“So it’s the laughter we will remember.” That lyric written by Marilyn and Alan Bergman for Barbra Steisand’s song and movie “The Way We Were” has always been a favorite. Years later as I indulged in writing Jane Austen Fan Fiction (JAFF), I likened it to a line in “Pride and Prejudice” that also resonated as a sensible way to approach the personal traumas I have endured. Austen’s line is: “Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure." Elizabeth Bennet mentions both of these thoughts as a coping mechanism in my JAFF novel “Goodly Creatures,” because it has been used by me many times for that purpose.

Currently, I am experiencing the greatest tragedy of my life—my partner of almost, but not quite, fifty years died last April. His life’s celebration in July was filled with all the humorous times my friends and I could recollect. The young people in the room were allowed to see another side to their aging comrade they knew as someone confined to a wheelchair. They too are now allowed to remember him with laughter thanks to the video his friend Gloria LaRiva shared.

Unfortunately, neither of those favorite words of wisdom always proved enough this past year. Remembering the laughter took on a far darker meaning for both me and millions of others—particularly women. Dr. Christine Blasey Ford’s words: “Indelible in the Hippocampus is the laughter” has been reverberating about my brain since I heard her testimony last September.

As many of you know, I am a very vocal rape survivor. I decided early to talk about—rather than hiding—my assault from others. In the beginning, it was only my eventual partner, Bill Massey, my roommates, and a few others who heard my tale. Later I would tell my sisters, my brother, my co-workers, and comrades as the situation warranted. My final revelation was to readers as I developed my first novel. My parents were already deceased at the time I was raped but that was not the case for Elizabeth Bennet in “Goodly Creatures.” Unlike her, I did not have to worry about parental disappointment as part of my healing process.

It is time to tell the details of my rape as I remember them. As you will notice many are lost—something so many refused to believe possible in the testimony of Dr. Ford. I do not have that same lack of understanding.

The year was 1968. It was autumn, and I was a student at Barnard who was in the process of dropping out of school and getting a job. My second parent, my mother, had died the previous December. Being seriously depressed and anxious about not having a security net any more was my reality. Proof that I could support myself was my priority. My senior year would have to wait.

Shortly after my mother’s death, I joined a socialist organization. I have remained a socialist to this day. My summer had been spent in Chattanooga, Tennessee selling my family home, storing my parent’s belongings, and moving my fifteen-year-old sister to an aunt and uncle’s home in Texas. Despite all that trauma, I was trying to look to the future and learn all manner of new ideas.

My roommates were also Barnard students and belonged to the same socialist organization. Since it was the beginning of the new term and we were still exhilarated by having participated in the Columbia strike the previous spring, we decided to celebrate and socialize with our comrades by having a party. One of my roommates had brought a bottle of scotch from her parents’ stock to get us ready to be good hostesses. I think it was a bottle of Pinch. Please note the selective memory I have of that night—Pinch yes, but the exact date and so many other facts, no.

I was buzzed by the time the first guest arrived. Other than my roommates and the man who would be my rapist I can remember none of the names or faces of those who attended the party. I do not remember his name, but if needed I would be able to find him… if he is still alive. Someone told me his name at the time, but somehow it fell into the bin of useless facts.

Bill Massey was not there during the music and dancing part of the evening. At the time, he was doing public relations and media work for our group’s presidential and vice-presidential candidates. He often worked long hours securing time on shows like “Firing Line” and the “Joey Bishop Show.” He was very talented, but most importantly the laws were much more favorable toward third party candidates than they are today.

The music I remember was Big Brother and the Holding Company’s “Cheap Thrills.” Later someone put on The Doors album. I was not dressed provocatively. I was way too preppy for that. The booze had diminished my inhibitions and I was enjoying dancing—often by myself. When “Light My Fire” came on, I was at the peak of my performance. Soon, the alcohol pushed me into exhaustion. I went into my roommate’s bedroom at the back of the apartment and crashed. This room is where coats were being kept. That makes me think it must have been October rather than September.

At some point, a man came in to collect his coat. I assume that is what brought him there. He proceeded to take my jeans down. I just kept saying over and over “no, I don’t want to do this. Please leave me alone.” He ignored me, and I was too drunk to be able to fight. I also did not scream. What was happening was very embarrassing and I hoped I could make him stop by appealing to his morality My pride was at stake. Surely a political person could be reasoned with. It did not work. He was physically superior.

My mother had sent me to New York the previous year with birth control pills. I was sexually naïve and kept asking her why. Wise woman in the process of dying that she was, she told me the pills were “good for my skin.” By the time of my rape I was no longer a virgin, though I hardly had much in the way of experience. Thanks to my mother, I did not have to worry about pregnancy.

When he left, I tried to think what to do. Finally, I took a shower and I remember with some disgust I had to put the same clothes back on because my room was part of the festivities. The party was down to about six people sitting on the kitchen floor talking politics. One of my roommates was not among the group. The only two I remember from that group were Bill Massey and my other roommate. Bill and I were not a couple, but he was a mentor who was always willing to explain things to me. In fact, unbeknownst to me, he was in the process of ending his marriage.

I told the group what had happened. My roommate, a much more sexually experienced young woman, was cynical in her response. To me it seemed as though she was saying it was something you had to expect as a woman. She also said the best thing to do in those situations was just lie back and enjoy it. I was horrified. This was 1968 and “date rape” and “acquaintance rape” were not concepts in people’s consciousness. Bill became enraged, mainly at my roommate’s words, and said I had been raped. He likened what had happened to nations being denied self-determination. That was a topic I had discussed with him. He said my rights had been violated.

There are no other recollections for that evening. From the minute Bill defended me, I felt validated and the healing process was jump started. However, that did not mean I walked away unscathed. Liquor should be avoided at all costs. Losing control is something women should never do. However, I refused to allow the event to keep me from going places. I spent a great deal of time developing street smarts so I could do political work. Despite my precautions, I have experienced several additional lesser sexual assaults over the years. Exposing genitals and masturbating in front of women seems to be quite popular. Talking about the events doesn’t make it okay, but it does allow women to know they are not alone. “Me Too” has been very empowering for so many.

For me it wasn’t the laughter of my rapist that is remembered, but the fact that I said please numerous times. Why would a fighter for women’s liberation say “please” to a man who is violating her? I wrote this into “Goodly Creatures.”

It was never my intention to take my assault to the police. Like so many other women, I just wanted to get on with my life. As one who had a great deal of hostility toward the justice system, skepticism was my state of mind. Instead, I chose to confront my rapist. Unlike the vast majority of sexual assaulters, he called to apologize and asked for a meeting. I agreed and chose a very busy bar near Columbia’s campus. Bill disagreed with this plan, but I prevailed. My soon to be partner said he was going to hang out at the bar—just in case—and I said that was his right. As bizarre as this scenario sounds, it worked for me. One door was shut and my life continued.

Listening to the Kavanaugh hearing was very painful. At first Dr. Ford was treated with some semblance of respect, but that soon faded in the wake of the political goals of the other players. By the time the confirmation vote was imminent, the gloves were off. Her lack of memory was ridiculed by no other than our president. Of course, he had just been laughed at when he visited the UN. At least, I have that as a consolation. It was enjoyable on many levels to watch the world laugh at him over and over again.

As a writer, I bring my sensibilities and life experiences to the page. Perhaps my feelings on the ambiguity of laughter will make it into a novel. I am not certain it will be in my next, but perhaps soon. My current writing project is a Pride and Prejudice mystery entitled “Lizzy.” As with all of my stories, the role and oppression of women will be a major aspect of any plot. “Lizzy” is no exception. Who killed a lively young woman who was taking the Season by storm?

If you would like to communicate with me, my email address is bethmassey68@gmail.com. I plan to write a blog here on Goodreads once a month in the coming period. Become a follower if you would like to know what I have to say. My books are available at most eBook vendors. Here is the link to my Amazon page: https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_no...