My brother pledged a fraternity in his first year at a university. I attempted to pledge the sorority next door.

            Sam loved living in community, which surprised me. Our home life had been one of closed-doors and secrecy. No one was let in and we weren’t allowed out except to play in our own backyard. We never brought school friends home. For me, it was because I didn’t have friends. Sam probably didn’t either as he was an intellectual and a clumsy athlete.

            We attended the same college, at the same time. He was one year ahead of me, but he majored in science and electronics. I was majoring in math. None of our classes overlapped.

            I was a loner. When Sam got accepted into a fraternity, I thought I should do the same. I had no clue what that entailed.

            Sam’s brothers watched television shows and sang popular songs. They went on outings to Disneyland and to Santa Monica Pier. I wanted the same thing.

            In order to be considered I had to ‘prove’ myself. I sat at fancy dinner tables with so much silverware that I had no idea what to use when. I had to dress up. The problem was that the bulk of my clothes were homemade. I had one dress, a white dress trimmed in gold rickrack. My mom made it. I had always worn it with pride. Compared to what the girls in the sorority wore, I looked like the poor cousin. Which I was.

            I kept up the ruse. Perhaps just to prove I could be accepted, or maybe as a dare hoping they’d kick me out. My attempt ended when the sorority was asked to model clothes for a banquet held by wealthy women.

            I wore a pantsuit my mom made. And the white dress.

            After the show, I was expected to mingle with the women. They asked background questions. As soon as I told them who I was and where I was from, I was dismissed. Not with a wave or with a pleasant smile, but with a turn of the head.

            My brother’s fraternity accepted me as a friend. In fact, to make the relationship legitimate, they created a title: Friend of the fraternity.

            I got to accompany them to parties, on outings, when they went to dinner. I had a great time. Until my brother told me I had to tutor one of his brothers. Not in the common room, but in the man’s bedroom. Sitting on the bed. With him cozied up next to me.

            He smelled. He wasn’t attractive. He was engaged. He mauled me. Sloppy kisses once the door was shut. Hands under my blouse and trying to go elsewhere. I’d push him off, tell him to stop, which only made him pause. Then he’d resume.

            I withdrew from the fraternity. Moved out of my dorm. Moved into an al-woman’s residence. I didn’t tell my brother where I lived.

            One summer day, as I sat out on the balcony, that voice called my name. He wanted me to let him in. To come down. I locked myself inside.

            A few weeks late I was walking home from my on-campus job when a familiar convertible stopped next to me. It was him. Married now. Said his wife wanted to meet me, to show me the wedding photos. I stupidly believed him.

            As soon as we entered the apartment he locked the door. Both locks, top and bottom.

            I knew I was in trouble when I saw that he’d opened the sofa bed and made it with sheets.

            His meaning was clear. The wife was at work.

            I won’t go into details except that it is my METOO# moment.

            When I finally got away, when he knew his wife would be coming home, he allowed me to run away. I ran and ran and ran. I felt he’d never find me in the Law Library, so I ran inside, found the women’s restroom and locked myself inside.

            I cried and threw hate at myself. Why was I so stupid? Why did I let him do that? Why didn’t I fight harder? And even more important, why did I submit?

            I was able to avoid him for the rest of my years at the university.

            My family drove to Napa. When we arrived, my brother said he’d invited the man and his wife to join us. I came unglued. Crying, sobbing, snot pouring down my face. I refused to get out of the car. Told I had no choice.

            I told my family what the man had done to me. I was told it was my fault, that I must have taunted him. Invited him.

            Fortunately the couple never showed up, but I couldn’t relax and enjoy the beautiful Napa weather.

            That happened more than fifty years ago, but it still angers me today.

            Now I understand that there was little I could do. Now I understand that even if I had reported it, nothing would have changed.

            I’m just beginning to process that like many women, that man took something from me. What hurts is that my brother must have guessed it might happen. That my parents blamed me.

            They say that time heals. Time doesn’t, but love does. My husband knows what happened. He believes me. And loves me just the way I am.