Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER.
Once upon a time, there was a laugher. She laughed at everything. It was a language, a way of being, a communication although limited, it had a range – the laughter could be raucous, sarcastic, thunderous. It could be sad, low and guttural, or even tittering on hysteria. She was a laugher and the laugh was from her body, her ribs expanding and contracting, breath sometimes high or low or snorting out her nose. Of course she drew attention. She didn’t mean to, but to laugh at everything does that.
Every day she rode the bus into town, sometimes at peak hour where she blended into the crowd. Everyone in their own personal space, looking at their phone, talking on their phone, perhaps talking to a friend or brief interaction with a fellow commuter, she blended in with her laughing. No-one usually paid attention, her laughing another background noise. But when she caught the bus at quiet times of the day, her laughter drew attention, drew concerned looks for her wellbeing, for the safety of the onlookers. Who is this woman? Why is she laughing? And sometimes she looked back in mirth, or gently giggled as she looked out the window. She sometimes started a laughing party on the bus with infectious laughter.
One day the bus driver asked her why she laughed. And she just laughed and smiled. He asked if she would like to ride the bus in the afternoon when he picks up the school kids. Some in the area were particularly unhappy. Life had been tough. The kids were still quite young but had stopped that spontaneous joyful laughter as they were rushed towards adulthood, not ready for the strain of life too soon. Because of that, she remembered when she had started laughing. She laughed because she could. Because it felt good. Because she was a child again and the angst of adult worries would loosen from her body with each laugh. She agreed to ride the afternoon school bus. The kids were talking about “party tricks” and how that was a way to make others laugh. Each child took turns standing in the aisle to perform their trick, each was seen, each offered joy. And the laugher laughed. She did this each day until finally the children were there just for each other.
The laugher had not always been so well appreciated. Her sister was calmer, cooler, hair perfectly in place, cigarette elegantly drawn, beautifully dressed. She was elusive, distant. Her cares slipped over and from her body, never taking hold. Definitely not penetrating her body like her sister’s mirth. The coolness left her remote and beautiful, like a sculpture or artwork. Life fell around her but no longer bubbled up inside of her, no imperfections. She’d cultivated the behaviour so perfectly.