Did you ever see the old, old commercial where the man is lying, injured, by the side of the road and a couple of people wander by, none of them offering any aid? I think it was a Good Samaritan skit for some church. The one cartoon man actually looks around before driving off muttering, "Better not git involved".

I felt like that last night. And it wasn't a good feeling.

I was on my way to the salon, taking the backstreets to make better time. As I came up upon what felt like my hundredth four-way stop, I spied a young couple walking along the sidewalk. She was walking backward and he was actually pushing her, up around her collarbone and causing her to trip constantly. She was putting up a fight, obviously screaming for some time judging by the redness of her face. She righted herself, turned around and began to head away from her aggressor. I cheered inside the car, just in time to see him whip around in front of her and block her way.

It was at this moment I wanted to park the car, get out with my cell phone and offer that young lady some help. I had a speech all prepared, but just couldn't manage to leap to the rescue. I drove on, looking tentatively in the rear view mirror, feeling like a monstrous loser for not taking some initiative.

There are a few reasons for my reluctance. First, I would have been going into that obviously emotionally heightened circumstance blind. I had been assuming everything. They could have been brother and sister and that could have been their natural dynamic since birth. She could have stolen his wallet and he was only fighting to get it back. Secondly, anyone who knows me is well aware of my non-threatening stature of 5'3". I have an attitude that borders 6', but somehow I didn't think it would fly going in cold to an incident happening by the side of the road.

My adrenaline was pumping so hard I had a wicked headache for about half an hour afterward. It reminded me of the time I was attacked during my college days. That particular time, I fought back. I fought back well enough to cause my attacker to flee, thank heavens. But that was fifteen years ago, and I was one of the two actually involved. This time, I worried I would only wind up on the business end of a shit-kicking.

I've been rationalizing my inaction for almost a day now and although the reasons are valid: my safety, my potential ineffectiveness, I still cannot shake the idea that I could have done something.