Crash Into Me_ A Survivor's Search for Justice - Liz Seccuro [25]
Alone, I made my way at the appointed time to see Deans Davis and Canevari at his office. I walked in, shook hands all around, and sat in a chair across from his massive desk. Dean Davis sat off to the side.
Dean Bob Canevari was a handsome, powerfully built man with a mane of salt-and-pepper hair. He dressed conservatively, but in a dapper way. He was an old-school administrator with a great deal of power, and, whether or not true, it was rumored that he still resented the university’s being made coeducational. It was well known that he hosted Friday night cocktail parties for male students only. (His own very smart daughter went on to become a professor at the university.)
“So, Dean Davis tells me you’ve had a problem,” Dean Canevari said. “How can I help you?”
I rolled through my whole story again, in full detail. It was exhausting to tell it again.
“Okay, so what you’re saying is that this young man forced you to have sex against your will. Did you say no?”
“Of course I did,” I said.
I was sitting across from this man with my bruised face and a split lip.
“Was he a boyfriend or a suitor?” he asked.
“No, he was a stranger. I’ve never met him before in my life. I am, er—I was a virgin.”
“Well, you know these parties can get out of control,” he said.
“Yes, it was out of control. They fed me a green drink and a stranger dragged me into his room. I was raped. But what do I do now? How can you help me?” Dean Canevari leaned forward. “Are you sure you didn’t have sex with this young man and now you regret it? These things happen. It’s okay to admit that.” He smiled over his desk.
“No!” He wasn’t listening to me. “I am telling you I was raped. He had drugs in his top dresser drawer!”
“Drugs?” he asked. “What kind of drugs?” Drugs, apparently, constituted a “real” problem, one worthy of his attention.
“I don’t know. I’ve never done drugs.” I said.
“Then how do you know they were drugs?”
“Because I watch television. I’m not stupid.”
At this point, Dean Davis had to excuse herself. She had other business to attend to. She placed her hand on mine as she crossed the room to the door. I was left on my own with Canevari.
“Could you tell me where this happened, where the drugs were?”
“Yes, the drugs were in his top dresser drawer, but that’s not why I’m here. I was raped, and I know there were lots of people who saw it happen.”
“People saw it?” He looked concerned now.
“Yes … I was in and out of consciousness, but I know there were other people in the room, watching it happen.”
He frowned. This was trouble. He sat quietly for a moment, considering me.
“How do you know his name?” he asked finally. I felt like he was trying to catch me at something, or trip me up.
“I looked through his mail the next morning. He left a threatening message on my dorm door yesterday,” I said.
“Well, these are very serious allegations you’re leveling. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, sir, I do. I took pictures of the door. What are you going to do?”
I had been attacked, raped, bloodied, bruised. I was dumbfounded at the calm manner in which he was conducting this meeting, seemingly without much concern. I felt the same hopelessness and frustration I had experienced at the ER that first morning. Instinctively, I got up out of the chair to leave.
“No, sit back down. Please, Miss Schimpf, sit back down,” he said.
“Call me Liz,” I said coolly. I realized I had some power in this situation after all. It was important that I stay and accomplish what I had come here to do. I tried to be direct, to get down to business.
“Has the fraternity been locked down? Are there witnesses being questioned since you got word of this? Have the police been called?” I asked.
He leaned back in his chair, then forward, then steepled his fingers and said to me, “Well, we like to handle these things internally and take care of our own. If it’s a university problem, then there’s a university solution. And besides, that house is not in Charlottesville police jurisdiction,