The Shoebox

There she was again her eyes flashing with anger, glaring at the camera. I ran my fingers over the slightly out of focus picture of this sixteen year old troubled face. When had it all started? All this anger. I glanced at the mirror in front of me. The anger was gone, no not gone but softened. I picked out a photo from the old shoe box which I had pulled from my old cupboard. Everyone used to say how similar we were. We share a fierce stubbornness that went beyond reason. In the photo the similarities are obvious same eyes, same chin and same hair. He still has the thin curly wisps of san…