You were absorbed in a solitary game of chess, the pieces arranged carefully on the board, their rich wood grain gleaming under the lamp's glow. Friends were a luxury you didn't seek; while there was a hint of loneliness, the chess pieces offered you solace.

As you prepared to make your next move, your mother entered, her face showing anxiety. She paused, watching you intently before crouching to meet your gaze.

“Honey, why don’t you go out and play?”She suggested, her voice gentle yet tinged with urgency.

“No,” you said firmly, your focus on your next move. Her eyes showed deep worry, hinting at the frustration beneath her calm facade.

“Sweetheart, I worry. Sweetheart, I do...” Her voice trailed off, laden with concern. “I worry a lot, I worry a lot, I worry a lot!.. I could take you to the Jewish center?.”

After some moments of back and forth, she took a deep breath and broached a topic you had never expected to hear from her lips.

“Darling, please see a psychiatrist. He’s quite a guy, and I admire how he acts...”

You turned to her, incredulity written all over your face. Sensing your hesitation, she reached around and enveloped you in a comforting hug, her fingers brushing gently through your hair, a gesture meant to soothe both of you.

“No one is saying you’re a sick neurotic,”

She assured you softly, her voice a delicate blend of reassurance and gentle insistence.

“But you could find some help, hear me out, please—, Yes, you could find some help, he could help you realize.. How confused you are is VERY CLEAR! Daddy’s sincere, but a schmo…”

There was a fleeting disapproval in her expression when she mentioned your father, yet it was quickly replaced by a wistful smile, a reflection of her own complexities.

“You and I must trust our emotions... make no commotions. Will you go..?”

Her plea hung in the air, a quiet invitation to explore the world outside your solitary chess match.