Laughter

My days have always been filled with laughter. In the first few chapters of my life, laughter was a sound that reminded me of how pathetic I was, of how different I was from the world.

But those chapters ended when a new character entered the story. Charles Hughes was his name.

I met the man on one of the snowiest days of 1773, in St. Petersburg. He was an equestrian on his journey in becoming a circus proprietor.

I was with my brother on that same day. We walked through thick layers of snow, desperate to reach the Winter Palace that lit brightly under the blizzard. We craved for the tiniest bit of warmth to wash over our pitiful, shivering selves.

I then noticed someone with a torch heading our way. I was ready to grab my brother and run in fear of it being the royal guards. Who knew what they would do to horrific beasts like us?

“You poor kids.” The man was no royal guard, he said. Charles Hughes was his name. He was tall. Much taller than the men who threw apples at me and my brother. Perhaps the taller you were, the more room you made for a heart.

He shone his torch towards us, revealing the monstrosity that we were: children with the beastly legs of a horse. How ashamed I was of my unladylike physique!

“Magnificent.” He gasped.

My eyes widened in shock. Magnificent? Us?

He shook his head. “Come. You will only die here.”

That night, we rode on an animal with legs like me and my brother until we arrived at a beautiful, grand theatre.

“Take these.” Charles gave each of us a pair of shoes with wheels once entered the theatre. I looked at them in bewilderment. I have never seen such a design to be put on feet. Or hooves, for that matter.

“What are these, Mr. Hughes?” My brother asked.

“These are roller skates.” Charles answered. “These shoes will give you the power to define your own path. You can either keep falling, or keep standing up until you skate as well as you breathe.”

He tapped on each of our skates. “Skate until you feel like there is no road that can make you fall.”

He suddenly let out a bellow of laughter. “I have the perfect name for your act! The Horseshoe Duo!” It is now 1780, and ‘The Horseshoe Duo’ is in their late teens. My brother and I raced with our skates on, joyous that all the snow has melted, revealing patches of dead grass.

“I won!” My brother declared.

“You got it easy!” I argued. “My hair is in the way!”

“Your hair is too long! Cut it or you’ll trip on your skates one day!”

“But it looks good!”

My brother rolled his eyes. We stopped bickering and stared at our first sunrise of the year.

“Good morning, Charles.” I said softly.

“Good morning, Mr. Hughes.” My brother said afterward, a faint smile planted on his face.

Charles had passed, but we know that he is shining down on us like the sun, ready to witness our next grand act.

“Let’s go.” My brother said. “The crew is waiting for us.”

“Race you to the theatre!” I announced, making a head start. I laughed as I heard my brother angrily yell behind me.

My days have always been filled with laughter. In this chapter of my life onwards, laughter will be a sound that reminds me of how magnificent I am, of how different I am from the world.

*Photo by Gratisography