The Space of an Eyelash

My daughter and I went to see the Cleveland Indians play the Yankees tonight.  It was an exciting game, even though the Tribe lost to the Evil Empire in extra innings. As we were walking back to our car, I felt something go into my right eye. I wasn’t sure if it was dust (there was a construction site nearby) or an eyelash or what. It hurt, but I rubbed it gently as we walked. The eye teared a bit, and then felt okay.

We got in the car, turned onto Prospect Avenue, and headed for the Innerbelt on ramp that would take us to the Shoreway and the few miles home. A block before the on ramp, whatever was in my right eye shifted. Suddenly, it hurt so much that I couldn’t keep my eye open. It was late, the kid was tired, I was tired, but rather than try to drive on the freeway with something in my eye, I made a split-second decision to pull into the parking lot of the Cleveland Institute of Dental and Medical Assistants. It just seemed safer. I grabbed a flashlight, pointed it at my eye, and asked my daughter “Is there anything in there?”

“There’s an eyelash,” she said.

With the flashlight and vanity mirror, I managed to get the lash out of my eye.  We were in the parking lot for perhaps two minutes. We pulled back onto Prospect and hopped on the Shoreway. Just before the Eddy Road exit, traffic slowed. Then a police car came speeding by on the left, then one on the right berm.

The accident was just ahead of us. A dark red sedan had half its front ripped off. It had obviously just happened. We missed it by perhaps two minutes.

But for the space of an eyelash, it might have been us.

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