Laughter

by Giselle Gao (7)

Are siblings supposed to be alike? I stare into my grey ceiling, sinking into the ocean of questions. I have always liked grey for its mysterious combination of black and white, but right now, the shades of grey hang as if they will infiltrate my brain and drag me into a spiral of wonders if I don’t figure out the answer.

I turn my eyes from the pressing shades of grey and see the little body snuggling inside piles of pink pillows beside me. Pink and grey.

My sister and I look so much alike that my parents always mix up our childhood photos. No. Not all of the photos. Only the photos of when we were both little babies and had sausage arms. My mom would turn on the projector and play videos of us — the ones of us laughing, dancing, goofing around, and even fighting. “Look at those chubby cheeks you have!” She would throw a kiss to the small

Giselle that smiled with two teeth showing. Next to me, my sister, the smaller and skinnier version of me in the video, laughed as I danced and sang loud.

Her laughter. The prettiest laughter on earth. It is when marbles roll and twirl, falling to the floor; it is when a fish’s scale glitters under the rays of sunlight that flash through the dark ocean. It is strong like a generous wave that brings millions and millions of shells to the golden beach. It is soft like the silver moonlight that brushes the sleeping owl’s feather.

My laughter. A completely different sound. It is sharp like a knight’s silver sword flashing under the mysterious moonlight. It is sometimes dim like my grandmother’s living room in December or bright like the jumping colors of mango and raspberry sorbets in mid June.

I thought that when you stay with someone for a long time, you would be similar to them. I once borrowed a duck quack laughter from a classmate, but I never got a single bit of my sister’s laughter even though we’ve already lived together for nine years.

We are so different that sometimes I get surprised when we think of the same thing: as we walked down the cement street on a hot July afternoon, she looked at me and asked, “Why don’t we go get some hazelnut gelato!”, stealing the words from my mouth.

by Katherine Chui (10)