I first saw Dr. T in January of last year. Last Thursday I had my latest appointment with him. When I entered his office I was quite surprised at how old he suddenly looked. Had he contracted some disease in the few months since I had seen him last?
It wasn’t until I was in my car on my way home that I realized the truth: that was the first time I had ever seen him without a face mask, and, therefore, I had never before seen more of his face than his forehead and his eyes. The drawn flesh around the cheek bones and the lines around the mouth were not signs of a recent deterioration of his health, but were his normal aged appearance.
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This episode made me remember that my surprise at an unmasking was something that had happened to me before—several times before. Throughout the Covid period, seeing less than half a face of someone I had never met before the pandemic, I automatically conjured up in my mind’s eye a completion of the other person’s visage. There was Courtni, for example, a receptionist at my physical therapy facility. I filled in what I imagined was south of her forehead and eyeglasses: the rest of a very pretty face, which the glasses accented.
When I did see her without a mask, it was a nice enough face—if not as pretty as I had pictured.
A surprise then, but it shouldn't be a surprise now. Thinking back, I realize that throughout the Covid period I was imagining all masked women—at the supermarket, for example—as being good looking under the face covering. Now with the mask requirement lifted, I find that there are fewer good looking women in the aisles than I believed before.
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I am, it has just occurred to me, an idealist. My mind’s eye beautifies the unknown. Underneath the rock is not a snake. Behind the mask beauty is hidden.
And I am a fool who is doomed to be disappointed by reality. I must accept that at face value.
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