One evening after the sun had set, Eddie Rogers was walking home from his office downtown. It was turning cold out, and he raised his hood to block the wind from chilling his ears. He looked up and noticed a young, blonde woman walking towards him, about a block away. He had barely lifted his head when he saw her cross the street, avoiding eye contact with him. Eddie had become used to behavior like this by now. After all, he was a 6’2’’ black man, and white women had been avoiding him ever since his pubescent growth-spurt. So he shook his head and continued walking. As soon as she passed him across the street, however, Eddie heard her scream. He spun around just in time to see a shabbily dressed man grab her around the neck, while the woman tried to push him off.

Eddie sprinted across the street and shouted, “Hey! Let her go!” The man, who Eddie could now see was white, seemed to waver for a moment about whether or not to stay and fight, until Eddie pulled out his cell phone and dialed 9-1-1. The attacker fled, and Eddie didn't know if he should chase the man or stay to help the woman. But as the man turned the nearest corner, Eddie’s need for justice propelled him forward. He had run track in high school, but he was not one of the faster runners. However, in this moment, adrenaline pushed Eddie to go faster than ever, and soon he had caught up with the fleeing attacker.

By this time, the pursued attacker had come up with a plan to ambush Eddie in order to make an easier escape. When Eddie turned the next corner, the man jumped on him and began to pummel him with fists and feet alike. Eddie, who was already winded from the chase, had no energy to fight back. He let the man beat him to the ground until a rough kick to his head knocked him out.

Eddie woke up to a vicious headache, one he knew would not go away anytime soon. He gradually became aware that he was in a holding cell. Across from him rested a rank-smelling, clearly hungover middle-aged man. The only other person in the room was a policewoman who stood outside the cell, reading a newspaper. Eddie tried to recall how he may have ended up here, but the last thing he remembered was falling to the ground. He rose unsteadily and tried to call out to the officer to ask what had happened, but for some reason his tongue would not work. All that escaped from his mouth was a short groan.

“What are you trying to pull? I’ll stun you if you come at me like you did with that lady last night.” When Eddie’s eyes widened in confusion, the policewoman continued, smugly, “So you’re gonna play dumb? We picked you up from a cul-de-sac a few blocks from where she was attacked, and she even identified you as her attacker.”

Eddie could barely believe what he was hearing, and his cries of protest came out as only mumbles and nonsense sounds. He started to panic; how could he tell anyone--the police, a lawyer, a jury--what truly happened if he couldn’t talk at all? And why did the woman lie about who attacked her, especially considering Eddie may have saved her life?

A month later, at his trial, Eddie Rogers was convicted of assault in the first degree. He did not testify.