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For being self-sufficient for most of her adolescence, Virginia Marjorie Curtis knew her way around a hammer and nail. It was combining Dallas Winston with banks that took patience. Oh, and getting married to him.
Virginia was staring at the thick piece of paper for... she had no idea how long. She could remember the fear of writing out her signature. It was always something she caught herself on, making sure she could dot her i's and cross her t's like a fancy scholar whose penmanship was at least legible.
She kept one leg crossed over the other knee. The hem of her white dress slipped past her thigh just a bit. The perforated dress fit well, classy enough for Sunday service or a morning at the courthouse.
She never thought it would happen. Sodapop has always teasingly told her she would occupy the booth of a diner alone but maybe at some point, she believed it.
It was just a piece of paper, she tried to reassure herself. She wasn't guilty to get it. It was within her rights. But she remembered the people who were there. "Witnesses" the woman at the desk mumbled. Ponyboy and Sodapop (who weren't as thrilled with her nuptials but supported her nonetheless. She made them promise not to bring it up to Darry before she had a chance.
And Darry...
It nearly killed her to do it without his knowledge. Any other girl may have required their father's blessing but Virginia didn't have a father. She had an older brother who stood in place of her father so it made it okay. Besides, it wasn't unlike her to act without his consent. Lord knows she could go out of her way to spite Darry, defying his judgment and tip-toeing around him to chase her flights of fancy.
But she kept looking at her signature and felt her heart rate soar. This may have been the worst thing she had ever done to him... but the best thing she did for herself.
꧁꧁꧂꧂
"Dally, evenly nail down that loose sheathing to the rafters!"
Virginia huffed out the air she kept in her cheeks. The November chill raced through her body, combatting the heat circulating around her neck. Her hair was nearly undone in its once thoughtful twin plaits, cinched by a pale yellow kerchief she kept to save her hair from sweat. The faded paint stains on her work overalls were accompanied by dust and stains of grass (which she could hardly differ from her watercolors).
"Leave him alone, Bluie," Two-Bit huffed with a grin. "He ain't had a day's worth of work in his life."
His contagious laugh came out wheezy, kept askew from the large 4 by 8 piece of plywood he lugged on his shoulder with Sodapoop heaving the other end. While Virginia looked like a sweaty mess, her brother's sheen made him look ripped out of those dumb beach movies that always played at the drive-in.
"Hey, watch it, man," Dallas grumbled from the rooftop. If he had his way, he would've dropped a piece of roofing on Two-Bit's head.
To try and make the forlorn house habitable, Virginia shopped for a household. Gallons of grapefruit juice, quarts of green chile salsa, dried lentils, alphabet noodles, rigatoni, and canned yams. Ten-pound boxes of laundry detergent, a broom and mop, four heads of broccoli, two sacks of potatoes, some sausages, and bouillon. She knew all the indices of the suburban mother's supermarket journey. She never bought a small tube of toothpaste and never dropped a magazine in her shopping cart. The house overflowed with sugar, corn-muffin mix, frozen roasts, gin and olives, and Spanish onions. Virginia ate cottage cheese that morning. Her stomach was all in a twisted, suffocated mess of flesh and her anxious temperament made it no better.
