Perfect Girl - Weebly

the driveway. The walkway leading to her stone bench is
lined with lit white candles; Mr. Arthur’s photo poster sits
on an easel beneath the lily-covered trellis. It’s beautiful. A
small white podium is set up on the side of the bench where
mourners can stand and speak. Behind that, a woman in a
long, flowing blue dress plays the flute.
“How is your mom?” Mr. Galloway approaches me and
rests his hand on my shoulder.
“She’s okay.” I offer my standard answer. “She’ll be
down in a minute,” I add, hoping it’s true.
That morning, Mom promised to pull herself together,
but it was Aunt Marty who came into my room to help me
figure out what to wear and what to say.
“You don’t have to drape yourself in black,” Aunt Marty
said. “You want to honor Mr. Arthur by dressing appropriately
for his final good-bye. Pick something simple and subdued.”
Aunt Marty wears a sleeveless eggplant-colored dress
and flat black shoes. I wear the only thing I have that feels
right: a navy-blue shift I’d bought on sale, and a blue cotton
blazer Mom bought me for the first day of school that
looked too Prince William to wear any other time.
“Perfect!” Aunt Marty said that morning, which was
exactly what I needed to hear.
“What am I supposed to say about him?” I’d asked her.
Aunt Marty sat me down. “Think about what you
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