Uncontrollable laughter
In a human world going off the rails, I remembered a short piece I wrote in One Thousand Moons, that made me laugh.
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It started as a few giggles no one paid attention to. But soon the eight-year-old boy flying alone from Albuquerque to San Francisco had entered the holy realm of unstoppable laughter. Infectious laughter. His seat was in the first row, against the bulkhead, facing backwards towards the second row. The five adults surrounding him and six more across the aisle were all in a sea of child laughter. About what? His own private joke to be sure.
He stopped for a few seconds then burst out once again. Louder, deeper in his child belly, and funnier. Wave after wave of uncontrollable, belly-aching laughter. The two women next to him held up their hands to cover their smiles. A man started to laugh. The businessman across from the boy, his head buried in a newspaper, seemed immune. But not for long.
Seated a row behind, I stretched my neck to view this little sage, to be a part of the wild joy coming out of him. As kids, my brother and I used to play the laughing game. We would start with fake laughs, “Ha Ha.” “Ha Ha Ha.” Within moments we were out of control. Nothing could stop us, and nothing was stopping this boy.
We landed twenty minutes later, the eleven adults in the first two rows split between outright laughter and giggles, or attempts to control laughs followed by hilarious outbursts. And those of us a bit further back were smiling, wishing we could be in the front row.
