I now recognize her from afar. Or better: her laughter. It is free, guttural, without any restraint or even shame. This girl doesn’t laugh because she’s healthy or to please the boys around her. This girl laughs because she feels like it. And trembles. The first time I met her and her friends on the bus, the second time at the bus stop. The three got out a third time as I got in.
A little disappointment pinched me. But then I heard it, the laughter, through the closing door. If only you could pluck it out of thin air and pocket it, I thought. And then: It wouldn’t be right. Such a laugh is for everyone. For everyone who wants to hear it and be carried away by it.
As it lingers in my head, another young woman comes to mind. I don’t know how she laughs, not even what she looks like. I only know her first name: Corny. An e-mail from her was printed in the Frankfurter Allgemeine Sunday newspaper, I cut out the article.
Her writing was in response to a report detailing the disappearance of thousands of young people during the pandemic. People at the beginning of their adult lives who did not return to university or their apprenticeship. who became invisible. The last lines were as follows:
“I’m Corny, 20 years old. In March 2020 I disappeared. And no one bothered to look for me.” I read those lines over and over again until my eyes swam. I don’t know Corny or any other person who has disappeared.
I would have looked for the disappeared. And would have been wanted
Many went quiet for a while and I too became shy, some days I hardly had the strength to call anyone. But everyone woke up again, appeared. Nobody had to look for us. And if it had been necessary, I’m sure I would have. And I would have been wanted.
Like the girl on the bus. At least that’s what I want to believe. That someone would have missed her, her and her laughter. If it had become quieter or even gone silent. But does retreat fit such a character? One cannot know. How did she fare without her companions? Suddenly I hear something else in the stored sound. A rebellion, defiance, a now-more than ever rumbling deep in your chest. I hope it will carry her through life well.