Flashed Before My Eyes

I was just back from Yemen, getting ready to go back to work for the University of Akron, when I had the scare of my life - it probably lasted less than a few seconds, and my past did not flash before my eyes, but my future did.  It was a feeling I never want to experience again.

I came out of the refugee camp I was working in weighing about 150 pounds, thirty less than I should have weighed. I was pleased though to be in good shape, and I was resolved to stay that way.  I worked out in my apartment, and I ran around the university at night, about a three mile jog.  I ran late, and usually had the streets to myself.  It was  mid summer, and I would work up a sweat and feel really good when I finished.  It was the first time in my life that I enjoyed running.

It was a late Thursday evening that I took my last run, at least in Akron.  I worked out hard at home, then put on a pair of shorts and a half shirt a friend had given me and I took off.  I made a wider sweep of the school that night, hoping to get in five miles. I ran around the athletic fields, around the classroom buildings, then turned south and ran across a large bridge crossing the Cuyahoga valley.  I crossed, circled around the hospital, then headed back across the bridge. When I got across the bridge, I headed uptown towards the police station and the courthouse.  I was running on the deserted sidewalks, pushing hard to finish the last mile when I noticed a siren and lights behind me.  I assumed the police were pulling someone over so I continued on.  It should have registered with me that the lights were moving too slowly, but I was really into the run.  I started to cross a large intersection by the police station when I heard a loud, crackling command, "stop now you in the orange shorts."  I realized then I was being pulled over, and I had a chuckle imagining I was speeding. 

The police car stopped in the middle of the street, and a large officer waved me over. He had me stand right in the street while his partner got off the radio and joined him.  I asked him if he wanted me to step over to the curb and he replied, "shut up and wait till you are spoken to."  I shrugged and stood there, cooling down from a four mile run. The pair than approached me, and it was straight out of Hollywood - good cop, bad cop. The smaller policeman was friendly, his larger counterpart was a jerk.  The big one moved toward me and started peppering me with questions, barely giving me a chance to respond: "what are you doing, where have you been, where are you going, why are you in such a hurry?"  At that point I was a little irritated with his attitude and incomprehensible grasp of the obvious.  I replied simply, "what does it look like I have been doing?"  He moved towards me menacingly and his partner stepped between us.  The smaller cop asked virtually the same questions, but respectively.  I answered telling him that I was running as I did every night.  He smiled and asked if I minded waiting with them for a few minutes for a technicality.  I acquiesced. With in a few seconds, the big cop started in again, "where is the knife, where is your bike?"  I had had enough and replied, "I left them at the scene of whatever crime you think I did."  This time the nice cop barely restrained the bad one.

We stood there in silence then for a few minutes, the nice policeman assuring me it would be just a few more minutes.  Finally, he told me he wanted someone to take a look at me, before they could let me go.  I had no problem with complying, just wanting to get away from the large cop before I said something stupid.  It was another two minutes until the police van pulled up.  The van stopped about twenty feet away from me.  The large cop grabbed me by the shoulders and spun me towards the van. As he did, I noticed there was a young blond woman in the passenger's seat and she was staring at me with wide eyes.  I raised my gaze to hers, and she met my eyes, then threw her face down into her hands.  It was then I knew I was going to prison and my life would be over as I knew it.  I realized all of this, that I would be falsely accused, I had no alibi, and that I was gonna be locked up where terrible things would happen to me.

It must have only been two seconds before she raised her head, teary eyed, and shook it it back and forth gesturing "no, it's not him."  I nearly collapsed.  The nice cop turned to me, thanked me for my patience, and told me to have a good evening.  Numb, not knowing exactly what to do, I turned and began walking home.  I never ran in Akron again.

I walked home, thinking about a million things:  I wondered what had happened to that young woman (I never found out), thought about all the people who might be in prison unjustly, and how stupid I had been addressing a policeman the way I did. I realized that if I had been a different race, or from a different socioeconomic class, I might have been beaten and arrested. It was a sobering mile home.  I have been falsely accused of a few things since, all much less serious than the crime I was almost guilty of that night, and it never feels any better. I knew then, and I know now that if that damaged young woman had made a mistake that night, I would have gone to prison.  Mine was a momentary torment, I couldn't imagine those who are less lucky, who go through the whole hellish process, ending up in a cell with no hope and no faith in reality.  I have also learned that a great many people prefer to believe the worst in others, and that an accusation is virtually a conviction in their eyes.  I now question these things more vigorously, and I try to make sure I get as much of the story as I can, from as many stakeholders as possible.  Enemy or friend, I would not wish this experience on anyone - would not place them in this Kafkaesque nightmare.