On a recent Saturday, over breakfast, I read The New York Times report on college drinking and sexual assault — stories from five universities of alcohol-soaked scenes laying the groundwork for rampant sexual assault. By two hours later, I was living it again.
I live in East Lansing, Mich., home to Michigan State University. Every time there is a big game in town, as there was this particular weekend, when Michigan State played the University of Michigan, thousands of people pour into our small city and drunken revelry ensues. The choice I then face when going to bed is to set multiple fans to drown out the extraordinary noises, or to keep the fans off, so that I will hear if a young woman screams for help.
Last year, I woke from a dead sleep to someone screaming, “Get away from me!” I ran out to our porch to find a young woman being pursued by a man. I yelled to her to come to my porch.
“No,” she answered drunkenly. “It’s cool. I know him.”
I asked her why she was yelling that he should leave her alone. “Because he won’t leave me alone!” she said, as if I was daft.
I asked her again, while he put his hands on her, to please come to my porch. I said I would take her home. She started yelling at both me and him simultaneously. I thought about calling the police, but knew from experience that, by the time they arrived, the drunken couple would be gone.
