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So if you’re reading this and you can’t remember your own first real laugh, your first unexpected spark of touch, look for a loose thread. Look for a friend who knows your old name. Look for a one-eyed kitten in a cardboard box. And when the tickle comes, don’t fight it.
“Look,” Sam said, pointing. “He’s happy. Why can’t you be that happy?” jess impiazzis first tickle 1
Sam smiled. “That, Jess, was your first tickle.” So if you’re reading this and you can’t
A laugh. Not a polite one. A real, unhinged, honking laugh that sounded like a goose being tickled by a duck. Jess slapped a hand over her mouth, but it was too late. The first wave hit her like a rogue wave. She curled sideways on the sofa, knees to her chest, as the thread—still attached to the kitten, who was now joyfully zooming around the room—continued its assault. And when the tickle comes, don’t fight it