There's mirror above the towel dispenser on the wall in the bathroom, as well as a
large vanity above the sink. The florescent light above me is far from flattering, but I often use its intensity to find the flaws in my face while I'm at work. When we're really dead inthe office, I'll sit on the counter lean in real close and
pluck my eyebrows. All the lights at home are too dim for this kind of over-analysis.
I catch myself whenever I wash my hands, which is frequently, since my job is cleaning up dust. I move my jaw around, testing the shades of my cheekbones, trying to see myself the way people do. I try out all my faces. I can see the fine line where the circles under my eyes mark the skin apart from my cheeks. One eye looks off center, lazy. Freckles. A chicken pox scar near my hairline. A mole right on the edge of my jaw, close to my left ear, almost invisible when my hair is down.
I'll change three times or more every day I work. Uniform shorts, navy t-shirt, grubby sneakers stained with oil and who knows what from the floor of the body shop. I see myself alot, but I wonder how much of myself that I miss, how much more do other people see, and how much I hold back.