“What do you mean 'most of the damage happened to my face'?" She gestured to the mirror above the sink on the far side of the room. I ran over to it and looked at my reflection. "Son of a bitch!”

“Some people say—not to my face, mind you—that I’m a cowardly son of a bitch. And that is simply not true. My mom is not a bitch.”

“I splash my head with ice-cold water and turn to face the mirror. When my image appears I instinctively look away.Is there a truth on the other side that we do not want to see?”

“Unfortunately, one mirror is as treacherous as another, reflecting at some point in every adventure the same vain unsatisfied face, and so when she asks what have I done? she means really what am I doing? as one usually does.”

“I turned back to the mirror, seeing that there were no lines on it. It was empty. "What happened to my mirror?" I said, bewildered. Then realizing that I was looking at the back of the dumb thing, I swore and turned it over.”

“That doesn't sound like my Margo", she said, and I thought of my Margo, and all of us looking at her reflection in different funhouse mirrors.”