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Of a series of vignettes for (remedial) English in summer school...
She hated the sound of her voice, loud and scratching, then disappearing whenever she needed to speak, leaving her croaking out random syllables like a dying frog.
Her brother’s laughter was sudden like lightening, popping in short spurts that the truly non-hilarious jokes he old. Her mother barked loudly, her shoulders shaking and eyes wrinkling; she inherited her mother’s crinkling, winking eyes. Her father, though constantly smiling, rarely laughed, but when he did, he tended to emit an aura of comedy, his smile dissolving everyone present to tears.
Her own laughter was uncontrollable, coming often and rarely leaving. A boring quip reduced her to tears, as did a hilarious tale or crude joke.
But all four, after laughing, would heave a quiet sigh and turn back to their work.
