Michael Seidlinger - The Laughter of Strangers

Sarah looks up at me, “Why is he laughing?”

Spencer tilts his head to one side, “Sometimes people laugh when they are nervous or worried.”

“Why is he nervous?”

Sarah pleads with Spencer, hoping for a sincere explanation, one that he will not give. Try this instead, “He’s nervous about society.”

Sarah, typical inquisitive child, with her rejoinder, “Why is he nervous about society?”

Spencer holds back a sigh, “Society needs a reason, but do you sweetie?”

“Yes,” Sarah whines.

“Oh, go on upstairs. Be a good girl. I can tell that you’re tired. Look at those dark spots under your eyes…”

Sarah frowns but concedes; each step is an exaggerated stop up the staircase. “He’s just nervous?”

“Yes, he’s nervous.”

“Why is he nervous?”

Looking at me, Spencer shouts to Sarah at the top of the stairs, “You know, I’m not so sure.”

SILENCE

I cover my mouth, suppressing laughter.

The sound of a door, opening and closing, the creaking of its hinges followed by the healing silence of the house.

I exhale and the house exhales.

Spencer points at the smile worn prominently across my face, “What? What is this shit, huh?”

LAUGHTER

MY LAUGHTER

Between lapses the house seemingly contracts, clutching every word escaping my mouth, like I shouldn’t be saying this, shouldn’t be having this conversation. I won’t be able to take it back when all is said and done.

This is a conversation not worth having.

This is a conversation that I can’t let pass.

“You…” and a little giggle, suppressed. “You…fucking kidnapped Executioner…”

Spencer doesn’t find it amusing. In fact, he is neither angry nor frustrated. He is calm. “Yes. I did.”

“You kidnapped…the champion…” Choke on my laughter.

Spencer nods.

Nonchalant about it: “I have him tied up in the basement, arms and legs bound and immobile. He won’t make so much as a noise. I’ve made sure of it.”

“What did you do?”

“Oh,” Spencer shrugs, “nothing. His mouth is taped shut. Kept the mouth guard in there too. He couldn’t work the tape free using his jaw or teeth if he wanted to.”

My laughter turns into a long sigh, “Did I say you could do this?”

Spencer walks over to the basement door. He grips the doorknob, “You were the one that said it.” Right before venturing downstairs, he narrows his gaze, “You said it first, remember?”

“I KILLED A MAN.”

“What did you say?!” I follow him down into the basement.

Sure enough X is plastered against the wall with tethers that stretch his appendages in such a way that it looks like it hurts. Duct tape in layers wrapped around the entirety of his face. Spencer left the blindfold off.

So that X may see everything.

So that I will be unable to escape his judging gaze.

Spencer grabs X’s face, “You don’t trust me?”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“ You don’t trust me.”

“If you imply that I don’t trust him, no I don’t. Why would I?”

Pretending to move X’s taped mouth, “You don’t trust me .”

“Listen, this can’t end well. And, really, how did you even manage it?”

“Nurse your wounds. Leave it to me. You don’t need to understand everything.” Spencer punches X in the stomach. X makes little more than a muffled noise.

“This is insurance.”

INSURANCE?

Another punch. That one had to hurt.

“Makes for a good training dummy! Try it!”

Clenching my fists, I stand there, aware of what this means. Willem Floures cannot simply disappear. People will notice.

They might have already noticed.

“Don’t you find that to be a problem?”

Spencer shrugs, “You are the one that killed a man.”

“I didn’t kill a man!”

Switching to the tone he saves for lectures, Spencer steps into the ring with me, “But you said it. We made it so. The media believed it. They believed it. Doesn’t matter if it’s fact or fiction. They believed it!”

“They are going to be looking for him…”

THAT’S THE POINT

Let them look.

“You want them to find worse, much worse.”

Spencer leans on the ropes, pretends to shadowbox.

“I do?”

YOU SAID IT

“What did I say?”

Spencer seems to understand something that I don’t and that bothers me. He’s my agent; he is supposed to drone on and keep me in the loop.

“Shouldn’t you, umm, lecture me about it or something?”

Spencer sighs, throws a few jabs, lowers his chin, gets into proper fighting stance, “You lectured me. Don’t remember?”

WHAT?

“What if I don’t?”

Spencer lowers his fists, looks over at X, “He’s here. He’s listening. If he ever gets out, you don’t want him knowing about your ‘big plan.’”

WHAT BIG PLAN?

WHAT IS GOING ON?

“Don’t act so confused, Sugar; you started it. I’m simply making sure it continues.”

Back to shadowboxing. I step in the way of one of his jabs.

It hits me right in the nose, my vision cloudy, causes me to sneeze.

Spencer plays dumb, “You can still take a punch, huh?”

“Just. Fucking. Stop. Moving. Okay?”

Spencer raises an eyebrow, “Don’t trust me?”

The way he says it, it’s like he’s hiding something. He is trying to get me to say something…but what?

I feel like I’m the only one not in on this big joke.

“What is going on, Spencer?”

“I’m not following.” He raises his fists.

I grab one, “Stop. You aren’t a fighter.”

He looks me right in the eye and says:

ARE YOU?

That one hits deep. My stomach knots and I can feel my grip tighten, crushing Spencer’s hand.

This is about the last fight.

This is about the fight before last.

This is about what’s happened the last few weeks.

This is not about me. It’s about him.

I look over at X, who is watching everything happen.

Spencer looks down at my hand gripping his wrist.

I see it in his eyes.

“Hurts huh?”

Spencer sighs, “What if it did?”

“Out with it.”

“What?”

“You are trying to blackmail me.”

LAUGHTER

I let go of his wrist.

I push him against the ropes and punch him lightly in the face.

He falls to the canvas, laughing harder than before.

“What’s so fucking funny?!”

He gags on the sting of the punch.

“Huh?!”

“Don’t you love it?”

I breathe heavily, watching Spencer climb back up to his feet.

“Don’t you love it?” He laughs right in my face. “Don’t you love the laughter?!”

THE LAUGHTER

Tears run down my face.

At the sight of them, he points and laughs, “Don’t you trust me?!”

I manage to say, after wiping away the tears, “If this is about the last fight, I did what I had to do. Sorry if I didn’t follow your strategy.”

Suddenly his face straightens and in clear monotone, Spencer says, “It has and always will be your story. I am merely a part of it.”

WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?

“You love the laughter,” Spencer chuckles, the laughter starting up again. He walks to the other side of the ring and points to the opposite corner.

“Let me guess, you want me to stand there.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

Oh Jesus, what the hell is this?

Whatever, fine.

I stand in the corner.

LOOKING FOR SOME ANSWERS

“The answers are right in front of you, Sugar.”

“I expect you to help me find them,” I warn him. “Otherwise, why else would I keep you around?!”