The Same Cartoon

I'm home alone tonight. The flat is quiet. On the TV, an old cartoon is playing — the same one I watched as a child.

I used to sit on this floor with my brother. We knew every word. We laughed at the same parts, every single time.

He doesn't live here anymore. He moved to another city, far away. I can't call him this late.

The cartoon is still funny. The little cat still runs along the wall and falls. I still laugh.

But I don't laugh as loud when no one laughs with me.

I save the cartoon for next time. Maybe he'll watch it too, somewhere, and we'll laugh at the same part again.