The Language of The Eyes

“Son,” Mrs. Anne Cambridge teased her only child. “You will never find a decent young lady to give me grandchildren if you spend all of your time working and building. Your last relationship was four years ago. Beverly is in heaven, and she needs you to be happy.”

Easing away from his workbench, removing his gloves and tool belt, Joseph kisses his mother lovingly on her cheek, then taunts back, “Mom, I need someone who can read the dialect my eyes speak the way Beverly did.”

Twisting his right ear, she went on, “Beverly is one in a billion. Nobody gets an angel with love like that twice in their lifetime.”

“Ouch!” he cried, pulling away grasping his right ear. “I will, and my eyes declare the prose of love. The eyes have a diction of their own, mom. Didn’t you say that’s how Dad has pulled you to him?”

Anne Cambridge halts as the memories of her late husband John slowly flooded into her thoughts, pulling her back into one of her happiest occasions. She welcomed the memories while struggling to avert the tears and sadness that desired to accompany them. Holding on to a deep breath, then release, she journeys, “I loved hiking. On my 21st birthday, I went hiking alone in Redwood National Park in California. I wanted to climb Coyote Peak, which is 3170 feet.”

“Gosh, mom, you were on fire?” Joseph jokes, glaring at his mother in awe.

She grinned a little and went on, “I allowed the fire to simmer after I fell in love with your father. Anyways, I wanted to prove something to myself. I got lost, sprained my ankle, and was helpless for two days. He appeared as if in my dream. Being cautioned to stay away from strangers, when I gazed into his eyes the first time I saw him, I didn’t see fire or anything else that would instill fear. Instead, I saw water. Beautiful clear spring water flowing from somewhere inside him. Water is life, son.”

“Wow! Mom,” Joseph remarks.

Joy in her heart and eyes, she went on, “His eyes were speaking a language of kindness and compassion; I was hypnotized. Through his eyes, I saw parts of him an X-ray machine would be envious of and an MRI can’t reach. It’s like his eyes had a spirit of their own. The eyes always talk about the truth, good and bad. It hides nothing, unlike the tongue.”

“How did he save you?” Joseph asked. He has heard this story a thousand times, but each time it seems more exciting. Plus, it makes her happy.

“He carried me five miles down the mountain, then made sure I got to a hospital safely and disappeared as he appeared. My friends said that it was tears that I saw in his eyes and that I was dehydrated and delusional. Every human I met after that, I search their eyes — none showed the gift of life. I read eyes packed with hatred, fear, regret, unhappiness, cruelty, deceit, etc. And a few with kindness and love. I learn to read eyes and understood its language.”

“So, how did you find Dad again?” Joseph cut in.

“Five years later, while donating blood. He was a medical student volunteering at the local blood donation drive. He had the most captivating clear, kind, light brown eyes I had ever seen in a human. Staring into his eyes, I saw his heart, and it was beating with love and empathy,” wiping away the tears, his mother shared, “you got his eyes and his heart. The two most beautiful parts of him.”

Sighing, Joseph softly consoles, “You taught me how to read eyes and interpret its language. That’s how I met Beverly, Mom. Her eyes spoke to me in a language I recognized,” Joseph shared and vowed, “I won’t remarry until I found a girl who appreciates the language the eyes speak.”

Wiping away his mother’s tears laced with happy memories, she held both of his cheeks in her hands, lock gaze with him, and softly warned, “that could take a while, son.”

Kissing her on the tip of her forehead, he inspired, “the language of love understands the eye’s language, Mom. Love is out there, and I will find it.”

Mrs. Cambridge slowly strolls away, then a few feet ahead, she teased with her back to him, “So, what’s her name? I didn’t miss the glint in your eyes when I said that an angel like Beverly isn’t given to anyone twice in a lifetime.”

“Oh, mom, I always have a light in my eyes when I think of her,” Joseph assures.

“I know, but the sadness you are feeling stabilizes the light. But it circles around shining with happiness a few minutes ago,” his mother informs.

“Damn Mom,” he says in awe. “You are good.”

Slowly she curved around facing him. Grinning like a schoolboy in love, he explained, “Her name is Mary MacDowell, and she is the only female working in the tools department at Home Depot. We communicate with our eyes.” He strolls over to his mother and continues, “Mom, it’s like she knows what I want when I enter the store just by interpreting the signals my brain tells my eyes.”

His mom steps closer, studying his eyes; beaming in delight, she marveled, “Mary and Joseph. Then I was wrong!”

The eyes do have their own language because I can read and interpret many expressions. And so can you.

Thank you for reading this piece. I hoped you enjoyed it.