Crash Into Me_ A Survivor's Search for Justice - Liz Seccuro [7]
Were you my only attacker? I recall other people in the room. Were they merely spectators or participating?
I don’t care how much or little you remember. But I clearly have an impression of this being either a gang rape or a “spectator sport” for the rushees. No names, please. But the nightmares for me must end. And I must know everything I can in order to heal and move forward.
The question of whether there were other attackers has been gnawing at me for twenty years. I know that the answer could be painful, but now that he has already reentered my happy life, how can I ignore it? I have to know.
Thanksgiving Day dawns cloudy and chilly in Connecticut, and I set about putting together a gorgeous feast for our family, including my parents and in-laws. Although I spend my professional life planning events for others, I still love hosting my own, and I’m happy in my spacious kitchen as I baste a turkey and make oyster and mortadella dressing, butternut squash lasagna, glazed carrots, asparagus with Hollandaise sauce, and mashed potatoes with homemade pan gravy. I turn out a chocolate-banana tart, apple pie, and cinnamon ice cream. But after my guests have arrived, between setting the table and arranging flowers, I creep upstairs like a thief to check my e-mail. It has been a while, but I feel a chill in my heart, padding up the stairs, my family happily gathered by the glowing fire in the living room. I just know, as those who hear the phone ring in the middle of the night sometimes simply know that something is amiss. And I am right. I have one new e-mail on this day of thanks and giving.
SUBJECT: More Answers
The night of the attack comes rushing back to me as I read his account of it. In his version of events, I passed out early in the evening, woke up around three A.M.
I noticed you, we talked a while, how you were from Yonkers, how I’d been to Camp Dudley w/ your cousin, Bob Malafronte.
After “what seemed like hesitation,” he says he “convinced” me to stay with him in his room instead of walking all the way home. He says he saw the “opportunity to have a good time with me.” His roommate was away. Yes, there were other fraternity brothers milling in the hallway, but they were “not really involved.”
He claims that we “started to make out” in his room. The door was closed and the house, quiet.
There was no fight and it was all over in short order. When we awoke in the morning it was still chilly out, so i lent you my jean jacket, and you walked home … There were no other men present. I was the only one.
Best to You and Yours This Thanksgiving,
Will
This scene of seduction, this romanticized version of events, is sickeningly removed from the reality that haunts me. Yes, some parts are foggy and I still have questions I hoped he could answer, but of course I remember the struggle, the terror, the pain. My blood boils with anger as I read. For the first time, I understand that, in part, he blames me for what happened. I furiously type back, oblivious to my family downstairs. I type as fast as my shaking fingers will allow.
SUBJECT: Re: More Answers
Dear Mr. Beebe:
This is completely different than my recollection. I was with a date, Jim Long, who the other brothers snatched away in order to smoke pot after giving us a “house tour.” I kept looking for him as I was separated like a weak sheep. I had only had a beer or two and played foosball upon arriving at the party. I remember what I was wearing. The only person I knew in your house was Hudson Millard, who was an RA and friend to some of us. Some of the other, larger brothers physically picked me up and jammed me in your room. This, after fixing me a green drink which they called “The House Specialty” and repeatedly telling me that Jim was almost finished and ready to take me home. The drink disoriented me and made me very scared. I looked for Hud and could not find him for some time. Then I saw him. He was being carried into a room by some other