Summary: She wasn't afraid to change how she appeared on the outside to appeal to others. Now, I know this may sound like a bad characteristic, but I assure you that in my eyes it was ingenious. If she knew that what people liked in a person was that they were honest, honest she would be with them. If she knew they just wanted someone who would be there when they needed someone to talk to, she was there. She shaped and molded herself to be who others needed and wanted. And therefore everybody liked her. She was everyone's best friend.
She taught me how to use her tricks, but after she died I stopped trying. I forgot all those silly things she told me. Which I guess is why I only have one real friend.
I can almost feel her in the room with me, her arm wrapped around my shoulders, telling me everything will be fine with me and Dad and our home. That it will all get sorted out and the pain can stop now, because she is here to help me.
Except that if she were here, the pain wouldn't be. If that arm really did rest on my shoulders, we'd still have a home, I'd still have a brother, and my life would still have potential.