Hikaru hadn't cried when his father told him. He had simply sat on the floor of his room, his father hovering in the doorway like an uninvited spirit. It had been quick, he had told his son, a heart attack. Here, then gone in the space of moments. No chance to feel the pain or recognize the fear that accompanies the rushing sound of oncoming eternity.
Hikaru hadn't cried that night as he lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to his mother cry downstairs. He had curled over onto his side and felt the weight that had settled deep in his stomach rise into his chest as he tried to think things through. It wasn't that he hadn't wanted to cry, he had realized suddenly as he listened to his mother's muffled sobs. There wasn't a single good reason he should, he had reasoned to himself as he brought his knees to his chest and pulled his blanket tighter around his body. If ever he'd questioned the existence of a spiritual world the wonderfully strange events of his preteen years had chased away even the palest hint of doubt.
Hikaru hadn't cried at the funeral, the day had been too beautiful for that. With a bright sun in a cloudless sky and just a hint of wind, pleasantly cool against his face, it was the kind of day he'd once prayed for when he had a day off to go rollerblading in the park.
Hikaru hadn't cried at the meeting with the lawyers and cousins that his parents insisted he attend as they discussed the distribution of property and assets. He'd just rolled the toe of his shoe into the thick carpet and tried not to let anyone notice how uncomfortable this was making him. He'd sighed, several times, and waited until it was over then told his father he was going to go study with his friends.
But that evening when he flipped on the light to his room he dropped his backpack and his jaw as he stared down that the board that had changed his life years ago. He fell to his knees heavily, feet still sticking into the hallway. He hadn't noticed his mother's light steps padding up the stairs as she cried his name in question. When she saw what had stopped him in his tracks her lips turned in a gentle, sad expression as she sunk to her knees next to him and put her arms around his shoulders. She had gone to the shed that afternoon, she whispered into his ear, and she knew that the board had been important to him and that he had been more proud of Hikaru and his fierce love for the game then she had thought possible. Everyone had agreed that Hikaru should have it, she had told him. She had kissed his cheek gently and given him a comforting squeeze; then told him he should get some rest, that the day had been difficult on all of them, and shut the door. And there, in his own room, as he studied the dark intersections on the board, seeing the whole universe laid out before him, Hikaru allowed himself to selfishly reflect on all he had lost,and wept.