Perfect Girl - Weebly

my head: For fourteen years, I’ve focused on what I don’t
have—a father, a cool mother, a happening hometown, a
boyfriend, the moves of a Goddess. Mr. Arthur wasn’t the
only person who was temporarily blind.
“Are you okay?” Aunt Marty appears at my side and
whispers in my ear.
Now I know the true answer to that question.
“I will be,” I say. She sits down while I elongate my
neck, stand up straight, and continue. “Mr. Arthur did one
thing better than anyone I’ve ever met—besides my mother.
He stayed.”
Sadly, it took Mr. Arthur’s absence for me to finally
appreciate his presence.
“That’s all I have to say.” With that, I sit in the front row
next to my mom and let her hold my hand without freaking
out even once.
A few more neighbors speak before I feel a rustling
beside me. Mom blows her nose, smoothes her dress over
her knees, rises, and walks to the front. The crowd goes
silent.
“As most of you know,” my mother begins, her voice
surprisingly clear and strong, “Mr. Arthur lived with us
nearly twelve years. He was a good friend. And, you’re
right, Mr. Perwit, he was a real gentleman. It’s true, too,
that he knew all about Odessa and loved to teach people
about the history of the town he loved. He also taught me
how to prune a rosebush, how to sun-dry tomatoes, when
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