FICTIOn
A Bit of a Laugh
Her infectious laughter stood out from the crowd of men and women in the room.
I watched her from a distance, studying her carefully, trying to make as unbiased a judgement as I possibly could. Her head thrown back, teeth bared, her thin, red lips carefully enveloping them like two clams – yes, it took a lot for me to not look away.
Another joke cracked, another peal of laughter. The teeth and clams were there again.
It was fascinating, really, to watch how free and unabashed she was in that crowd of superficial entertainment. With their carefully curated outfits and hairstyles made to look as careless as possible, I wondered if even this laughter was not a product of careful study.
For instance, I watched the man with the manicured beard as he crinkled his big, beautiful eyes as he stood right across from her, just keeping them open enough to see if his joke had had the intended effect. Did he look at himself in the mirror before gargling some Listerine to top off his morning ritual and have himself a little laugh that would ensure a woman for him to share that very ritual with?
And, more importantly, was she the one to do it?
She, who spent endless hours mourning and moping over her supposed lack of talent or about whether she was good enough or not. She, who spent an inordinate amount of time worrying about what other people thought about her. She, who spent a lot of time repressing her past and worrying about when she was hurt or when she hurt the people she was once extremely close to.
With so much abuzz in her mind, I wondered how she had the time for a simple bit of infectious laughter. I looked at her again, and noticed the slight sadness that never seemed to leave her eyes. I noticed the nervousness with which she pretended that her faux pas wasn’t that big a deal after all. I noticed the slight dryness that had begun to crack through the carefully applied lipstick that made her look like she’d woken up effortlessly.
I looked once more, like I had done many times in the mirror. I looked away and turned back to the man with the manicured beard. I hoped he hadn’t read all this from my reflection, too.
