laugh

I didn’t know I could love someone’s laugh so much. Maybe it’s because you’re not easily amused, you don’t pity-laugh or nervous-laugh or even smile unless something’s funny. Unless there’s tension between this entendre and that one, unless it’s unexpected or bold or completely inappropriate. You don’t laugh just because I laugh.

Maybe it’s because your humor is dry where mine is soaked in controversy, maybe it’s because you hardly ever complain or blame or exaggerate. Instead you understate. You wait for me to run out of breath before you respond to me. And always calmly. Even though I can’t help interrupting you sometimes, there are too many words I haven’t said yet, they turn my tongue into trampoline and ruin the silence that wanted to come.

Your laugh makes my jokes better, my timing a little more precise. I used to snicker while delivering my punchlines, snort uncontrolled over the last few words of my story. Not anymore. I want all I say to be clear, to watch and hear your reaction. That laugh my million-dollar reward for connecting my mind to yours.

When everything desired suddenly arrives, things change by themselves, don’t they? The scenery outside my train car’s window shows more of its colors, pictures fall out of their blurred rhythm. The world’s motion slower even as I age and the days quicken their step around me.

© 2012 Tahminah Zaman