EYES ONLY
I miss seeing entire faces. There is something pleasing about the total package, something reassuring about seeing the mouth as it sends words your way, the lips moving in remarkable intricacy. The way the corners of the mouth turn up or down tells you as much as the words that emerge. If the eyes are the gateway to one’s soul, the mouth is the exit by which the soul of another touches your own.
But the current reality we have had forced upon us by the new menace dictates that we must cover our faces except for our eyes when we leave our homes. We hook elastic around our ears and breathe through little pleats of the leftover plaid from the skirt we made years ago for little Jamie, or the red cotton neckerchief we found buried in the bottom of the sock drawer. We greet each other self-consciously, murmuring brief hellos, wanting to blurt out how foolish we feel looking like bank robbers going to the store for a gallon of milk.
A few of the people we meet are not wearing the mandated mask. “Rebels,” we think. Or “How irresponsible. How dare you disregard my safety with your arrogance.” We keep a wide berth around them as if they -or we- are lepers. They march boldly through the automatic doors of the supermarket, pushing grocery carts before them with hands untouched by disinfectant. They move down aisles casually scratching their noses or handling cans of tuna. The rest of us choose a different aisle to shop, hoping nothing we pick up and drop into our sanitized carts has been touched by one of the unmasked. They turn the corner and push past us, ignoring the six feet that we are told must separate us from each other. We try not to inhale until their breath settles and the air is free from contagion.
All of this puts me in an uncomfortable position. I recognize the need for social responsibility, but the cussed independent part of me is miffed at being told to behave myself and do as I am told and to inhale oxygen through a piece of cloth retrieved from the household ragbag.
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I feel like an ancient Israelite in a Roman arena, limbs attached to four horses set to draw and quarter me when they move in opposite directions. I don’t know how I came to be in this position or how to get out of it. I just know I dislike it intensely. In my heart I want to greet people with my whole self, including the embrace with my arms if I so desire. I want to feel the warmth of their body against mine and enjoy the moment of union when I am physically connected to another person. I want to feel the warmth of their breath when we speak and not fear what menace it carries. I want to feel the bare skin of my friends and inhale their unique scent, not the sterile sharpness of their hand sanitizer.
But hating this new reality doesn’t make it go away. It holds control over my world for the time being, and I have no choice but to learn to deal with it. And so I look over the cloth pleats that hold my breath captive and into the eyes of my fellow inmates. When I do so, I find an unexpected result. No longer having access to their entire faces forces me to focus on their eyes. I see the subtle movements of their eyebrows that punctuate the sentences that come from unseen lips. I watch the way the eyelids flicker and the pupils dart or look straight into my eyes with frankness. I see the laugh wrinkles at the outer corners of the eyes and the merry twinkles that flow like Fourth of July sparklers. I see the partial lowering of the eyelids and the barriers that go up to keep me at a safe distance. I see wordless messages from the eyes above the masks that speak volumes.
A new way of communicating emerges as I make a rare trip into the outer world. Eye contact. An unspoken greeting is exchanged by the flicker of the eyelids. A wordless exchange of sympathy, a shared acknowledgment of disbelief that we are in the same boat passes between us in an instant. An invisible barrier flashes from some eyes that are cold “do not trespass” signs and I look away as I give them wide berth. Some eyes are brimming with despair, and misery flows between us and I want to says something kind and reassuring but do not have the words. Some eyes are merry little portals that send forth hope and blessing in warm waves.
I leave the supermarket and get into my car, closing the door behind me, my world safe and small enough for me to remove my mask and breathe deeply and freely. I glance upward into the rear view mirror and I see my eyes looking back at me. I need to see more, my whole face, and I tilt the mirror until I can see all of me. I am no longer fragmented and incomplete, two eyes peering over the top of a fortress, hoping to keep the enemy at bay. I smile at myself and I feel whole again. It’s good to be me once more.
e.
