OTHER WRITING

Lips to Read

When I think about lip reading I imagine being able to know and hear without anyone identifying me. To be invisible for a time. To be able to approach without reprimand. It would be particularly useful at restaurants. When the conversation in front of me is prohibitive. When I am bored or restless, I can look across the room and find the most luscious pair of lips. Maybe red with lipstick or chapped. Maybe the soft lips of a child or the ones with wrinkled corners. I would not worry about a reprimand because I am invisible. Most likely the conversation and those conversing would never be people I would chose to approach, not under any circumstances.

I like to imagine that I would hear something really tantalizing or even off putting. 

If I could lip read I imagine the first set of lips I might approach. Three individuals whose relationship to each other is a mystery. I am drawn to them because one of the women has an obvious flair for fashion and I wonder where she bought the sweater she is wearing. It reminds me of a cross between what hangs in my favorite New York boutique and the sweater I bought in Portugal. It looks handmade and like no one else in the world could possibly own one just like it. She appears both dignified and relaxed, not a twosome I could ever come close to. 

I wonder if she has a flair for anything besides her wardrobe. Next to her is a man with the kind of thick, grey hair I wish my balding husband had. I steer clear of staring too directly, but I imagine them as a couple. Another, older woman is seated across from this twosome. I can't figure out where she fits into the equation, but I am sure I hear her gargling from what I assume is a glass of ice tea. But maybe it is a Long Island Ice tea like the ones Neal used to make at the bar when I was a cocktail waitress. 

I am getting distracted. It is hard to focus on their lips, as I am more interested in what they are wearing and how they are related to one another. Since no one is speaking at the moment, I try to remember what Kevin taught me. He lives next door and one day when I was bored I went to his house as he has a flair for entertainment at a moment's notice.

"How about I teach you to lip read," he asked. It was a very hot day and his broken fan was vibrating rather than cooling the air. I started to sweat and was sure I should leave as I could feel the puddles gathering in my armpits. 

"And where did you learn how to do that?" I asked, realizing it was a silly conversation starter, as Kevin knew how to do all kinds of weird things that no one else did. That's why I liked him.

So there I was, sweating profusely and learning to read lips and simultaneously reprimanding myself for leaving a sink full of dirty dishes and wet clothes in the washer that were most likely starting to mildew. 

I left Kevin's house after several hours, eager to try out my newest, useless skill.

I needed coffee and food and so I went to some place called, "Flavor," that my husband and I had been meaning to try. It was late afternoon, too late for lunch and too early for dinner, which was really my favorite time to eat. 

And that's when I saw them, my first assignment. 

The younger woman opened her mouth and I gazed transfixed, just like Kevin had taught me. He said I needed to assess the rhythm and the timing of the words before I would be able to discern any meaning.

I waited as I watched the older woman gargle her ice tea. The man's hair was mesmerizing and I felt guilty for wishing my husband had more hair.

"Electrocute..." 

Was that really what I read on her lips? I thought I counted four syllables. What could they possibly be talking about? I thought about the Rosenberg trial and my donation to organizations to abolish the death penalty. It didn't occur to me that they could have been discussing an accidental electrocution. Like from a bolt of lightening striking some rusty cables. And some poor farmer being shocked as he rounded up the cattle. 

I ordered my own ice tea and waited for another gargle.