THE COLOR RED | DALLAS WINSTON

xx. MINT CHIP ICE CREAM

DEAD. How could he be dead? The immortal Dallas Winston had finally died. Died after taking her virginity. Dead after making her his. Dead.

Two days were spent in bed processing  Alice's midnight confessions and the death of the boy she loved to hate, hated to love. On the second afternoon, she decided that she had to carry on with life. Did she truly hate him? Did she love him? 

This was a heartbreak few teenagers could relate to, few teenagers wondered if they would be attending the funeral of the boy they dated. Was he even a boyfriend? This was a presumable breakup, and how were breakups handled by anyone? Ice cream.

Charlotte took a bus to the old super market that was not super by any means. It was slightly below average. The young artist trudged through the aisles, completely alone, save the few housewives hovering around like a clique of ghosts. They stared at her. They could see right through her.

How Charlotte wished they would stop the fucking staring. She was aware she looked every bit of the mess she was, but the sideways glances were maddening. Charlotte approached the frozens, searching for the mint chip ice cream. Two elderly women by the counter maintained the stare, then continued their casual talk that was muffled by Charlotte's muddled conscious. A graying man at the register looked uneasy, prompting one of the women, Eleanor, to ask how he was doing after the robbery. 

"Just fine," He sighed, popping open the register, "It's just a damn shame the police shot him so many times and didn't kill him." The man counted the money and Charlotte neared the cashier's station, trying to not eavesdrop so obviously.

"You'd think that shooting him 10 times would do the trick." The second woman who stared the most, Peggy, said. Peggy Porter. Charlotte's paternal grandmother who disappeared just as quickly as her father. Charlotte figured she knew as much about his disappearance as Alice and herself. 

Charlotte noticed the look Peggy had been giving her the entire time. It was as though the elderly woman knew her granddaughter was a slut for strange convicts she met on the bus. 

After purchasing the frozen goodness, Charlotte stopped outside, eating her woes away on the sidewalk. How proud Dallas would be, she was eating without him demanding she do so. Ten, fifteen minutes passed. Two tennis shoes stopped in front of her. The blonde looked up, seeing a young boy who belonged to the Will Rogers track and cross country teams. He had a strange name and unbecoming blonde hair. He was the hero in the papers, Ponyboy Curtis. 

"You Dally's chick, Charlotte Porter?" He asked, showing Charlotte her revolting school picture from the previous year

"How'd you know?" The depressed artist replied, forcing another bite down her throat. 

"He promised to keep a secret for me if I got the picture for him."

"How charming." Charlotte replied, toying around with the wooden spoon

"Did you see him?" The boy asked after several moments of silence. He sat beside her as though she was an old friend, a gesture Charlotte did not anticipate.

"Why would I go see a corpse?" 

"Dally lived through the surgery." Ponyboy clarified and the foggy conversations from within the market were clear.

"He got shot a million times, how-"

"None of us know. We all thought he was a dead man until he was moaning for someone to call for help." 

Charlotte nodded, giving him a polite smile. Ponyboy disappeared as quickly as he arrived, leaving Charlotte to wallow in confusion. She knew two things: she could kill Dallas Winston and that she ought to spend more time reading the papers instead of using them as furniture covers.