by Kiley Roache
* * *
I open my eyes, and the first thing I see is feet. Dancing around. Waltz music plays in my aching head to accompany the dance. One-two-three, one-two-three.
They shuffle around, weaving toward each other and away, fancy leather loafers and beat-up Nikes.
Beat-up Nikes with “JL” written on the heel in Magic Marker.
What the...?
I snap back into focus, becoming aware that I’m lying on the floor, my cheek against the carpet.
I push myself up with one arm.
And the hallway shifts like it’s on a tilted axis, the floor rising toward the ceiling.
Then things go back where they belong, and I realize the feet weren’t dancing. They were fighting.
Jordan, a large red welt over his eye and an expression I’ve never seen before on his vote-for-me-for-class-president-perfect face. Rage.
“Stop!” a voice says from above.
I turn in slow motion.
Duncan is barreling down the hall, yelling something about trust funds and lawsuits and losing scholarships.
Duncan is pulling Jordan off Sebastian when everything goes dark again.
Chapter Fifty-Five
A fluorescent light and a beeping sound.
For a moment, this is all I know. I blink and the light goes away, but the beeping persists.
I blink again, and my eyes focus. I take in the window with industrial curtains, the old television suspended from the ceiling, the linoleum floor, and carts and machines full of wires and screens, the twin bed with a scratchy blanket I’m lying on.
I’m in a hospital room.
I turn the other way and see a doorway, and a woman running by in scrubs.
And then I see...Peter. Sitting in a cheap hospital chair, staring at me.
“What are you doing here?”
He laughs. “Well, that’s one way to say thank you.”
“Thank you.” I squirm, trying to sit up. “I meant—sorry, I’m just a little—” My hand goes to my throbbing head.
“Confused. Yeah, I bet.” He laughs. “Sit back. You’re fine.”
I nod, my brain knocking around inside my skull.
“Shit.” I lie back, letting my head sink into the pillow, trying to keep it still. “It hurts to move.”
“I bet.”
I laugh up at the ceiling. That hurts, too.
Keeping my head on the pillow, I turn carefully toward Peter. “What happened?”
“Concussion. They did a CT, and there’re no bleeds or evident damage, but you definitely have a pretty good concussion. You’ll be fine. They just wanted to keep you because you went unconscious at the time of the incident and then kept wanting to go back to sleep, but some of that might be because you were exhausted before it happened. But yeah, I’m sure the doctor can tell you more, and Duncan can tell you about what sort of precautions you should—”
“No, I mean what happened after I passed out?”
He laughs. “You mean the title bout that broke out in the middle of my house? Don’t worry—your boy’s fine.”
“He’s not my—”
“Cassie, I’ve known since January.”
Oh.
I stare up at the ceiling.
“So I guess I’m really kicked out now.” He can’t have a house divided, fights every day, in-house dating...
“Why would I do that? I’ve voted for you to stay at every point this year.”
I whip my head around. Ow.
“Wait.” I hold up my hand. “You’re the one who gave me a zero.”
His brow furrows. “How do you know that?”
Shit. “I...uh.” I avoid his eyes, trying to think of a lie.
“Whatever.” He chuckles. “Those things don’t matter at all, except for pledge shots, I guess. It looked good to the guys, balanced out my pushing for you in the ways that really matter.”
“But why couldn’t you give me good reviews everywhere?”
“You were a pledge. Do you really think you getting different treatment, being president’s pet, was going to help you?”
I stare at him. “You’re like an evil genius.”
He laughs. “I like to think I’m more a rough-around-the-edges, deeply-troubled-but-ultimately-good hero.”
“Okay, Han Solo.” My eyes roll so far back into my head I think I can see my beat-up brain. “So wait—I’m not gonna get voted out?”
“Nope.” He leans back and puts his feet up on my hospital bed. “Sebastian, on the other hand, was booted this morning. Unanimous.”
I smile, a movement that for some reason doesn’t hurt at all.
But then I remember something. “Uh, Peter, not to be insensitive, but I mean, after my article, is there even really a frat for Bass to be booted from?”
He grabs a newspaper off my bedside table and throws it in my lap.
“This came out this morning. I wanted to show it to you, but you’d left for your test by the time I got to your room.”
I brace myself for the “Frat Gone Forever” headline, then notice it’s not the school newspaper. It’s the opinion section of the San Francisco Chronicle.
What the...?
On the Future of Fraternity
My father believed there was nothing more American than Delta Tau Chi. He talked dreamily of football games and toga parties, and of sorority mixers—one of which was where he met my mother. He claimed he could still recite the secret pledge at a moment’s notice and made most of his adult friends through the DTC alumni network. The Delta Tau Chi name on his application got him jobs and, later, was the reason he hired a large number of his staff. To him, his frat could do no wrong.
And he’s not alone in that opinion.
To many, Greek Life is like a religion.
In Texas, where I come from, there are stores in the middle of town that sell nothing but clothes and knickknacks with Greek letters on them. Students pick colleges based on what Greek organizations are available, mothers sing lullabies to daughters about joining their sorority and to sons about being a frat man who loves that sorority just like their fathers did.
To so many, these are Great American Organizations that can do no wrong.
But like so many American bastions of pride, the Greek system also has a dark history of discrimination.
It continues to promote the idea that women can only be friends with women and men with men. Although there are a lot of interactions between frats and sororities, many of those are sexually motivated and focused on inebriation. Few people form as strongly meaningful relationships with opposite gender members of the Greek community as they do with those in their house.
But sex is just one way the Greek system discriminates.
Ridiculously high dues discriminate against most socioeconomic groups.
Fraternities and sororities have historically discriminated by race, religion, and sexual orientation. It’s all too common in the Rush room, when the debate should be about the character and values of the candidate, for people to be rejected without discussion based on background or sexual identity.
This kind of thinking has no place in higher education. And it especially has no place in a community that pledges itself to a mission of character, sincere friendship based on common interests and loyalty.
So the question is how to preserve all that is good about these organizations that so many people love without also continuing these abhorrent practices.
I would prefer no Greek Life to Greek Life that continues in a way that marginalizes minorities of any kind.
However, I am a firm believer that a fair and just society, and pranks and finesse in beer sports, are not mutually exclusive.
It’s time to create communities based on common personality traits, not common privilege.
; To create frat-rorities that include both men and women, people of all backgrounds, and orientations.
It’s simply the right thing to do. It’s the only way that Greek members can continue to speak proudly of their organizations into the future.
But if you need more proof, talk to any of the brothers of DTC at Warren. A lot of controversy has surrounded our chapter this year, most notably with the admittance of the first female member to an American fraternity, and the subsequent study she recently published in America Weekly.
But anyone who really takes time to read Cassie Davis’s story will see not only the ignorant behavior that has people up in arms but also the progress she documents. They will see minds opened and respect built.
They will see how living with people who have a different perspective—in this case, someone of a different gender—helped our members to understand what women go through, and, more important, how their own actions contribute to this culture of discrimination, and how they might change.
A lot of people thought that as a prominent member of the chapter, I’d be outraged reading that article. But by the last page I was proud. Proud of Cassandra, but also of many of the brothers whose behavior she documents.
Cassie’s article definitely proved American fraternities have a long way to go. And, I’m sorry, Dad, but it also showed that DTC can do wrong.
But it also showed that these beloved organizations are able to evolve and come into the twenty-first century if they are open to change.
In other words, if we want to continue this American pursuit of frattiness, our great traditions of college fun and lifelong kinship, we must first live up to our American promise of equal opportunity.
Peter Ford is president of the California Alpha chapter of Delta Tau Chi at Warren University. He is a political science major, ROTC cadet and a member of the Young Democrats. He aspires to run for political office one day.
Pictures accompany the article: our group picture from initiation, and then the rest are of...me. At parties, philanthropy events from last semester, moving in, at Rush.
I look up. “How long have you been planning this?”
Peter shrugs. “You were always good for PR. Why do you think we threw you a bid in the first place?”
I’m dumbfounded. This whole time I was worried about lying to them, and they were playing me, too.
Peter struts out, but then pokes his head back in. “Oh, there are some people here to see you.”
I pull myself out of bed, relieved to find that my hospital gown is the kind that covers my butt, and walk tentatively to the door.
The small waiting room across the hall is packed.
On the left side, taking up the chairs and leaning against the wall, are Alex and Jackie and a few girls from my feminist studies classes.
On the right side is most of my pledge class, a clear line of demarcation running through the room, with the exception of Duncan and Jackie, who are holding hands over the coffee table.
Everyone turns when I approach, relieved to see me walking. Or at least to be freed from making awkward small talk anymore.
I’m swamped with hugs and questions.
“I’m fine. I’m fine,” I say, but no one seems to hear; they’re all so busy asking how I am.
“They wouldn’t let me in,” Marco says. “The lady said family only. Peter got in, but for some reason she wouldn’t believe we were brothers.”
I laugh and pull him into a hug.
“Good thing Jordan was in his room and heard what was going on when...it happened,” Bambi said. “I would have beat him up, Cass. But I was at class, found out after.”
I smile. “I appreciate the thought, Bambi.”
All the greetings and thoughts of concern wash over me.
“Thank you for coming,” I repeat. “I really appreciate it. Thanks. Thank you.”
I smile and hug, the whole time looking for one face that’s noticeably missing.
When Alex hugs me, I bury my head in her soft blond hair.
“I was so worried,” she says.
“I’m fine.”
“It’s okay if you’re not.” She leans back, her arms still around me and her eyes shining.
“I am. Thank you, though.” I smile. “Hey.” I bite my lip. “Jordan hasn’t stopped by, has he?”
She laughs. “He’s getting his hand looked at down the hall.”
“Really?”
“Yep.”
“I’m just gonna go...” I gesture over my shoulder.
“Yeah, I thought so.” She laughs. “I’ll catch up with you in a few minutes.”
I wander down the hall, eavesdropping, and figure out where they have him. I’m about to go in, then pause for a second, wondering what to say. I mean, really, what is there to say? He ended it, he hated me, and then he risked his scholarship, risked everything, to help me.
I’ll never be ready for this. I take a deep breath and walk in. Hoping I’ll see his face and just know.
He’s sitting on a bed, a nurse standing in front of him, wrapping his hand.
She’s blocking his face, so I can’t see his reaction to me walking in.
The nurse whips around. “Excuse me, miss, but you can’t be in here.”
“I’m sorry, I—”
“She’s fine.” His voice is strained. I wonder if it’s from pain, or if he’s still mad at me.
“Humph.” She finishes fashioning the gauze around his hand quickly. When she’s done, she pushes past me on her way out.
We’re silent for a moment, the only sound the nurse’s retreating footsteps.
I remain standing, practically against the back wall, giving him as much space as possible.
He looks up. “It’s broken.”
My eyes go wide. “Really?”
“Yep.”
“Oh God. How did you...did you break it on his face?” I imagine what Bass must look like. I try not to be too happy at the thought.
He looks down. “No, uh, on the wall behind him.”
I laugh. “Well, maybe we can tell people it was on him?”
He smiles. “I like that idea.”
The moment of laughter fades, and we’re back to our tentative silence.
“What does this mean for soccer?”
“Well, luckily you don’t really use your hands in soccer.” He winks.
I roll my eyes.
“But...yeah.” He exhales. “I’ll be out for a little while as it heals, but it’s not career ending or anything.”
“That’s good.” I look down at my shoes. “Thank you for...what you did.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
I look up. “Also I, uh...” My throat feels tight. “I was hoping we could talk. I wanted to say—”
He just shakes his head and cuts me off. “Me first.”
I brace myself for what he might say. “I’m still feeling a bit dizzy. Maybe you can lead the way to the house this time?”
I just smile and nod. “I only have ten percent battery, but I think I can manage it.”
“Cool.”
I breathe again. “Wait. Dizzy? I’m the concussed one.”
“Hey, he got you once. He got me, like, three times.”
I shake my head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“But that’s a good point—you should lie down.” He pats the mattress next to him.
I cross the room and lie down next to him on the cramped bed.
He starts to put his arm around me, then winces. “Nope, nope, that doesn’t work.”
“Here,” I say. “Lie back.”
I nuzzle into the little nook his neck and shoulder create.
He kisses the top of my head. “Look at us, both infirm. How will we ever make our way home?”
I laugh. “We
can help each other.”
“I like that plan.”
I tilt my head up and scooch closer. He kisses me on the lips, softly, like he’s worried he might hurt me.
I kiss back harder, as if to say it’s okay, and readjust so we’re closer.
I used to think he was too good for me. That I was too messed up, and needed to find another heart that was broken like mine, while he was this living, beating whole heart. That maybe I wanted him because I couldn’t really have him, and he wanted me because he didn’t realize how messed up I was.
But I was wrong. I didn’t need him so I could move forward every day.
My day was just...kind of great when he was around. Like, really, really great.
He made me feel sunny, like a younger version of myself, or maybe that’s not quite right, because I don’t feel naive, but like I’ve gone through all I have and still can be as happy as I was when I was young.
He doesn’t need to fix me; he doesn’t “heal all my wounds with his love,” or something like that. He just helps me be happy even though those wounds exist.
And that’s just one of the reasons I love him.
“Oh, no, no way, not in my hospital, one patient per bed.”
I look up to see the nurse is back, standing, arms crossed, in the doorway.
Sheepishly, I slide off the bed.
“It’s all right. We were just leaving anyway,” Jordan says.
“Not until you’re properly discharged. Your forms are at the desk.”
She stands in the doorway and watches us while we readjust our clothes and make our way out. I head back to my room to get dressed.
“Turning my hospital into a damn frat house,” she says as I move past her. “There are sick people here!”
Once we are both dressed and ready to go, we head to the waiting room.
“He survives!” Peter yells as we enter.
The brothers whoop and holler. I look over my shoulder, hoping the nurse can’t hear them.
A few of the girls ask if he’s okay.
“Yeah, I think so.” He examines his hand.
“Don’t be a pussy—it’s not your head,” Alex says.
Duncan tells her not to use the word pussy in this way because it associates female with weakness in an untrue way.