The Laughter Epidemic
2
8/8/2019 The Laughter Epidemic http://slidepdf.com/reader/full/the-laughter-epidemic 1/2 The Laughter Epidemic By: Shannon Todd The only corners in the room were those of an upright piano. This piano was worn, as were the sheets of music spread across its front, as was the woman to whom these things belonged. People had taken to calling her Madame. Each afternoon was the same. She sat opposite the piano, perched on the bench with feet dangling and hands clasped in her lap. On her right a child would sit, feet dangling in the same way, swishing and hovering above the floor. Spencer was her every other Thursday student, and had been for some time. A few weeks prior he discovered that when he sat just so, the tips of his big toes would graze the linoleum. Madame had just asked if he (pronounced Spenc-air) might play a little bit (pronounced beet). Spencerʼs thought, though hardly set to words, was something in the neighborhood of ʻThis is not going to be any good.ʼ He glanced at the pianoʼs glossy veneer and upon it checked Madameʼs reflection, hoping to gauge her patience or lack thereof. And there she was, quite unmoving upon that bench, her focus on the keys she expected him to touch. Madame then turned her eyes to him and gestured with her chin toward the faded sheet music. “Mmmm. Right,” was all Spencer could muster in response. His fingers rose in unison with his voice and settled on the keys. With hands spread wide he played the first chord, but there was something off about it. Already he was desperate to stop altogether, to tell her why he had not practiced, to explain that it was because of the laughter epidemic. Here Spencer dismissed his urge and went on to the second chord, and the third. He had known that he would not play well, and still he had not practiced. No, Spencer had allowed his mind to dwell upon that which he had come across, that is, news of the laughter epidemic. It had only been one week since he came across this bit of history, but thoughts of the epidemic had come to occupy his mind like a habit. Spencer had been lying on his bed one week ago, looking out the window, mesmerized by the leafless branches blowing in and out of view. He faintly registered the rustling sounds of trees and the sustained monotone voices of his motherʼs radio in the lext room. The voices gave way to a burst of fanfare and his attention swung like a pendulum. Spencer slanted his head toward the music. What then followed was unexpected: a sort of chirping and shrieking, the sounds of happy teen-aged girls. He flashed on a memory of his sister and her friends, bent over in fits of giggles, some of them crumpled on the floor, holding their bellies. A manʼs deep voice issued forth and told Spencer what this laughter was all about. According to the man, a mission-run boarding school in the Tashasha village in Tanzania, had been stricken with such bouts of laughter that the school had been forced to close. “This recording,” said the man, “was taped last August. But during the past four months the epidemic has only intensified.” And at that the manʼs account became a jazzy beat, which was succeeded by a womanʼs droning about other problems in Africa. It seemed to Spencer that these sounds proceeded from one mouth, one machine that spat out tidbits and whatchamacallits and laughter. He had never known laughter like this. Never before had he wondered why he so rarely felt the urge to laugh. Even now he only half-wondered, being perhaps too young to truly reflect on such a quality in himself. As it often goes when one uncovers such a find, so it went with Spencer. Absently, and without intending to, he fixated on the lightheartedness of those around him. He spied on his peersʼ from the back of the classroom and when pretending to look outside, monitored their reflections in the school bus window. Spencer now found himself studying Madameʼs reflection, indirectly, searching for hints of a smile and signs of repressed laughter. He saw none, and now that he had finished the waltz, Spencer sat tight, feet
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Transcript of The Laughter Epidemic
8/8/2019 The Laughter Epidemic
http://slidepdf.com/reader/full/the-laughter-epidemic 1/2
The Laughter EpidemicBy: Shannon Todd
The only corners in the room were those of an upright piano. This piano was worn,as were the sheets of music spread across its front, as was the woman to whom thesethings belonged. People had taken to calling her Madame. Each afternoon was the same. She sat opposite the piano, perched on the benchwith feet dangling and hands clasped in her lap. On her right a child would sit, feetdangling in the same way, swishing and hovering above the floor. Spencer was her everyother Thursday student, and had been for some time. A few weeks prior he discoveredthat when he sat just so, the tips of his big toes would graze the linoleum. Madame had just asked if he (pronounced Spenc-air) might play a little bit(pronounced beet). Spencerʼs thought, though hardly set to words, was something in theneighborhood of ʻThis is not going to be any good.ʼ He glanced at the pianoʼs glossyveneer and upon it checked Madameʼs reflection, hoping to gauge her patience or lackthereof. And there she was, quite unmoving upon that bench, her focus on the keys sheexpected him to touch. Madame then turned her eyes to him and gestured with her chintoward the faded sheet music. “Mmmm. Right,” was all Spencer could muster in response. His fingers rose inunison with his voice and settled on the keys. With hands spread wide he played the firstchord, but there was something off about it. Already he was desperate to stop altogether,to tell her why he had not practiced, to explain that it was because of the laughterepidemic. Here Spencer dismissed his urge and went on to the second chord, and thethird. He had known that he would not play well, and still he had not practiced. No,Spencer had allowed his mind to dwell upon that which he had come across, that is, newsof the laughter epidemic. It had only been one week since he came across this bit ofhistory, but thoughts of the epidemic had come to occupy his mind like a habit.
Spencer had been lying on his bed one week ago, looking out the window,mesmerized by the leafless branches blowing in and out of view. He faintly registered therustling sounds of trees and the sustained monotone voices of his motherʼs radio in thelext room. The voices gave way to a burst of fanfare and his attention swung like apendulum. Spencer slanted his head toward the music. What then followed wasunexpected: a sort of chirping and shrieking, the sounds of happy teen-aged girls. Heflashed on a memory of his sister and her friends, bent over in fits of giggles, some of themcrumpled on the floor, holding their bellies. A manʼs deep voice issued forth and told Spencer what this laughter was all about.According to the man, a mission-run boarding school in the Tashasha village in Tanzania,had been stricken with such bouts of laughter that the school had been forced to close.
“This recording,” said the man, “was taped last August. But during the past fourmonths the epidemic has only intensified.” And at that the manʼs account became a jazzybeat, which was succeeded by a womanʼs droning about other problems in Africa. Itseemed to Spencer that these sounds proceeded from one mouth, one machine that spatout tidbits and whatchamacallits and laughter. He had never known laughter like this.Never before had he wondered why he so rarely felt the urge to laugh. Even now he onlyhalf-wondered, being perhaps too young to truly reflect on such a quality in himself. As it often goes when one uncovers such a find, so it went with Spencer. Absently,and without intending to, he fixated on the lightheartedness of those around him. He spiedon his peersʼ from the back of the classroom and when pretending to look outside,
monitored their reflections in the school bus window. Spencer now found himself studyingMadameʼs reflection, indirectly, searching for hints of a smile and signs of repressedlaughter. He saw none, and now that he had finished the waltz, Spencer sat tight, feet
8/8/2019 The Laughter Epidemic
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dangling. Out of habit, he inched forward on the bench so that his toe tips might touchdown. Inch, inch, inch, and one inch too many. “Ohp!” and Spencer slid to the floor, his head propped back on Madameʼs lap. Hisface contorted in alarm and ten long seconds later, Spencer tilted his gaze back to meethers. He was met by an almost smile. “Oh,” he said.
