Joe's Laugh

I asked him

if he wanted to see

a "ghost caught on tape."

And he smiled-- 

Ear to ear--

and said "yes."

So, we went into my classroom 

and I pointed to the spot on door 

where I had taped

a picture

of a cartoon ghost

wrapped in scotch tape

and hung it from the wall.

A joke.

I thought he was going to wet his pants.

He:

special education,

sensory processing problems,

bone problems,

and ADHD,

was now able to understand puns.

Joe's laughter

when he understood the joke

was different than when he didn't.

I was used to him laughing 

just so that he could fit in.

and his classmates--

who had some of the same problems that he did--

would not question him.

Would not make him feel

uncomfortable.

He laughter 

was robust.

He sounded like his father 

when he got the joke.

He became an opened window

of what normal life would look like 

for this 20-something,

who was a galaxy

of kind words

and helpful actions.

If genetics was kind.

If birth was easy.

If seeds and eggs were always as perfect as untouched snow.

If god would have existed for a split second.

If I could have gotten to him sooner.

Joe's laughter followed me home that night.

I was tired,

but the dog needed walking,

and the wife needed to get out of the house. 

 

So we got into the car,

and even though the day was grey

and cold,

I counted dandelions

and stopped to observe the blue heron by the creek.

I ate dinner slowly.

I closed my eyes and listened to the bonfire crackle.

My favorite drink

became second-rate

when I finally stopped to taste it.

The debt,

and the poor pay,

and the long work hours,

and the frustrations of this absurd life

gathered like pools of wax

at the base of my life's flame.

And I laughed too.