There is So Much to Love in a Laugh Samantha Margot
My mother’s laugh is grand, like riptides dueling in deep waters before slapping against the shore. Loud and sure, it expands till the corners of the room echo it back. Comfort. Of my few soulmates, this one laughs like she’s surprised she made the sound. Breaths come quickly, hands raised to cover puckered lips and bright teeth. Her laughter is windy, kicking up leaves in a hurry. Hearing her laugh strikes a chord deep in my chest. Joyous, hysterical almost. Love. For all that my brother’s outward appearance has changed, his laugh remains the same. Sarcastic, biting, he laughs with his body. Cheeks light up, wiry frame shaking, long fingers comb through an Elvis Presley-inspired twist. His laugh stings like flurries of snow hitting frozen cheeks, somehow still able to pierce through layers of cold Intention. Whereas my brother’s looks have changed immeasurably, this friend has remained the same in so many ways. Previously, I had never met someone whose laughter startled me. Clawing its way out of her throat, scratchy while shaking off the rust, a branch creaking to life in early Spring, a sleeping giant waking for the first time in a millennium. Now her laughter comes easier and stays for longer, a warm hand in dead winters, and a soft breeze in sweltering summers.
American Literary Magazine | 58
