When his best friend Antoine loses his father, Ike learns that simply being there can say more than words.
I walked up to him quietly, without a word. Without thinking any further, I picked up the second controller and sat down beside him, silently joining his game. I wasn't particularly good at communicating, let alone at finding the right words at such delicate moments. In fact, I'm still not, to this day. But I knew I was a good friend, someone who knew how to listen and simply be there. So yes, I started playing with him, without even trying to meet his eyes, for fear of making him uncomfortable.
We played in silence, the noise of the arcade creating a strange bubble around us. After our third game, I put my hand on his shoulder. The gesture was simple, almost instinctive, but it carried the full weight of what I wanted to tell him. “My condolences, brother,” I murmured at last, my voice barely louder than a breath. Antoine slowly turned his head towards me, his red, swollen eyes meeting mine. He looked me straight in the eye and, in a muffled but sincere voice, simply answered: “Thank you.” In that brief exchange, so full of emotion, there was more understanding and support than a thousand words could have conveyed. We went back to our game, and out of the corner of my eye I saw silent tears rolling down his cheeks, mingling with the blue light of the screen.
The story continues in the book.