The Perfect ©
Bethesta stood outside the plate window, nose within one inch, fingertips of each hand next to her face and making foggy prints on the glass. Within the display case, rested in one corner and next to a tall festively wrapped box, was the Perfect. It stood there with a gorgeous smile painted on its face, and looked into her soul with Caribbean water eyes. She had first become aware of the Perfect over a month ago while being pulled down the street by her mother who was in a hurry to get to the bank to pay the bills for the month.
The Perfect had sent out a mystical vibration and caught Bethesta's attention with as much force as if the wide-shouldered being had tripped her with its foot. The Perfect took Bethesta's breath away, and she called, "Momma, Momma, look at it. It is so beautiful." Mother took a quick glance through the window and continued to tug her enthralled daughter down the street, "On, Bethesta, it is just another perfect. They are everywhere you look."
"No Momma, this is The Perfect. There is no other," but Mother was no longer paying attention.
Since that day, Bethesta had taken every opportunity she could find to stand in front of the window and peer at the Perfect as it peered back at her with its soul-searching eyes. A few times she had sidled into the store and poked her little fingers through the white curtain at the back of the display case to touch the Perfect's hand. It was always warm and comforting, but mostly Bethesta stood and looked at the Perfect through the window where she could lose herself in its eyes and smile, and once the store owners, Mr. and Mrs. Bartlett, had stood just outside the shop door and glared at Bethesta. They were worried that the fey, little girl standing in front of their shop so often might frighten their patrons away, as we all know that patrons are often left startled and uncomfortable when faced with the reality of a little girl's unfulfilled dreams and desires.
One day, when Bethesta was in her new favorite place in the world, peering at the Perfect, Mrs. Bartlett wormed her way through the white curtain at the back of the case. She was bringing a large spray of dried flowers tucked inside a wicker basket into the display, and as she passed the Perfect, it went unnoticed that the Perfect's hand caught in the handle of the basket. As the heavy-set woman walked toward Bethesta peering through the window and further into the case to set the basket near the glass, the Perfect tipped forward, and crashed to the floor of the case. Bethesta's mouth had opened to a perfect "O" and her eyes had widened in fear. Mrs. Bartlett had noticed Bethesta's expression moments before she had heard the Perfect thump on the floor behind her, and although she quickly turned to catch the decoration, she was too late. With a humph, she pulled the wicker handle from the arm of the Perfect and sat the basket near the glass. Then she put her fat and disdainful hands around the neck of the Perfect and hauled it back to a standing position. She stalked back out of the case as if the Perfect, who was always still, had somehow knocked himself over on purpose just to thwart her and make her already sordid day, even worse.
Bethesta searched every inch of the Perfect through the glass to make sure it had not come to any fatal harm. She was almost content, when she noticed that a crack had formed at the point where the Perfect's neck met the bottom of its chin and this crack wound over its cheek and almost up to its eye socket where rested one of the Perfect's blue-green eyes. A couple of fat tears began to grow in Bethesta's own eyes, and she said very quietly, but loud enough that a couple of passers-by heard her words, "Oh my Perfect, my poor Perfect. I love you still."
Over time, the Bartlett's store began to lose money as large department stores moved into the mall newly built three blocks down the street. They kept the Perfect in their window, because they could not afford to purchase a new perfect. In summer they hooked a picnic basket over its arm, placed a wicker hat on its head and crookedly balanced a pair of sunglasses on its nose. Sometimes they just hung a big, red "Christmas in July" sale sign around its neck. In the fall they placed a leaf rake in one of its hands until three of its fingers broke off. As time passed, the Perfect became dusty and tattered, but Bethesta, although she too aged and grew from child to young woman, would still stand occasionally at the window and gaze into the smile and eyes she loved so well and for so long. She now understood a bit better that she could never have the Perfect, could not afford it, could not save the Perfect, but she also knew in her awakening mind that she would look for that soul, those eyes and the special smile just for her that she had first loved in the perfect Perfect in Bartlett's store, and somewhat, but not very well, she understood that loving and wanting sometimes are not enough to make the most heart-felt dreams and hopes come true. Poor Bethesta. Poor Perfect.
