She slammed the door shut behind her catching my attention. Her face said it all. “I was raped.”
More horror filled the features of her face as she wrapped her arms around herself. Tears and anger combined with her next words, even more horrifying to her, “It’s my fertile time of the month. What if that bastard got me pregnant.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of sheer fear.
I stood up from the college dorm bed where I’d been studying. As I walked toward her I knew not to touch her. Our eyes stayed locked as I guided her over to sit near me on the bed. Over and over she kept repeating, “What if he got me pregnant.” Never a question; always a statement of fear.
At 21 she was older than me. She started college late, needing to work a couple of years to make money for the tuition. I was only 18, and not experienced enough to know what to do. Yet here we were.
“I trust you,” she said. “I know you can help me.” She trusted me more than I trusted myself in the situation. We were both sophomores at the university, roommates by happenstance. We got along but weren’t close friends.
Instinct kicked in keeping me calm to help calm her. With the help of the housemother, we eventually got her (my roommate) to the hospital. The police came. There was a trial. It was my first time at testifying in court. It was cruel. She wasn’t a sweet, innocent young girl. Why was she at a party where there was alcohol? Why would anyone think this nice young college boy…
I don’t remember the outcome of the trail. I only remember walking back to campus seeing her face so traumatized and hearing those words over and over, What if that bastard got me pregnant.
She dropped out of college shortly after that. Before she did, she thanked me for helping her. She also said she didn’t want to involve me anymore, didn’t want to get me into trouble. She wished me well.
We lost touch after that. Was she pregnant? Did she have an abortion? Is that what she meant by not wanting to get me into trouble. Abortions were illegal back then in 1966, even in cases of rape. So was aiding someone getting an abortion. She was protecting me as I wasn’t able to protect her.
She wasn’t able to protect me, however, from the trauma of witnessing her trauma, the horrific fear of being pregnant by a rapist. All these years later I still see her face as she stood at the door of our college dorm. “I’ve been raped. What if he got me pregnant.” A statement of fear, not a question.
We cannot go back. Vote wisely.