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As a child, Virginia Marjorie Curtis was taught to seize every opportunity that came her way. Her father had instilled that mindset in her every time she would give up on math at the dinner table. Later, her older brother would carry on that legacy when she was making definitive choices about her future. The world was tough on ambitious girls. Now that she taught herself.
Virginia inhaled quietly, her eyes fixed solely on the envelopes. She had bound them together with a rubber band she found lying around in a cluttered drawer. Her knee bounced and her eyes flitted to the cup of coffee sitting at the edge of the table. The steam had disappeared.
"Look, Bluebell, it's a lot of money."
"You think, Darry?" she muttered flatly. She rubbed the back of her hand with her thumb. "Look, I just don't know yet, alright?"
The oldest Curtis looked at her indignantly. The moment Virginia re-entered her house, cheeks stained with tears and Sam's final letter clutched in her fingers, she had blurted out everything to her brothers who were quietly gathered around the television. Ponyboy's novel almost slipped from his hands, Darry was calling it a miracle, Sodapop was looking at her sadly. Dinner was even more heated. Poor Soda was stuck with mediating yet another fight between Virginia, who just wanted to eat and sleep, and Darry, relentless as ever.
"You don't get it, kiddo," Darry suddenly sighed, exasperated. "You don't get it! This is a big deal! You don't have the luxury to say it ain't right or what, you dig?!" There was a bit of hurt in his frustrated voice. "When I was your age I would've jumped at this! You ain't got a clue what life's gonna throw at you and right now, you got the chance to go to college and pursue your dreams— not everyone gets to do that!"
Stunned, Virginia watched him walk off in a storm. She leaned back in her seat, her line of sight drifting to the envelopes once again. She rose slowly, stepping quietly to her room. Any sudden noises would have Darry shouting again about the smallest inconveniences in the house.
She was enraptured by the sunlit beauty that overtook her small space of comfort. The feathers that hung in a chain just underneath the tiny shelf above her bed shone. The dried flowers strewn on her table smelled of an old sweetness. She had left such an awful mess of papers and pens though it blended nicely with the painted walls. The ashtray was empty, lessening the stench of cigarette smoke. She gazed up at her mural, the abandoned pencil sketches staring down at her sadly.
It's time, she thought, smiling.
From her closet, she pulled out the soft denim apron her mother had stitched for her so long ago. Virginia ran her fingers down the dried patches of butter yellow and lavender paint fondly. Her fingers went to war with her hair, braiding it into a small little tail that tickled the top of her back. She slid on a cream bandana patterned with tiny pink flowers, smoothing back naughty hairs that came unruly from the summer heat.
