The Boy Who Never Was
Chapter 1
You don't know what it is that's missing. There's no yawning emptiness in you, nothing obviously wrong with your life. You're just a kid after all. You're happy. Your parents are loving and generous, attentive but not smothering. Your mother is beautiful. Your father is Meijin. He teaches you go.
Right now you're sitting in your father's go salon. You're in the back by the fish tanks, reviewing kifu by yourself. Ichikawa is watching the front. No one is asking you for a teaching game because you look busy.
…Everyone is so nice to you.
You don't want to scream exactly. You don't know what it is you want. You don't even know that you want.
You don't know until he walks through the door, asks for your age, and asks for a game.
"Akira," your mother says, over dinner. "I heard from Ichikawa-san that you became a bit…upset today?"
You hear the upward tilt of her voice and wonder what it is she's really asking.
"There was a boy who came in," you tell her. "He was the same age as me." You pick up your bowl of rice, cupping your hand around it carefully. It's weighty, like a full go-ke at the beginning of a game. "He told me he wanted to play, and…"
He didn't know who I was. He didn't know, but he wanted to play me anyway.
"…he was very good."
Your mother has a tiny crease between her slender brows. Just a tiny crease. Almost imperceptible. You know it's there because you've noticed it before—it's how she looks when she's deeply worried inside. Just a little worried outside. You never know what to do when she looks at you like that.
You eat some rice. It's good rice.
"So. A boy randomly came in," she says eventually. "Someone the same age as you, strong enough to ask for an even game."
"With the komi, I won," you reply. You don't mention that the boy played shidougo against you. You don't want to show how upset you are.
"Akira," she says. "You're in sixth grade now, almost in middle school."
You don't know why she suddenly bringing this up, but you nod to show you're listening.
"Don't you think you're too old for…" the crease between her brows darkens, "…for these kinds of games?"
Your blood runs cold.
"I'm not sure what you mean." You keep your voice level, but inside, inside of you... "I know some of Father's friends think I should take the pro exam already, and I respect their opinion, truly I do, but I thought you were okay with me waiting a year…"
You trail off because your mother is staring at you. Have you upset her that much? You look down at your pickled cucumbers, mortified.
"That's not what I was talking about," she says, "though I agree it's better to wait before you go pro."
"Then what…"
"Ichikawa told me," she begins, "she told me that this 'boy' you say you played today…"
"What about him?"
"Well, he wasn't…Akira, I know you wish you had a rival your age, but don't you think you should find some real friends?"
There's a strange timbre to her voice. You can't see her face right now (you're still staring at your food) but you can imagine the crumple between her eyebrows is still there. You don't understand why it's there. Why is she suddenly taking such an interest in your life? Usually she doesn't care about go.
"Oh, Akira," she says after some time, and silence. "I understand. Tell me," her voice goes artificially bright, "how did it feel playing that boy today?"
Later, as you lie in bed, you decide you didn't lie to your mother. It's not like you could have explained the boy to her anyway. The way he held the stones like a meagre child. The way he played like a wizened master. The condescension he showed you from the moment he walked in.
His name, he told you, was Shindou Hikaru.
It's all you have to hold to, this slender wisp of him.