Many college women raped by their dates or acquaintances don't report the attacks because they blame themselves for losing control . . . and seldom report the attacks even to their friends . . . ("Conference: College women fail to report rape," The Daily Collegian, Jan 13, '89, page 13).

I was at a New Year's Eve party when a friend asked me to walk her home. It was a long way, she said, and she didn't have a car. I agreed, but half-jokingly asked her why she was afraid during Christmas break. All the perverts, I reasoned, were out of town.

"A friend of mine was gang raped last semester," she said.

I did not respond. I wasn't prepared for that answer.

She named the fraternity house where it allegedly happened.

"Did she press charges?" I asked.

The survey of 3,187 female and 3,000 male college students . . . found 84 percent of the rape victims knew their assailants, but only 5 percent told the police they had been attacked. (Collegian, Jan. 13)

"No, she didn't even tell her parents."

I asked why not.

"For all the reasons," she said. "Because they were guys she knew, guys she'd partied with before. Her friends. She didn't want to take them to court." She puffed on a cigarette, and started to wave her hands.

"She felt like it was her fault, for drinking too much, for giving them the wrong impression. She actually said that. She actually said that she might have caused them to do it, not that she deserved it, but that she was the cause. That's why she doesn't press charges -- she feels guilty."

"Guilty," I said. "That's wrong."

She added, "She's afraid of the publicity."

I thought I could make a point. "The cops don't usually release names. I'm sure of it. It's not a public announcement, like a drug bust. Have you seen the reports in the paper? Rapes are outlined, but the victim's name is never printed. Never."

"I think her mind's made up," she said.

"You have to know that's a mistake," I said. "She has to know that."

We walked a few blocks before she spoke again.

"My friend wasn't raped on the street," she said. "It was in a bedroom where she'd been before. Familiar spot, with the stereo on, and other guys in the room. She knew most of them, their faces at least. She said some were hooting, and some were in the corner doing beer bongs, and the curtains had been torn off the wall, and one guy kept yelling at her about a stolen CD, and just --started -- "

She stopped and inhaled deeply.

"It lasted about an hour," she said. "Maybe longer. It was a party. It was something the guys were doing with each other, it wasn't like they were doing it to her. That's the way they saw it, anyway. They didn't see her as involved. It was just a party."

As many as one in four female college students have been raped or have been victims of attempted rape by the time they reach the age of 21, according to a survey conducted on 32 campuses . . . (Collegian, Jan. 13, 1989)

"She came back to our apartment that night . . . doesn't remember how she made it home. Her shirt was torn, there were scratches on her face -- and her arms were red where they'd been holding her. Those were the only signs that something was wrong. She didn't cry --couldn't do it. She just sat on her bed and stared at the floor."

I waited. I wanted to hear more but we had arrived at her apartment and she was going in, closing the door. She wanted me to leave. I tried to stick in one more question before she shut me out:

"What do you think she's going to do?"

"I think she's going to carry it with her the rest of her life."

She said good-bye and closed the door.

I heard the dead-bolt slide into place.

Later in the week, I walked past the fraternity, just to see it. I wanted to see somebody moving behind a window, catch a glimpse of someone inside.

I wanted to see what kind of people did something like that -- were they like the rest of us?

Did they have girlfriends? Probably.

Probably they were normal people -- guys who went to the gym, guys who went to class, guys who danced in the streets when they had dates.

Mainstream people.