She was born with a port wine birthmark, as if a wide brush started behind her hairline on the left across the entire left side of her face, across her lips and chin, catching the lower right cheek and jaw and tapering off below her right ear. In certain lighting, with specific angles, and a well-placed scarf, she photographed beautifully – for an instant of captured time. Otherwise, she was self-conscious, certain she was conspicuous and for the wrong reasons. She often joked that when offered brains and beauty, she took a double helping of brains and passed on beauty entirely. She did voice over work, she wrote children’s books, she was an excellent cook, she held an MBA, an MFA, and a patent. No one recognized these facets. Her face was unforgettable.
In grade school, he was the kid whose ears stuck out. He stuttered. He knew that his brain worked faster than his words, so the words got stuck and couldn’t get out. Because the other kids pegged his stutters as an indication of stupid, he was subjected to the meanness at which children can excel. There was one voice, within the blurred mob of faces, that spoke in his defense. The girl was tough, and kind of scary, because the others would back down. He never knew the names they had called her, before she found her Voice. Before the term end, his father was transferred, so he transferred schools. There was a new mob of faces. There was no defending voice. But he learned to be quietly intense, scary in his own right – he could stare down anyone. He was an adult before he learned about prosopagnosia. He didn’t know others could recognize faces.
On a cross country trip, randomly watching airline entertainment he heard her voice. THE girl. Older but definitely her. He squinted at the credits but couldn’t see who voiced the Witch. Checking in, he noted the hotel was hosting a workshop for the Guild of Children’s Book Authors and Illustrators in addition to his conference on Prosopagnosia Research. The elevator was crowded. He was squashed near the front, when he heard her voice, again, live, in the elevator. He tried to find her, but the faces were all a blur. He wouldn’t recognize her anyway. Could he be wrong about the voice? Twice in a day?!
“Excuse me, Ma’am. Please tell your daughter it’s impolite to point and stare.”
He whipped around. “Pamela?” he said loud enough for whole lobby. A woman turned toward him. “Liam?”
They had dinner and 30 years of catching up. They had a lot in common, lived in close proximity, were both dog people, were both single. She noticed he’d outgrown his stutter.
“You know, I thought you were the smartest kid in the class” she said.
“If you hadn’t spoken, you would have gone unrecognized. I’m not here for the writer’s conference. I don’t see faces but, I always knew you were the most beautiful girl in the world.”
— Lkai
In grade school, he was the kid whose ears stuck out. He stuttered. He knew that his brain worked faster than his words, so the words got stuck and couldn’t get out. Because the other kids pegged his stutters as an indication of stupid, he was subjected to the meanness at which children can excel. There was one voice, within the blurred mob of faces, that spoke in his defense. The girl was tough, and kind of scary, because the others would back down. He never knew the names they had called her, before she found her Voice. Before the term end, his father was transferred, so he transferred schools. There was a new mob of faces. There was no defending voice. But he learned to be quietly intense, scary in his own right – he could stare down anyone. He was an adult before he learned about prosopagnosia. He didn’t know others could recognize faces.
On a cross country trip, randomly watching airline entertainment he heard her voice. THE girl. Older but definitely her. He squinted at the credits but couldn’t see who voiced the Witch. Checking in, he noted the hotel was hosting a workshop for the Guild of Children’s Book Authors and Illustrators in addition to his conference on Prosopagnosia Research. The elevator was crowded. He was squashed near the front, when he heard her voice, again, live, in the elevator. He tried to find her, but the faces were all a blur. He wouldn’t recognize her anyway. Could he be wrong about the voice? Twice in a day?!
“Excuse me, Ma’am. Please tell your daughter it’s impolite to point and stare.”
He whipped around. “Pamela?” he said loud enough for whole lobby. A woman turned toward him. “Liam?”
They had dinner and 30 years of catching up. They had a lot in common, lived in close proximity, were both dog people, were both single. She noticed he’d outgrown his stutter.
“You know, I thought you were the smartest kid in the class” she said.
“If you hadn’t spoken, you would have gone unrecognized. I’m not here for the writer’s conference. I don’t see faces but, I always knew you were the most beautiful girl in the world.”
— Lkai
Fascinating! And romantic, too. ---Macoff
ReplyDeleteIt shows there is someone made for everyone. Fascinating. opelikakat
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