The Laughter of Strangers (28 page)

“You mean…”

OH JESUS

“What don’t you understand?”

I hold up the doll, “By ‘we’ do you mean ‘us,’” referring to the inanimate doll, “or ‘us,’” pointing to the room as a whole, meaning all the hauntings within the house.

“I mean ‘us’ as in everyone that watches the media. Everyone that watches one of your fights. Everyone that—”

“Laughs…”

THERE YOU GO INTERRUPTING PEOPLE AGAIN

She nods, “Right.”

For a while we are silent, sitting there thinking about all of this while Sarah brushes her hair. When she’s done doing that, she wanders over to her dollhouse, takes the one I’m still holding, and puts them back in position.

She sits next to the dollhouse, facing the opposite side.

“Why are you sitting there? You can’t see into the house that way.”

“Yeah I can. I see from the outside looking in. I see into the house the way anyone else would if they really wanted to look.”

SILENCE

We sit in silence. I resist talking to myself until the words seemingly escape me like they did:

RIGHT ABOUT NOW IT HAS STARTED

RIGHT ABOUT NOW IT’S THE BEGINNING

OF THE END

Sarah isn’t put off by this, “How is the fight going?”

I shrug, “It’s still round one. Feeling each other out.”

Realizing how odd this is, I narrow my eyes, “How do you know?”

She makes a face, “My dad is at the fight, duh.”

DUH!

“You are very mature for your age, you know that?”

“I have to be.”

“Who takes care of you anyway?”

She looks into one of the dollhouse windows, “I take care of myself.”

“‘James’ used to right?”

She shakes her head, “I took care of ‘James.’”

“What?”

“Dad wanted someone to watch ‘James’ just in case.”

JUST IN CASE

“Just in case I…”

She nods, “Yeah. You tend to lose track of yourself.”

“Yeah, but everyone changes, right? Everyone doesn’t stay the same like we maybe want to. I know the media wants the same from someone when it’s good but that just doesn’t happen.”

She turns the dollhouse around, “Yeah.”

“So you agree?”

WHAT DO YOU CARE?

“Yeah,” she grabs one of the female dolls, “I agree.”

Sarah stands up and walks back to the mirror.

She brushes the doll’s hair.

THE SILENCE

She asks again, “How’s the fight going?”

“It’s going well. Round three. I am pressuring ‘James’ with straight shots to the face. The judges and commentators seem a bit surprised that I am able to take some of the momentum of the fight away from ‘James.’”

She nods, “Yeah.”

THE SILENCE

I ask her, “You already know all this, don’t you?”

She turns, looks at me, a straight face, and returns to the combing of the doll’s hair.

I don’t know what that means.

YES YOU DO

No I don’t.

But okay, let’s change the subject.

To what? Umm…

“So…”

Sarah interrupts, “Are you actually going to get knocked down five times?”

YEAH

“Yeah.”

“That’s unheard of.”

I shrug, “It’s my last fight and—”

“And you want to make it perfect.”

WHAT IS WITH ALL THE INTERRUPTIONS?

“Yeah. I was going to say ‘good’ but perfect is better.”

Sarah replies, “Perfect is the right choice.”

I have to ask...

“You are going to ask about my dad right?”

“Yeah.”

“Go ahead and ask.”

YES, GO AHEAD AND ASK

“Does he think I’ll be remembered?”

WRONG QUESTION

Sarah sighs, “What’s the question?”

I reconsider, opting for something simpler:

“What does Spencer think of me?”

REALLY?

Sarah doesn’t say anything until she returns to the dollhouse and rearranges the layout.

The house shakes.

DOES SHE REALLY HAVE TO KEEP DOING THAT?

Doing what?

CHANGING THE WAY THINGS ARE

“Yeah,” Sarah says, “change is good.”

THE SILENCE

We are silent for some time. I watch Sarah reconfigure the entire dollhouse. The house sounds like it’s about to collapse. I cringe but hold back, choosing to imagine the silence I used to loathe.

“How is it that you are able to predict what I’m about to say?”

She laughs, “You’re not serious are you?”

Umm.

“Oh, you are.” Sarah laughs, “You are talking to yourself and you don’t even realize it! That’s a really bad habit.”

“I am?”

“It’s really bad, yeah. It’s bad because you don’t realize that you’re having a separate conversation with yourself.”

“Yeah…”

“Like there’s a whole group of people, an entire audience, listening to your every word or something.”

Sarah can’t stop laughing.

“I admit it’s bad but can you please stop laughing?”

“Oh,” she clears her throat, “sorry. But I guess you’re used to being in the spotlight. Dad always said you treated everything like it was on camera.” She moves around one room and attaches it to the attic.

It’s this room.

The entire room shakes violently. For one brief moment, I watch as one of the windows looks like it’s about to shatter.

But doesn’t.

“It’s okay,” Sarah says, “I do this all the time.”

“Why do you change everything around?”

“I like the challenge.” She turns the dollhouse around so that I can see inside, “I like figuring out what fits where, and how it will affect the dolls that live in the house.”

“Do you have names for the dolls?”

She frowns, “No. I never thought they needed names.”

EVERYONE NEEDS A NAME

Sarah laughs.

“What?”

“You are talking to yourself again.”

“Oh man,” I sigh, the windowpane shaking, “it must be bad if I can’t even notice the difference.”

Sarah shrugs, “That’s what this is all for.”

WHAT IS IT FOR?

“You realize you’re asking a child, right?”

I pretend to laugh, “Well, age is relative in my opinion.”

“Good answer.”

“Thanks.”

WHAT HAPPENS NOW?

Weren’t we talking?

I was asking a question, I think.

“You’re a wreck, you know that?”

I lie back in the bed, “I know…”

Sarah hands me a doll, “Let’s play a game.”

WHAT KIND OF GAME?

“Here, take this doll.”

“It’s a little girl…”

She makes a face, “So?”

OKAY, OKAY

Sarah assumes the role of the father, the dad, that doll that had represented me during my theoretical fight.

“We talk like this.”

“Like this?” I do my best to mimic the high-pitched voice of a young girl while Sarah does her best to mimic the low guttural voice of an adult male.

She smiles, “Yeah!”

As the dad figure, she asks me, “What round is it?”

“Round ten.”

“It’s almost over.”

I nod, “Yeah it is.”

Makes a face.

Whoops, I broke character. In the guise of the doll, I repeat myself, “Yeah it is.”

“How does it feel to have ended your career?”

I think about this, “I don’t really know what to feel.”

NO ONE IS SUPPOSED TO KNOW

WHAT HAPPENS NEXT

“That’s okay,” Sarah replies.

ALL YOU CAN DO IS PLAN FOR TOMORROW

“You already understand,” Sarah laughs, “you just need to admit to yourself that it’s time.”

“Time for what?”

She moves the doll’s arm, a mock-scolding gesture, “You can’t keep playing dumb. It’s a new era for you. You can be whatever you want to be. You can change whatever you want to change. If you’re lucky, you won’t see yourself in the mirror. You’ll get to watch from the outside looking in. You get to settle down and appreciate all that you’ve done.”

SHE’S RIGHT

“I know I’m right,” Sarah grins.

In the guise of the doll, I ask Sarah, “Who is your favorite boxer?”

“Willem Floures of course!”

“But what was your best fight, in your opinion?”

“I like this one.”

“Which one?”

“The one that’s just about to end.”

The house is silent, little more than a low rumble from the basement.

THE PERFECT FIGHT

In that low voice, she tells me, “I don’t know if anything can be perfect, but it’s been a really great fight.”

I WILL BE REMEMBERED FOR IT

“You will be remembered in general, Willem.”

I smile and it’s a genuine smile.

I look around the room, to the mirror where I can see my reflection and it’s the reflection of Willem at the end of his career.

I whisper to myself.

IT’S OKAY

Clearly the game is over but Sarah keeps speaking in that voice. “It makes me sound older,” she grins.

I laugh, and it’s a real laugh, no underlying accusation, no other harm outside of the expression laughter typically brings: humor, hilarity, something said or done that registers pleasant, merry response.

I tell her, “Your dad is going to be busy training ‘James.’”

She moves the dollhouse aside.

Sits down on the floor and looks up at me, “I’m going to be busy too. I have to take care of you.”

TAKE CARE OF ME

“You are a wreck, but so was ‘James’ when Dad retired him.”

Everything clicks into place.

I look in the mirror, at my reflection as it begins to fade, but only a little, enough to notice that my stake in the spotlight has completely ended.

And you know what?

I’M OKAY WITH IT

I exhale, “I guess you are right. I could get used to this.”

Sarah asks me, “What do you plan on getting used to?”

I listen to the silence.

I tell her, “I’m going to face the laughter.”

She grins.

“I want to change. I want to be something else. Like you said, I get to be the fighter after the fighting. I get to figure out what that means, and I’m okay with that. I choose to embrace challenge. I’ll haunt somewhere else.”

Sarah breaks character, saying in her own voice, “Yay!”

Yeah. Let the world go on without me. I will be here. I will haunt the areas that heal me, and I will soon be healed. I have time before I turn into someone else. I have time to decide who I’ll become.

Sarah grins, “You can only be yourself.” She turns on the TV I didn’t notice until now and sits on the bed as we watch the final round of the fight.

A moment later we hear the sounds of the house settling.

Getting used to this.

First thing I have to do is break some bad habits. That means this is where I leave you. I can’t keep talking to myself. If I keep it up, you might get the idea that none of this really happened and that’s the
last
thing I need. I’ve played the insanity card and it got me a few wins but one too many punches to the ego. So, yeah, this is where I leave you.

IT’S ME, WILLEM

It’s been real.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Michael J Seidlinger has been in the ring long enough to experience the sting of a perfectly timed power punch. He’d like to think that every novel represents a fight its author has both fought and won. His other fights include
My Pet Serial Killer
and
The Sky Conducting
. He owns and operates Civil Coping Mechanisms, an indie press specializing in innovative fiction and poetry. Find him on Facebook, Twitter (@mjseidlinger), and at michaeljseidlinger.com.

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