When I was very small, my mother used to tell me that I looked just like my aunt, her older sister. I think she liked being reminded of someone who she loved so much but was far away from us. I saw my aunt each summer when we went back to my mom's hometown. My aunt loved Junior Mints, and in my child's way I associated the black and white candies with her, with her fair, smooth skin and dark, soft hair. She died when I was in elementary school; as I grew up I began to look like my dad's sister and mother instead.
The mirror in the bathroom at my new office is really terrible - it's old and beginning to lose its silver, and the weak light above the sink isn't helpful. I wanted to see if my blush was too bright and so I took an awkward picture of myself. I looked at the way my dark hair waved around my pale, soft cheek, and I saw my aunt's face.
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