. I have removed keychains for being too noisy, stopped carrying a second pen because it kept leaking into the pocket, and abandoned a smooth stone after it collected lint around its edges. Useful objects earn their space quickly. Sentimental ones have to stay quiet.
The chess king mostly stays quiet. It does not rattle unless I am walking quickly. It does not take up enough room to change the shape of the pocket. In winter, when I am wearing a coat, it disappears entirely. In summer, when every pocket is already doing too much, I sometimes leave it on the dresser and feel vaguely relieved.
Then, usually a few days later, I will find it beside the sink or under a receipt and put it back without deciding to. The little crown catches against the fabric for a second as it settles into the pocket. I check for my keys, my phone, the light, and the piece. After that, I stop thinking about it until I reach for it again.