The door to the temporary quarters opened. Smith was disheveled, resting curled in the side of the dark red couch and his outfit was heavily wrinkled. His v-necked shirt was laid on the arm rest in a rather miserable mood. In fact, he was growing a grayed stubble. The arm rest of the couch was stained from his tears. Smith didn't acknowledge the young boy who came in with a chess set. He placed it in front of the table then took out the black and white circular items from a long, wide compartment. Smith looked over toward the chess set. A painful reminder of Will. The boy who let him win when playing chess.
Oh, the pain. The pain.
A reminder of better times.
"Would you like to play chess?" the boy asked.
"No," Smith replied. "Go away."
"I'll make the first move then," the boy moved a piece forward.
"I am not the best chess player," Smith said.
"So? It doesn't matter to me," the boy said. "Long as you give it your all."
"You must be a alien who gets everything they want," Smith said.
"Yeah, you can say that, sort of," the boy said.
"I wish I could get everything that I wanted," Smith said.
"You can when you believe in yourself," the boy said.
"I used to have that for myself," Smith said. "I lost it when my best friend died."
"I'm sorry for your loss," the boy said. "it must have been horrible for their family."
"My family, yes. . ." Smith corrected, as the boy looked at him curiously. "It's a shame that . . . That. . that his sister had to find his body." Smith's gaze was on the window.
"The collapse must have been that awful," the boy said.
"It was a earthquake. . . Nothing like ones I have experienced," Smith said. "And I have experienced a great many."
"How many?" The boy asked.
"Too many to count, dear." Smith's tear ducts were dry from hours of crying. He rubbed his finger along his cheek in a flickering motion as though flicking off a non-existent tear.
"I can wait here as long as I can until you make the next move," the boy said.
"Then you will be here forever," Smith said, getting up from the chair. He walked over toward the window.
"I had a friend who was nearly lost so I saved him, rebuilt him, then lost him again last week," Smith's attention turned on to the young boy leaning against the ledge. "It still hurts."
He turned his attention off the boy toward space.
"Grief is the escapade of emotional hurt," Smith said. "and it's nasty." he turned his attention onto the boy with a sympathetic look. "It can kill you, but long as you have something to hold on it won't happen."
"You have something to hold onto," the boy said.
Smith turned his attention off from the boy down toward the Smith ring.
"Prison is all I have to look forward," Smith said, sadly. "To redeem the family name for posterity."
"You haven't came out of your room since we left the planet," the boy said. "my dad and mom would like to talk with you on your terms."
"Long as there is a space station to leave me on, I will not be in their hair," Smith said.
"You're not a problem to us," the boy said. "and I am sure that you weren't to him."
"The smartest boy I ever knew," Smith said. "The bravest child. A kind little boy."
Smith's eyes sadly went toward the chess board. On both sides, the transparent visual of him and Will playing chess appeared before his eyes moving pieces. The apartment scenery melting away replaced by the familiar hydroponics across from them and the Jupiter 2 behind Smith. Maureen and the girls tending to the plants across from them. Will patiently waiting for Smith to make his next move. The scene melted away before Smith's eyes. He turned his attention away from the chess set in a pained manner.
"He must have made a impression," the boy said.
"The Robinsons are very good people," Smith said, as the boy's mouth fell open. "William was no different."
"Oh," the boy said.
"He wanted me to call him Will," Smith added. "He would correct me in our first year on Preplanis when I did call him by 'William'," he fought back a sob keeping his composure. The boy looked up toward Smith in pity. "I don't know when he stopped but he did."
"He didn't mind hearing his name coming from you," the boy said.
"He called me-me-me. . . Friend," Smith said. "After all I had done."
"Because he saw some good in you," the boy stood up then slowly approached Smith and came over toward his side.
"And I failed him," Smith said.
"Not everyone sees it coming," the boy said. "I knew a doctor who once said that life was inconvenient."
"Sounds like we would have gotten along," Smith said.
"You would have," the boy agreed.
"Does your father know you're here?" Smith asked.
"No," the boy said.
"You're a intelligent child," Smith said. "Parents are wise, and you should listen to them."
"Sometimes, they are wrong," the boy said. "Not all the time."
"They are always right when it come to their children," Smith said.
"When people are sad they need company, not being alone," the boy said. "I get the feeling you don't like being alone."
"I do not deserve the company of a child nor hold over responsibility one," Smith placed his hand on to his forehead lowering his head down.
"It's nice to hear you telling the truth for once, Doctor Smith," Will's voice came hauntingly from behind him.
"Spare me the taunting, my boy," Smith said.
The boy reached out and took Smith's slightly bigger hand.
"You're wrong," the boy said, looking up toward Smith. "You deserve company."
"I am not wrong," Smith said.
"You won't admit it," the boy said. "but you need comfort. So suck it up and accept that you can't push everyone away who want to be around you."
"That's what he would have said," Smith said, looking down toward the little boy. "Only a little less like that."
"It is what I would have said because it wasn't your fault," The boy said, then added. "Doctor Smith."
Smith yanked his hand out of the boy's hand.
"Go away," Smith said, walking away from the boy. Terrified, horrified, and his face twisted. "Shoo, shoo, shoo!"
"Why are you so afraid?" Will asked. "I am not going to hurt you."
"That's what the imposters say and I always get hurt. People always get hurt when they meet people claiming to be people they love dearly," Smith reiterated, as the other Will's innocent face became full of 'what' at the last part. "I don't want to die! I don't want to die! I'm too young to die!"
Smith staggered back with his hands meeting a counter and he made his way from the boy.
"You're not much different yourself," Will said, then left the room.
Smith's attention slowly grew around the room. He looked toward the chess board laid on the table. The boy's chess piece had been moved to a unoccupied part of the board that was black and white. He made his way toward the board then slowly reached his hand toward the board. He yanked his hand back like he had been stung and closed his hand. He reached his hand back out toward the black piece. He closed his hand yanking it back, briefly. The next time he reached his hand out, he picked the rounded flat object up then moved the piece forward.
