Driving In The Dark

I was driving to my son's school for lunch and was beginning to think I'd never make it there alive.

Somehow, I had gone blind.

I wasn't really blind. I could see. I just couldn't fully open my eyes.

My eyes were barely open. If I concentrated hard enough, I could make out the colors and design on my t-shirt. My field of vision was severely limited: I could make out about 5% of what I normally could see.

If I tilted my head back far enough, I could sense the blurry blobs that were the other cars on the road. I could hear the horns blaring at me, the tires screeching. But like those little old ladies I often curse, I kept on driving, ignoring the protests of others. I had somewhere to be.

I would try to open my eyes. When I did, my eyelids would flutter faster than a hummingbird's wings. I was having enough trouble driving without the added strobe effect.

It took a near rear-end collision with a yellow Volkswagen Beetle for me to finally pull the car over into what I thought was a parking lot.

I sat there for a moment, readying myself. I started praying. I started crying. I summoned all my strength and --

I woke up in the car, forty-five minutes before lunch.