Back in 1975, I was a 20 year old college hippie girl in San Francisco, California. Now, mid-seventies Cali wasn’t nearly as glamorous as the movies portray it to be, but I still had a hell of a good time. People back then were less uptight and more free spirited. They didn’t hate people over politics, gender, looks, anything like that. It was better. And the drugs were better. So was the music.
I was living in a dormitory at the time. It was a real shithole, but I think we were drawn to its shittiness because of what it represented… anti-establishment, anti-authority. Richard Nixon can still go to hell.
I dormed with two other women, Kelly and Laura. I became very close to them, especially because Kelly had a turntable and Laura had a nearly-new Cadillac with air conditioning. Considering I had neither a car nor a vinyl player, I didn’t need to have much in common with them to find them super hip. I do think we all struck up a genuine, honest friendship though that went beyond materialism.
I had a diary at the time that I never really used. What happened on that day in ‘75 was so horrible, so gut-wrenching, that I felt compelled to write it down. I’d never be able to remember all the details otherwise.
I remember the first and only day I met Martin. He was Kelly’s boyfriend. He walked into our dorm (strictly forbidden) and plopped himself down on our beat up sofa. I knew who he was, but had never spoken to him. He wore a blue, patterned shirt with a massive, flared collar. He had on denim bell bottoms and had curly, brown hair that partially covered his face. He had a cigarette in his mouth. He began to strum some chords on Kelly’s acoustic guitar. I didn’t mind his company at first, even though I could’ve gotten expelled had I gotten caught. Mingling of opposite sexes in the dormitory was strictly forbidden.
I was laying stomach down on the bed, engrossed in a Rolling Stone magazine. I remember thinking how lucky I was living in San Francisco. The Rolling Stones, Pink Floyd, Wings, and Led Zeppelin were all coming to play the city at some point during the year, and I intended to go to all four.
“Want a hit?” I heard the male voice from the sofa call out softly. I looked up from my magazine, also suddenly realizing he was smoking a blunt, not a cigarette.
“I’m Martin by the way. Laura’s brother.” He continued strumming the guitar, finally settling into his own acoustic rendition of “Dear Prudence” by The Beatles. I used to love that song back then. The White Album is still a better album than Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.
“Yeah, sure!” I said, leaning over the bed frame to snatch the blunt out of his hand. He simply scooted over and jutted his neck out.
“I’m Julie!” I told him as I grabbed the lit blunt out of his mouth, his guitar still humming the folky Beatles melody. I took a puff, intending to talk around the smoke. I could handle weed fine, but this stuff was strong. Super strong. I coughed, smoke billowing out of my nose and mouth. I handed it back to him, covering my mouth as coughs continued to rock my tiny diaphragm.
Martin was silent as I finally got myself under control, his guitar still signing. He was a magnificent player.
“Hey, you’re really good!” I giggled like a little girl. I remember liking him. He had a charm, an aura, around him that attracted me. Not even necessarily his looks. Then he began signing, a dreadful sound. I laughed, impressed by his self-confidence.
“You think they’ll get back together?” I asked, trying to strike up a conversation, not realizing at the time that it was probably rude while he was still playing.
“I hope so, but I don’t think John and Paul could get along.” He said, ending his song. He looked up at me past his rounded glasses.
“Can I tell you something?” His eyebrows twitched.
“What?”
“I know that I’m seeing Kelly, and I know that you know, but I really, well…” he scratched his head, “I really like you. Could… we… maybe?” I was stunned. I sat back up on the bed, closing my magazine.
“What? No! Kelly is my friend! Besides, we just met, and I’m not dating Laura’s brother!” I said harshly.
“Why?” His face contorted into a disgusted sneer. Clearly he wasn’t told “no” very often.
I laughed, trying to downplay his creepy demeanor. My chest began to tighten though, when I saw him look at the floor and shake his head. He began mumbling to himself, incomprehensible to me.
He got up from the couch and put the guitar down. He walked towards the turntable, and put on Neil Diamond’s “Serenade” album that had come out the previous year. I hated Neil Diamond. “I’ve been this way before” began playing through the speakers. He cranked the amplifier, the music so loud it was unbearable. I’m sure the whole building heard it.
“Turn that down!” My shout was drowned out by Neil as Martin walked towards me. The room began constricting, the corners closed in. I realized I was in danger when he sat down on the bed. His eyes bore holes into my head as he placed his hand on my thigh. I jerked away reflexively. Fight or flight anxiety began coursing through my veins.
Martin moved his hand up my leg and attempted to unbuckle my belt. I slapped him across the face hard, he frowned as he slapped me back, harder. My face exploded in pain as I flew back reflexively. He laid on top of me. I began kicking and screaming as he undid my belt and pulled my jeans down. He licked his lips as he began fingering me, my underwear still on. He began undoing his own pants.
I saw motion behind Martin’s head… the door to our room was ajar.
“Hey, turn that crap down, will ya?! I’m trying to study!” A girl, an annoyed look on her face, shouting, no, screaming, at us. Martin turned his head, his body on top of mine. In that instant, I clawed Martin in the eyes, jolted up from the bed, and flicked up the turntable’s tonearm, silencing the blaring music. I practically flung myself out of the room to safety.
“Thank you,” I whispered to the stranger as I bolted down the hall with her. I situated my outfit as we walked, relief washing over my shoulders.
“Hey, Julie, where you goin’?” I heard him call from the doorway. I ignored him.
“What’s he doing in your room?” The girl asked me, turning back to face Martin. Her chunky platforms dragged on the stained carpet as we came upon the descending staircase.
“He just barged in there.” I repeated.
“Did he put his hands on you?” She asked, concerned. I nodded. She put a hand on my cheek gently, my face showing a raised, bright red hand print.
“You need to report him!” She said, her face horrified. I, stupidly, ignored her request. Instead, I thanked her one final time, and we went our separate ways. Why didn’t I report him? I was naive and stupid back then. I should’ve looking back, and it’s a decision I’ll always regret. I guess I thought that he’d leave us alone if I left him alone. Like I said, stupidity.
That evening, I bumped into Kelly while I was watching MASH on our boxy, black and white television. She had night classes, so I was catching her on her way back to the dorm.
“Hey!” Kelly said, smiling. She unbuttoned her shiny, black leather trench coat, the slick surface coated with beaded raindrops. She hung the coat up to dry, revealing a red turtleneck paired with tan, polka dotted, cloth bell bottoms. She shut the door behind her and plopped herself down on the squeaky, chocolatey brown leather couch cushion next to me. I shifted in my own seat to face her, lighting up a cigarette as I did so.
“Look, I don’t want your weird boyfriend in our room again. He’s got a bad presence around him.” I leaned into her ear and whispered. She pulled back, her face confused and offended simultaneously.
“You mean Martin? What happened?” Her brunette hair fluttered.
“He touched me, Kelly!”
“No! In here?” Her jaw was agape, shocked. I nodded to her.
“When? Just now?” She reached out and gently touched my shoulder with the pads of her fingers. I tried pulling away, but she leaned in towards me.
“No, earlier today.” I pulled on the cigarette as I nervously drummed my fingers on the padded seat cushion. My back was slightly arched over the couch’s armrest. She pulled her hand back from me slowly, realizing I was rejecting her touch.
“What did he do?” She crossed her legs rigidly, the sudden movement causing the leather underneath her to pop loudly. She folded her arms angrily. The door opened as Laura walked into the dormitory.
“He said that he liked me, and that he had feelings for me, and then he cornered me and groped me.” I said.
“Who?!” Laura asked. We both looked at her as she hung up her coat and scarf.
“Martin!” Kelly snapped.
“No! He’s my brother! He’d never!” Laura shot back defensively.
“Besides, I told you I didn’t want you dating him!” She continued.
“Hey, this isn’t our fault!” I interjected. Laura gave me a death glare in response.
“That low life good-for-nothin’!” Kelly flung herself up from the couch and stomped out of the room.
“Hey!” Laura said, putting a hand on Kelly’s shoulder.
“Let me go! I’m breakin’ up with your deadbeat brother! I’m reporting him to the cops!” Kelly pushed Laura aside and slammed the door behind her. Me and Laura didn’t speak, the tension was palpable. She locked herself in the bathroom with a book for a few hours, leaving me alone watching the television. It eventually got late, so I turned off the TV and slipped underneath my covers.
I awoke in the middle of the night to a scream. I jumped up, flicking on the nightstand lamp. Laura, phone receiver to her ear, tears streaming down her face. A single, dim desk lamp illuminated her. I rubbed my eyes to alertness.
“Whu… what?” I stuttered. Laura hung up the phone, her hands and arms trembling. I slowly pulled aside my sheets and stepped towards her.
“What… what is it?” I asked. After a few more sobs, she looked up at me, her lips quivering.
“It’s… Kelly! Kelly… they found her… her head, Julie! Her head! My brother… OH GOD!”