Near Misses

At night, Nebraska Highway 1 is lonely. There’s almost no traffic through southeastern Nebraska, just darkling fields and the occasional twinkling farmyard. “No Passing” signs caution frequently on the steep, rolling two-lane.

The speed limit is 65 mph, but I cruise eastward over 70, high beams scanning for deer. Should oncoming vehicles appear, we Nebraskans courteously downshift our brights.

As I top a hill and race downward, a truck heads toward me. Suddenly, a second set of headlights appears in my lane. I expect it to retreat, but it stays put, two pairs of bright eyes filling dark road.

I swerve onto the gravel shoulder, missing the oncoming idiot by scant feet. Tail lights burn red in my mirror as I shed speed and fight for control.

I don’t shake, sweat, scream or curse. I easily discard visions of my traffic fatality and accelerate.

Near misses, fatal or otherwise, on highways or in hearts, are everywhere. Life is replete with them. Accidents will happen, and painful surprise is rife. We have little control.

In that darkness, I simply drive home.