The falling water droplets drummed a monotonous, reverberating rhythm in his mind. He absent-mindedly stared at the plates, endlessly scrubbing every inch of each plate and bowl, cleaning the spot over and over again. There was a curtain of somnolence veiling the muffled chuckle in the next room and his own wandering mind in the labyrinth of memories. Inevitably, his mind returned to her, as it had been, again, and again, and again.
He first met her in high school, when she transferred to his class. He didn’t talk much to her, since he was unnerved by her beauty and especially those lips that can launch a thousand ships: when she laughed, it came as a deep rumble in her throat, smoothly rolling out her tongue, quivering her lips a little, like deep-red blossoms in morning dew rattled by the gentle breeze. Her laughter; the pitch, the timbre, the accompanying dimples, the joy, the happiness of being that defined her so much, all these were etched in his heart. Still, his own laughter and happiness were absent. Oh, how he longed to imbue his own laughter on top of hers, making a resonant melody that would echo deep to the very fibre of existence; interweaving laughters, interlocking lips, interbraiding passions!
That was why when he coincidentally met her again in the university, taking the same class even, he was elated beyond measure. He was determined be close to her this time. He mustered the courage to utter her name after class, and she turned, her long hair making gentle waves, spiralling in the gentle springtime gust of wind. Her lips moved and out came his name, tenderly clear and resonant. He said he was surprised she still remembered him—instead of replying with words, she let out that laughter of childlike innocence and amusement and joy, that same dew-soaked field of blossoms as he knew before.
His quest of love afterwards was punctuated with ups and downs but gradually he was able to reach that harmonious chord—her happiness was his happiness and his was hers; her laughters that bewitched him so now was his, too. And to the duet choral of laughters was soon added a more harmonious depth, the ringing of the wedding bells, and thereafter, the healthy cry of a baby daughter.
Unfortunately, the sound of dissonance came. A malignant tissue was found in her breast and it already spread to her trachea. No one said the C-word but it thumped in everyone’s mind, unceasingly, ruthlessly. Her battery of chemotherapy left her weak; it robbed her of her luxuriant hair and cheerful voice and laughters, it drained her lips of colour, it sapped her will of living. It ultimately snatched her away from him. Now those etched impressions in his heart were raw wounds instead, gushing blood, seething immeasurable pain.
The rain suddenly stopped and the sunshine penetrated through the lethargic veil that clouded his mind. His young daughter just laughed upon seeing her favourite cartoon character. He saw his wife’s face mirrorred in this young life; her laughter echoes in her daughter’s — her eyes turned towards him, saying wordless “Daddy!” He hugged her young daughter as tightly as his arms would reach, and let out a wailing cry.
Or perhaps it was laughter; it was indistinguishable.
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