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AUGUST, 1961
When Virginia Curtis first met Dallas Winston, she thought he was the most fascinating thing since Darrel's first facial hair growth.
"Daddy?"
"Yeah, Bluie?"
"You think I could be a fancy European princess like Ann?"
Darrel Curtis Sr. looked down at his daughter who was curled up next to his side with her precious green eyes glued to the small television screen that enraptured the minds of everyone who walked through their doors. Particularly his little girl who was beyond awe-inspired by the one and only, Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday.
"You're my princess," Mr. Curtis assured, pressing a small kiss on her head and looking back at the TV.
Twelve-year-old Virginia Curtis stared up at her father with a frown and a crinkle in her nose. "No, I mean a real European princess. You ain't European royalty."
A loud guffaw burst out of Sodapop Curtis's mouth and he held a hand over his mouth to stifle any more at the response that backfired on the Curtis family patriarch.
Mr. Curtis raised his brow and directed a frown to his middle boy who smiled with a twinkle in his shining blue eyes. He then lifted his daughter by her underarms and seated her directly in front of him.
"Bluie, you study hard and you're gonna be the best princess in the world," he spoke and tapped her on the nose.
"But I wanna go to Europe, Daddy. It sounds awful nice," Virginia mumbled, hoping her annoying older brother didn't overhear and garner more teasing material. "I can draw for the fancy folks there."
Mr. Curtis hummed and motioned to the spinet near the small dining table. It was then, by the weakness of his arm, Virginia remembered how tired he was after a ten-hour shift.
"Baby, go on and play a song for me, would you?" he requested softly.
Virginia nodded obediently and skipped off to noisily drag a small stool, prompting Sodapop to hold his hands over his ears at the wretched squealing. He grumbled and walked over to the television box, kneeling down and switching the dial for some kind of cartoon. Mr. Curtis, despite the minor interruption, leaned back on the stained couch and sighed deeply, feeling thrilled to be home with his family.
Virginia's fingers pressed down on the ivory and ebony keys. She began playing a lovely old piece that Mr. Curtis recognized, as he had heard many times beforehand.
But that didn't matter to him.
As the house was soon filled with the sweet melodies of piano music, little clangs of pots and pans in the kitchen sounded from the kitchen. In a concert, it could've been a humiliating distraction but the Curtis home was no peaceful place. There would always be one of the four kids running around and wanting the world.
