The dresser mirror was splotched with silvery gray, and my reflection in it seemed to emerge from a storm cloud. All of my blemishes were blurred or erased, a beauty filter of sorts. In the green glass room, there are mirrors but no reflections. The phrase appeared in my mind unbidden. It had the musical cadence of a nursery rhyme and I tried to recall its origin. It took a moment to dredge up the memory of my classmate Laura, years ago, presenting me with a riddle: In the green glass room, there are feet but no hands. “In the green glass room, there are butts but no heads,” I replied.
