There are certain looks you can’t miss, anywhere. The look of someone that had never experienced Jazz before, for instance. They clap only after someone else initiates it, and they nod their head even to the worst Jazz form. The high school dork that discovered alcohol and beer pong in a university where no one knows his name, score; dizzy laughter and claps in surround sound, smiling while he high-fives. That look upon a stranger’s face that exposes inner despair; earbuds dictating heartbreak, misty eyes that avoid making eye contact, and heavy shoulders that tell too much. All this you can tell from just a look.
I can tell from the corners of my mother’s mouth if she’s angry or not. The tenderness in my wife’s eyes, at times, gleames with moons of light that are all too inviting, and I know that’s when she’s giving the look of love. Pointed ears, curved into a listen, my dog tells me that there’s something happening in another scene besides our own that I should pay attention to. Yoda incarnate tells me my pug, Henry, is tired. All this from looks.
Eyes tell too much, which is why the best liars use this sense organ to let you see them only before your eyes are fully adapt. They use their tongue, the good word you can’t adjust. They shine that spoken flashlight in your eyes so that while you can’t see they can guide you into their own imagery.
There are looks you never wish to see, like the look of helpless grief in your mother’s eyes as she realizes her son is dead. That look upon someone’s face when you made it through a round of layoffs, but they didn’t. The fear in an animal’s eyes when they’ve been to the edge of evil by way of human touch. A stoic man with a scared face when he knows his terminal illness cannot be beat and he will die.
On the ligher side, the universal look that we all can tell and will probably see over and over again; “Oh no you’re going to barf” or “I need a bathroom, NOW!”