Check Mate

The Seventh Seal (1957, dir. Ingmar Bergman)

I’ve always thought of flirting like the chess scenes in The Seventh Seal: a playful battle of wits with the occasional menacing stare and intermittent quip. The game has just enough tension to provide levity but still yield spots of amusement, exasperation, and pure frustration. Depending on the connection, the stakes can reach great heights with an unpredictable maneuver no one anticipates. That’s what makes the game exciting.

To be a good flirt, you need to play with a skilled player and have established chemistry, otherwise the game fails before it even begins. In the past, I’ve played with plenty of bad players—the many who don’t pick up my signal, others who miss the bon mots I carefully scatter in the conversation like breadcrumbs, or the few that don’t pick up the double entendre I lay so plainly at their feet. That’s usually when I find myself bored or otherwise annoyed and graciously move on to the next player.

I downplay my skills because it’s more fun for me to do a sneak attack and keep the “opponent” on their toes. Truth of the fact is, I know exactly what I am doing when I flirt with someone. I don’t have much confidence in myself, never have. I’m fine looking, but I’ll never be a “knock out” or “bomb shell”. I’m far from a goblin but I’m fairly plain in appearance otherwise. I would be missed in a crowd, looked over in a group of women. I’ve accepted this for a long time now. The one thing I have always had confidence in is my brain. If I were to ever stand out in the pack, I would have to rely on my wits to do it. Over the years, I’ve clocked in a lot of practice and have become a progressively better player with each match I’ve engaged in.

There was one man who met my match. Bantering over beers on a weekly basis was our favorite past time and it was like that for a good year. It always seemed like we were trying to out flank one another when it came to dropping an off-kilter pun, machinating an irony poison filled conversation, or even the sparingly used innuendo that would only be utilized if one of us was in a mood and had enough alcohol in our system to pull of an exercise that bold. Those were always the best matches.

But one day he left. After that, I lost interest in the game.

The closest I came to meeting someone who could meet my match was a few months ago. I was initially nervous, especially since it was via video chat that was kind of work related. I was worried about being rusty. The pandemic has really put a wrench in how often I banter with people nowadays, not to mention I had been out of practice prior to lockdown. I feel like over the past year I’ve lost my edge, along with so many fucking brain cells. Would I be able to maneuver at the level I was at nearly two years ago? Or would I flounder like an idiot in waters I once felt comfortable in?

As the conversation began, I could feel nerves and excitement. I was concerned my brain would completely shut down but turns out I run better on adrenaline. Once I got him to laugh first, I fell into the game seamlessly. It was like I never left. All of my signature moves still worked as they always have, albeit I was now working with a different medium this time around but it brought about an elation I hadn’t felt in a long time—an attractive guy was willing to engage with me in a game of wits and had fun doing it. I missed that feeling so much.

Did he match up with my best “opponent”? No but he gave me the confidence I had lost when he left. He lavished me with attention that the main object of my desire refuses to give these days. Witticisms can only go so far. Sometimes you just need someone to shower you with attention without a mind game attached to it.