Darling Terry had a sense of humor.

He had to.  A bronc-busting cowboy named Darling,after all, meant he was a magnet for on-color (and, more often than not, off-color) jibes.  Of course, if his name wasn’t enough, at 4′ 8″ tall, heavily freckled, and with red hair as vibrant as Ronald McDonald’s, he was a veritable comic book.

He took it all with a shrug and a wink, though.

He rode broncos.  Nearly every bone in his body had been fractured or outright broken.  Nearly every joint had been sprained.  He lived with more pain than anyone had the right to, and he had long ago figured that humor, even being the center of it, was just the kind of distraction necessary to function through the pain.

He settled into the worn, torn cushion of the booth.  The diner was their favorite hangout when they passed through Midwin, Oklahoma.  It was so small, it wasn’t on any map that they had found.  A rough diner, a gas station, and a house for the family that owned both–it was small, and forgettable, if it weren’t now so familiar.

Tilting his head back, he drained what was left of his Corona in a single, big, swig.  “Ahh,” he sighed, winking across the table at Bellbottom.  “Now that, my friend, is exactly what this ol’ boy needed.”

Bellbottom grinned, displaying the large whole in his smile, where his front top and bottom teeth used to be, but were no longer thanks to one too many tequila shots, a flirtatious  80’s hair woman in a t-shirt that said ‘For Rent’, and a jealous husband.  The overprotective man had been a monster, one of those body-building types with little testicles, huge boobs, and even bigger fists. 

The tequila, unfortunately, kept Bellbottom in the tangle for one swing more than his teeth could take.

Darling shook his head with a snicker.  “Bellbottom, I need to thank you.”

“For what?” Bellbottom said, slurring a bit.  Five Budweiser’s in an hour and a half would do that to Bellbottom.

Darling couldn’t help it.  He laughed until his eyes watered.  “Because, without those teeth, and with those big purple eyes of yours–I can’t help but look at you and forget about all the pain in my back . . . and leg . . . and ankle . . . and wrist.”

Bellbottom laughed, too.  The man had been kicked by his daddy’s horse when he was young, and while he was, in truth, as smart as a whip, he always wore an outwardly daft expression.  In all their years on the circuit together, Darling had never figured out if it was an act, or if the man simply couldn’t help but look simple. 

“Well, I’m glad I can, could, be of service,” Bellbottom said in between bouts of drunken laughter.  “If you hadn’t fed me all that tequila, I wouldn’t be able to take your mind from the pain.  You now.  Now that I think about it.  I think you might have ulterior motives when we go to drinking.”

Darling squinted.  “You’ve got me all figured out, my friend.  You’re a genius.”

Their laughter subsided, and the proprietor’s spinster daughter approached the table.  Margaret.  Darling tipped his hat to her.

“Well, my dear Margaret, how are you this fine evening?”

The woman was a melancholy spirit.  She wore her ghosts like a mourning dress.  “Darling,” she said simply.  And then, with a look to Bellbottom, “Bill.”

“Now, now, Margaret,” Bellbottom said with an air of mock distress.  “Only my ex-wife, my ex-kids, my dead parents, my former principal, the IRS, and my–my–” he gave a bleary eyed inquisitive look to Darling before he continued, “and my colonoscopist, call me Bill.  Everyone else,” he exaggerated a peer at Margaret, “including you, should call me Bellbottom.”

Margaret shook her head, her mind somewhere else.  “Can I get you both another round?”

Darling stared at the woman.  He felt his good-humor being ground down.  She was kind enough, but her sadness was palpable.  Within proximity to her, he couldn’t help but wonder about her story.  “You bet,” he finally said.  “And why don’t you get one for yourself and join us?”

“I can’t,” she said matter-of-fact.  “I’m working.”

Darling looked around the rest of the diner.  But for them, it was empty–like usual.  He glanced up at the Cadillac clock on the wall.  “I don’t see anyone else in here taking your time, and seein’ it’s nearly eleven, I don’t see the harm.”

Margaret looked around furtively.  “I appreciate the offer, Darling, but if my dad saw me fraternizing with a customer, he’d fire me.”

“Good,” Bellbottom said loudly.  “Then you could get the hell out of Midwin, and do your own thing.”

Margaret forced a smile.

Darling saw an opening and pressed.  “You know, sister, Bellbottom might be on to something.  Now, I don’t want to get you into any kinda trouble, of course, but you’d be much better company than this daft drunk across the table from me.”

Margaret tugged at the starched, pressed, apron about her hips.  “I’ll join you for a minute, but I don’t drink.”

That brought a definite frown from Bellbottom.

“I’ll be right back with your beers,” she said, turning away to disappear into the kitchen behind polished steel double doors.