Mirrors

Sometimes I try looking in the mirror.

I run my fingers over bone poking out of my gums, memorizing the curvature. Doctors have called my jawbone teepee-like. They have also called it cancer-like.

I didn’t have cancer.

I smile and watch my eyes crinkle. I open my toothless mouth wide, trying to see what the average person might. A cautionary tale. The kind of thing that only happens to people on TV.

That story belongs to someone else. It sounds sad.

I could tell another story. We went to Disney World a lot. My mother, sister, and I huddled together on the benches during rain.

Both these are just stories.

I smile again.

I have a nice smile.