You never see yourself except wrong-way in the mirror. The crooked smile on the wrong side of your face. That's why you hate having your picture taken. You don't recognize yourself; that is not the person who holds your thoughts, who lives your inner life. That person walks out in the world with the rest of the crowd, and you pass her in the street without detection. Who do you recognize, since your sons surprise you, your brother and your husband and, in retrospect, your parents? Those you think you think you know.