Laugh

He remembered he almost cried, but instead he laughed. It was what he did in troubling situations, a defense mechanism. Something he did to protect himself. Dad always told him boys shouldn’t cry, he never said they couldn't laugh. It was awkward at times, especially in places like funerals, but everyone knew it stopped him from breaking down. We all thought it was such a smart idea, brilliant even, until he could no longer tell the difference between such conflicting emotions as happiness and sadness. He was stuck in a tornado of emotions and feelings with no hope of ever getting out. A hell inside his own head where there was no help available. The worst part was, no one even tried to help him. We were all caught up in his happy front that we thought he was fine, we all ignored his pain, always brushing off his cries for help disguised as a laugh. I can barely remember it now, what he was like normally. My only memories of him consist of his beautiful laugh, paired with eyes that told so much. Eyes filled with loneliness, sadness, fear. When he needed us the most, we ignored him. Because of our negligence of his mental health, he’s gone now. I was the last one who saw him alive. The final thing he ever did was laugh. He’s in a better place now, a place where he is allowed to cry and show any emotion he wants. Now I am the one who replaces his laughter with my own.