Sometimes at night, when it's real still and quiet, Two-Bit can hear the sound of their laughter. It drifts in through his open window like a light breeze, lingers like an echo, then leaves just as peacefully as it came.
It kills him that it's only a memory.
Dallas Winston's laugh was rare, but it was loud, dominating. When Dally laughed, it came from his gut; a full belly laugh. Usually brought on by a jab at the cops or a rip on the Socs.
Johnny Cade's laugh was quiet, timid. Two-Bit always considered it a win if he could get just a smile out of the kid.
They're two souls missing in the chorus of laughter made up by his friends.
He misses their light.
He misses them.
And he knows it's important, now more than ever, to make his buddies laugh. Because that's his job. Always has been.
After all, he's the class clown, the loud-mouth, the funny guy.
But this role, this duty… he takes it seriously.
In fact, he has it down to a science.
He knows what makes them tick, what ignites those circuits in the brain to unleash a chuckle.
Sodapop is the least challenging, the easiest to get a grin out of. Two-Bit swears that anything he says will get a laugh from Soda. The guy is giddy and energetic, and he cares about the happiness of others just as much as Two-Bit. They are a pair of goofballs, and his laugh, guffaw rather, is contagious.
It's the fuel to Two-Bit's cause.
Steve is a little tougher. He's prideful, and often times takes offense to words; something Two-Bit attributes to his heedless father. With Randle, Two-Bit turns to physical comedy: imitating Socs, flipping up a girl's skirt, or simply tripping and falling down; all sure-fire ways in getting a snicker out of Steve.
The way Two-Bit sees it is, if he makes just one of his buddies laugh, then his day wasn't wasted. It's an addiction and it's probably dysfunctional, but there's no better feeling than seeing his friends lose control, forgetting about their grief, if only for a moment.
Sometimes Two-Bit feels selfish about it.
Because making his friends laugh is giving… but it's healing, too.
Shortly after Mr. and Mrs. Curtis died, Darry took the time to express gratitude for Two-Bit's efforts. On behalf of all of them. Thank you, Two-Bit. I mean it. You're the reason we've been able to keep going.
Now, Two-Bit's no sap and Darry ain't either. But knowing he's making a difference… that's all he's ever wanted.
He gives, but often he gets more in return.
Two-Bit quickly learned that with Darry, it's a reference to a movie or TV show that gets the job done. Darry's life got real too quick, and he spends many sleepless nights watching reruns on his old television set. Curtis has a deep and rumbling laugh and he's even been known to snort when Two-Bit does his best impression of Barney Fife.
What a glorious sound indeed.
And then there's Ponyboy. Innocence coming off him in waves, but maturity and intelligence ever present. The kid has been through the wringer in his fourteen short years of life, has endured loss of unsurmountable measure.
That's why, when Ponyboy laughs, it's the most rewarding.
His laugh is sweet and joyful, infectious and pure. And it gives Two-Bit hope.
Hope that they'll be able to move forward with big smiles and heads held high.
xxx
Two-Bit Mathews doesn't take many things very seriously.
He likes to fly through life by the seat of his pants, tends to stir up trouble and cause commotion.
But he does take the well-being of his friends seriously.
He's only happy when they're happy.
And hearing them laugh is like music to his ears.
Fin.