What We Miss When We’re Masked
A few months into the coronavirus pandemic, I started seeing a new physical therapist for my cranky back. His name is Matt. Matt wears khaki pants and favors quasi-athletic, cushioned loafers. He loves football. His grandfather was an accomplished cellist. He and his wife have a new baby daughter, and their toddler, a spirited girl with red hair just like her dad’s, is having a little trouble adjusting to the new member of their family, but they’re all hanging in there. I can tell you all this, but I might not be able to pick Matt’s face out of a photo lineup, because I’ve never seen more than his eyes and forehead. He probably wouldn’t recognize a picture of me either; we’ve both been masked for the entirety of our acquaintance.
With the exception of my immediate family, when I see people these days, I see only faces. I miss seeing mouths twisted sideways in indecision, teeth bared in silly grins, upper lips curled in confusion, pouting lower lips, wrinkled noses, clenched jaws, all of it.
