Honest Laughter

I’d heard his laugh, the one he offered people when he was being sarcastic or didn’t know them or just didn’t care, I’d heard that one lots of times before.

But his laugh, his real laugh, that was somethin’ he kept to himself most days. Some days, though, I got lucky. Some days, he would forget to stay guarded and honesty would come out in his laugh.

It made everyone around him smile – you couldn’t help yourself. He’d pause for a minute and you could see his face relax, the protective and worry lines vanishing as his eyes changed colour in preparation.

And then his head would go back and his smile would broaded.

And then he would laugh.

It lasted plenty long enough for you to enjoy it, but you never really wanted it to end.

It was that kind of laugh.

It seemed to echo in the room after it was over.

He would keep smiling and chuckling for a bit after the laugh. Like he himself wanted to hang onto it.

But eventually the lines would creep back into his face and his eyes would change back and the honesty would be replaced with his regular cheekiness.

And then I would go back to my desk and wonder how I could get him to laugh again tomorrow.