I am very attracted to Fabiano Caruana.
I’ve known him for more than a decade now, ever since I started playing Chess during college. Didn’t really think much of him then, even if he was considered even then one of the main contenders for World Champion, although always trailing behind Magnus Carlsen. It was only recently that I began to realize that not only is he one of the greatest chess players of all time, but he is also very handsome in his own very particular way.
He is very calm, and in some pictures with his large eyes it looks like he was frozen in fear facing an oncoming train. But within that exterior, within, he was a genius, the likes of which there are less than a few hundred thousand in the world. Less than a percent in the entire history of humanity. That is incredible, incredible power, all the while being understated, calm.
Obviously I don’t know Mr. Caruana in person. So, I don’t know if he only seems this way in his public appearances. It is perfectly possible that, in private, he could violent and prone to rage and arrogant, like Kasparov both in private and in public. But I doubt it. It would need to be very well hidden, given how much insight we have of his life.
Not that it would matter, as I would never know him. He would probably never know I exist. And even if he ever did, through some fan meet or because I wave at him at a tournament, he must be so busy. He would have no time to talk to me or message me. Much less take me on a romantic hiking trip in the Alps, where we would retrace the steps of the Carthaginian war elephants during the Second Punic War. Look out into Italy from the cliffs and accidentally touch hands. Glance at each other, laugh, blush, and then hold hands without averting our gaze from the view.
He would never ask me to join the Amazing Race. Train with me for months to get me in shape, physically and mentally. And then during the race his intellect, focus, strategy, and memory would carry us through to the final legs. Occasionally, we would get in each other’s nerves.
During a roadblock in Phenom Phen he would have to count the number of female figures on a temple wall doing a specific pose. We would be both tired and a little bit annoyed because of a mix-up during a previous challenge. I also tripped while running down the sidewalk, and he was very worried for a second, which also disrupted his mental.
He already went around the temple a few dozen times. Three groups were there when we arrived, but now we were the only ones left.
“What’s going on?” I ask him from the side.
He had just come back from having gone around again. He’s frustrated, sweaty. His face is so expressive; it’s easy to see he’s pissed off.
“I don’t know,” he says, not even looking at me. He stops and places a hand on his hip and uses another hand to wipe the sweat from his brow.
“Go to the guy,” I say, pointing at the monk who had our clue.
He doesn’t say anything, so I say it again. “Go to the guy!”
“I know!” he snaps at me.
I’d be afraid that we’re in last place, but several teams come. This reassures me a bit.
Another team talks about how Fabiano is a grandmaster. His memory skills should be amazing. I overhear this. The camera zooms in on my face. I’m furious.
We come fifth among the remaining seven. The last team wasn’t even eliminated; it was a non-elimination round. During our post-leg interview, we talk about how much we love each other.
He says, “Every relationship has challenges. And we’ve had our share. But no matter what happens, we know we have each other’s back. And I’d never be here with anyone but August.”
And he looks at me. I look at him.
We kiss, but the televised version cuts that part because too many conservatives watch the show, and the producers don’t want to offend anyone.
That’s never going to happen. But I like thinking about it. And I like seeing him and watching him online. I love seeing his games, his analyses, his tutorials. That’s enough for me. I have a feeling that I don’t need to get too greedy when it comes to men I’ll never have. There will be a lot more.