I recall when my eyes ranneth over with tears while I was in a stagecraft class during my junior year. I was powerless to cease the stream until thirty minutes after the floodgates were raised. Nothing tragic nor comedic in that classroom prompted me to cry so it was only natural that the teacher looked at me with a particular compassion that vacated his expression. A dash of confusion illuminated his appearance every time that his sight connected with mine as he perhaps imagined how best to do his adaptation of a grandfather patting me on the back and saying "there, there." To be fair to his state of perplexion, it was frankly one of my eyes which experienced the tainted H2O assault.
Meanwhile my classmates gave off the vibes of empathy as they gave the man who cried with one eye a respectful distance while they pretended as if nothing was amiss for my sake. Yet what do I know? Perhaps their composures fractured as they glanced at me with concern and maybe my professor's did too. After all, my sight was divided by two since one pair of my eyelids were locked down.
Peculiar fire danced beneath the salty water throughout the ordeal as an ivory beam, that no one else could see, occasionally shone into my flooded eye.
Ever since that day, I never strayed from my commitment to not merely wipe my hands after handling food but to wash them before I rub either of my eyes; especially when what I touch happens to be sauce from a chili pepper.
- Written by C.A. Nicholas
- Photograph by Bluesnap
- Photo enhanced by C.A. Nicholas