he's the neighborhood laughing man. i see him everyday walking by with his dirty bare feet. wearing the same grease stained green jacket, no matter the weather. his hair is disheveled. his face is leathery, ageless. he could be 80 but he also looks like he's 15 sometimes. when he smiles, he's like a little child. he laughs w/ abandon - frenzied, uncontrollable. like he doesn't care about what anybody thinks.
he digs through the trash every night for food. seeing him has always filled my heart with guilt. how can somebody live off my trash?
it's around midnight one night, and i'm sitting on my porch when he comes by to dig in my trash.
He plucks out a magazine + squeals with joy.
he sits down to read it
it's a teenybopper magazine
i've seen him before and i've always been scared of him
but tonite, i dunno what's different. i want to be a part of his life. i want to dig in the trash with him.
i walk next to him, but he doesn't see me.
he picks up his bag and walks away.
i follow him, and call out, hey, hey there, hey you!
he can't hear
i realize
he's deaf
i follow him to his alleyway where he stays. when I tap his shoulder, he turns around and looks surprised. he shuffles past me and sits down on a concrete divider. I sit next to him. I reach out for his bag. he lets me open it.
it's full of discarded children's books, pretty boxes, random packaging, knickknacks that people throw away. he pulls out a teenybopper magazine, and we read it together. I reach out to touch his hand. he doesn’t make a sound. we hold hands there on the side of the dusty road, tuk-tuks creaking by.
as I get up to leave, he points to his stomach and rubs it. I point to my mouth, asking, are you hungry? he nods. I go back home and get some leftover rice and curry, and make a fried egg. I bring it back to him. he smiles and giggles. he eats it slowly, meticulously. He uses his hands to eat the egg. he pushes the carrots around like a little kid would. he likes carrots, i think. when he’s about halfway done, he offers me some food. I take a bite (to be polite), and give him back the plate. he doesn’t finish it all. he’s been quiet this whole time, but finally he laughs. his grin shows a row of rotting teeth. he’s happy.
ever since then, the laughing man and I haven't been able to hang out like we did that night. I saw him the other day, sitting on a concrete divider as usual with his bag of treasures. the little kids at the local elementary school were pointing at him, mocking him. daring each other to touch him. when he saw me, he smiled. nodded politely. and laughed.
