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Seeing
myself
in
the
front
mirror
looking
into
the
back
mirror
,
as
he
held
it
for
me
,
it
tilted
for
an
instant
into
the
one
angle
that
produced
the
illusion
of
depth
;
endless
corridors
of
myself
.
.
.
looking
at
myself
.
.
.
looking
at
myself
.
.
.
looking
at
myself
.
.
.
looking
.
.
.
Which
one
?
Who
was
I
?
I
thought
of
not
telling
him
.
What
good
was
it
for
him
to
know
?
Just
go
away
and
not
reveal
who
I
was
.
Then
I
remembered
that
I
wanted
him
to
know
.
He
had
to
admit
that
I
was
alive
,
that
I
was
someone
.
I
wanted
him
to
boast
about
me
to
the
customers
tomorrow
as
he
gave
haircuts
and
shaves
.
That
would
make
it
all
real
.
If
he
knew
I
was
his
son
,
then
I
would
be
a
person
.
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"
Now
that
you
ve
got
the
hair
off
my
face
,
maybe
you
ll
know
me
,
"
I
said
as
I
stood
up
,
waiting
for
a
sign
of
recognition
.
He
frowned
.
"
What
is
this
?
A
gag
?
"
I
assured
him
it
was
not
a
gag
,
and
if
he
looked
and
thought
hard
enough
he
would
know
me
.
He
shrugged
and
turned
to
put
his
combs
and
scissors
away
.
"
I
got
no
time
for
guessing
games
.
Got
to
close
up
.
That
ll
be
three
-
fifty
.
"
What
if
he
didn
t
remember
me
?
What
if
this
was
only
an
absurd
fantasy
?
His
hand
was
out
for
the
money
,
but
I
made
no
move
toward
my
wallet
.
He
had
to
remember
me
.
He
had
to
know
me
.
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But
no
of
course
not
and
as
I
felt
the
sour
taste
in
my
mouth
and
the
sweat
in
my
palms
,
I
knew
that
in
a
minute
I
would
be
sick
.
But
I
didn
t
want
that
in
front
of
him
.
"
Hey
,
you
all
right
?
"
"
Yes
.
.
.
just
.
.
.
wait
.
.
.
"
I
stumbled
into
one
of
the
chrome
chairs
and
bent
forward
gasping
for
breath
,
wait
­
ing
for
the
blood
to
come
back
to
my
head
.