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Virginia Curtis was never a fan of the color black. Even when she was recreating a midnight sky, she'd use the darkest and richest shade of blue paint that was borderline black... but not quite. She reveled in the rainbow of colors around her, celebrating them one stroke at a time.
Virginia stared at herself in the small mirror atop her dresser. Black dress cut modestly at her knees, a string of pearls draped around her neck— the same necklace Cherry gave her once upon a time. It felt like a cruel joke to wear it now. Her feet were bare, stinging against the shape coldness of the floor.
Inhaling shakily, Virginia pulled and picked at the skirt of that black dress. It fit just the same from her parents' funeral. Suddenly, she was fifteen again with tears streaming down her face and her attempt at eyeliner smudged messily. Now, she stared blankly at the girl looking back at her. She couldn't recognize her. It was like she was a distant stranger traveling on a long voyage to attend the love of her life's funeral.
Virginia wasn't sure what to expect as she slid on a pair of faded black ballet slippers. They pinched at her toes just as they did the last time she wore them. A familiar pain, she thought as she poked and prodded at a lock of her hair with a fine comb. It fluffed up softly and she found herself running the tips of her fingers down the small bump she pinned carefully at the crown of her head. Angela Shepherd let her borrow some hair curlers and although they pulled annoyingly at her scalp the night, Virginia appreciated the soft, loosened curls that framed her face and brought out the thin lines of black ink she traced around her eyes.
She gazed at the gold necklace that laid untouched on her desk, feeling her heart sink as the cool metal kissed her fingertips. She clasped it around her neck, rubbing the engraved face of the pendant in thought.
Virginia wasn't sure how to act, much less how she could get through the service. The well of tears within her was seemingly dried up because she couldn't feel anything now besides the press of the gold chain on her collarbone and the crinkly paper she clutched in her hands.
Her brothers were as silent as the grave, dressed in what they thought was their finest. Darry was the only one who wore a full suit and just like her, it was the same black ensemble he donned the day of their parents' funeral. Ponyboy ran the palms of his hands down a few wrinkles on his white dress shirt over and over. Sodapop held his pair of derby lace-up shoes. They were old, bearing a small hole between the sole and the dull, black leather. His hair was neatly slicked back, shining with grease though his eyes weren't as dancing as they were before.
Virginia held her bag close, the yellow, faded paint of the sunflower popping oddly against the black-and-white clothes of the Curtis family. The old Ford truck coughed and groaned when Darry started it up. Sodapop would've made a funny joke about it and they would've laughed the whole way.
There was no laughter now, just the engine's rumble.
