I have been blessed to meet some extremely wonderful people as I have gone muraling around the world. Somewhere very near the top of my list of memorable people is Alfredo. I met him when I painted at an orphanage where he lived in Mexico. Alfredo wasn't exactly an orphan. This young man was the victim of gun violence that put him in a wheelchair. He stayed at the orphanage because there were limited facilities in Piedras Negras that could care for his needs. At 23, he was everyone's big brother at Casa de Misericordia, and they rightfully adored him.
The calm before the storm I try to look at a glass as half full, and I think I do okay with that. But, I'm just not sure how well I would handle a disability from gun violence that would keep me in a wheelchair for the rest of my life. Alfredo was warm and gracious. It didn't matter that he spoke no English and I spoke absolutely horrible español because Alfredo spoke perfect friendship.
Everyone who came to the orphanage loved Alfredo.
Of course, I came to the orphanage to paint a mural (mural and project). When the young children were painting, there was just no way for Alfredo to participate. It was simply impossible and impassable. But, fortunately for me, there were quiet moments when the kids were at school and Alfredo could paint. I was very pleasantly surprised to see that he could stand up and paint when he needed to do so. This all took place during the calm before the storm. When school was over, so was Alfredo's turn to paint.
He didn't seem to mind.
On this particular project, I came to Mexico with a small group of gringos. Most of us at one point during the experience were lured into a chess game with Alfredo. It was like swimming with a shark. The shark always won and it was usually bloody. Alfredo was a chess master, at least the best master at the orphanage.
I avoided playing chess with him, very thankful to have a mural as my excuse. I don't really care for chess. I haven't really played it much since I was a kid and I don't remember winning very often. Some people, like Alfredo, plan ahead. They know eight to ten moves in advance and then move in for the kill. That isn't me, but Alfredo is one of those schemers and plotters at the chessboard. From the safety and security of my mural, I could hear Alfredo start to laugh when he knew that checkmate was imminent. And, he laughed a lot.
Nobody defeated Alfredo.
Towards the end of the day, but before it was dark, I put away my brushes so I could go outside and play with the kids. I didn't get that far. That shark Alfredo was waiting for his opportunity to kill another gringo. And there I was, just ripe for the picking . . . or massacring. I didn't want to play, but I just couldn't say no to him. So, I pulled up an already bloody seat.
Like I already told you, I have no long-term strategy in chess. I just knew that if I were to have any chance at all, I would have to come out as aggressively as possible and just assault, assault and assault. To my surprise, and probably much more to Alfredo's, it worked. In no time at all, I had his queen and both rooks. If you know anything about chess, you know you're pretty much done for when that happens. There was no evil laughter with a Spanish accent ten moves before checkmate. Believe me, I hooted and hollered a whole lot before Alfredo admitted defeat. He didn't have to know any English to understand my celebration.
My mama didn't raise no fool. I quit a winner. I planned to go out on top and didn't play another match against this obvious master. I simply basked in my victory for the rest of the time in Piedras Negras.
The shark, Alfredo, awaiting another bloodbath
It was two years before I returned to Mexico. Alfredo had two more years to hone his shark attack skills. And, for some reason he never forgot about my victory.
He wanted a rematch.
I put it off as long as possible. At lunch I got him several extra pieces of pizza, hoping he might need a Sunday afternoon siesta instead of a bloodbath. Well, he ate the pizza. (Who wouldn't?) And then, we sat down for the rematch.
Unbelievably, it happened again. In one of my earliest moves, I slid across the board and captured his queen. He was shocked; I continued laughing. At one point I blurted out, "How do you say loser in Spanish?" Much to everyone's delight, Alfredo knew more English than anyone expected. He instantly plopped a big "L" on his forehead. Yes, he lost again. Yes, he's the greatest loser. And, yes, he's waiting for my next visit to Mexico.
He wanted a rematch.
I put it off as long as possible. At lunch I got him several extra pieces of pizza, hoping he might need a Sunday afternoon siesta instead of a bloodbath. Well, he ate the pizza. (Who wouldn't?) And then, we sat down for the rematch.
Unbelievably, it happened again. In one of my earliest moves, I slid across the board and captured his queen. He was shocked; I continued laughing. At one point I blurted out, "How do you say loser in Spanish?" Much to everyone's delight, Alfredo knew more English than anyone expected. He instantly plopped a big "L" on his forehead. Yes, he lost again. Yes, he's the greatest loser. And, yes, he's waiting for my next visit to Mexico.
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