I would sit on the floor in my pajamas, my nose
only inches from the TV screen. My
mother said I would ruin my eyes, but it was the sound that drew me close. “I
love Lucy” was my favorite. The
continuous laughter at the Ricardos’ antics held me in its comforting embrace. I didn’t know that the audience was not real. That what I was hearing was “canned”
laughter. I only knew that it drowned
out the angry voices of my parents, the crash of furniture when one of them would
stumble and fall, or the shattering of a glass thrown by one at the other. My mother needn’t have worried about my eyes. They were always closed.
This post is
in response to the prompt “canned laughter,” at Studio-30 Plus.
