The Phone Rang

Essay about my sexual assault.

The Phone Rang
The phone rang at approximately 7:15 pm, jolting me out of a deep sleep in the bedroom of my apartment. Some would ask how I could possibly sleep as I waited. I had not thought I could, but after all, it had been a long and trying day. The last rays from the sunset illuminated the room as I lay in my bed. Around me, shadows outlined the rest of my room. Originally a living room, I had converted it to my bedroom so I could keep my full sized bed. The purple and pink cat comforter and the blue and white sheets cocooned me in safety. Scooby Doo lay next to me in bed, which was set on an angle (a very recent change). My dresser, a light oak, stood next to my bed. The door leading into the kitchen was to my left. Going clockwise, there was an old fashioned heater then another door which led into my T.V. room and closet. An end table with a lamp from my childhood home sitting on it competed with the sunset to bring light into my room. In the far right corner, the four story cat tree, carpeted and covered in cat hair, sat with my two cats lying on it; Xena, my one eyed brown tabby, was in the rounded opening on the third level and Honey, my tortieshell, had made her way to the very top to sleep. Next came the air conditioner seated in one of the windows and a door leading to the slanted back porch. Adorning the off-white plaster walls were pictures, shelves, and autographs that I had acquired during my 29 years of life.
“Ring! Ring!” my cell rang insistently. Groaning, I grabbed my glasses and looked down at the Caller ID. I froze. The words Private Number flashed across the screen, making my insides twist and convulse with dread. I had seen that display too many time in the previous weeks. Now, after all the agony and confusion, was the culmination of my tears, night terrors, and memories.
Swallowing hard, I swiped my forefinger across the screen and said in a quivering voice, “Hello?”
“Hi, I’m looking to speak to Dawn Dulmes. Is she in?”
I recognized that voice, and felt my body go numb. It was the voice I had heard just that morning, supporting me and telling me how great a job I’d done on the witness stand. I wondered now why had it taken so long for her to call me. Surely the trial had not gone on that long, had it? And if it had, was that a good or bad thing?
Coming back to reality, which I never seemed able to escape, I answered, “This is she. Is the trial over?”
“Hello, Dawn. It’s good to hear your voice,” she stated, “Yes the trial is over and the jury returned a verdict a little while ago. Unfortunately, they returned with a not guilty verdict. He is being released as we speak. Now I want to tell you that you did nothing wrong and that the DA and everyone in the Victim Witness office believes you. You did the right thing to come forward to the police; never doubt that for a second okay?”
Not guilty. I sat up and abruptly, and almost started crying. Not guilty. How could this even be possible? Was the jury not even in the courtroom? Did I not do a good enough job of convincing them of the truth? I know she just said it was not anything that I did, but how could this be happening? AS if my worst nightmare had not already come true, now I would have to live in fear because twelve jurors could not see what a monster this man was.
“How is that possible? Why?” I blurted out, appalled.
“Well, I heard he was very smooth on the stand. In the end, we just didn’t have enough evidence to convict him, at least in the minds of the jurors.”
Not enough evidence?! You had the fucking victim on the stand for God’s sake, I thought. How could this be happening?
“Are you going to be alright?” she asked gently, her voice piercing through the onslaught of my thoughts and feelings. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
NO! I am not going to be alright! NEVER again will I be alright! You just let my rapist walk out of jail and onto the streets. Struck with terror, a thought occurred to me. ‘What if he came back?’
Silent tears were running down my face as I glanced over both entry doors of my apartment nervously. I knew they were locked; I had triple checked that when I got home.
Finally, I asked the question that, even though the answer had been alluded to, I had to know, “Has he been released yet?”
“Yes, I believe so,” she paused for a second before continuing, “By now, they would have finished processing and he would be out.”
Out. My rapist was out on the street. I had to tell myself to breathe. “Okay,” I said, my heart racing and pulse pounding.
“Can I help you with anything else?” she questioned.
“No, no I’m okay,” I told her, even though I was far from it.
We said goodbye and hung up. I stared at my cell for the longest time, unable to comprehend what had just happened. The jurors thought it was consensual sex. A rape? How could they think that? Had I not made myself clear on the witness stand? Did it even matter what I had said? Had they already made up their minds the moment they saw me?
I had so many questions and so few answers. Getting up off my bed, I wandered over through the open archway on the left and checked that both the screen and main door were locked. Glancing next to the door on the countertop was the orange spray can holding the heavy duty bug spray that my mom had gotten for me. It would work even better than pepper spray, she had said. Now I wondered if I was going to have to use it. Wandering back to the bed, I sat down, fighting deep sobs. Scenes, like a broken record, flashed through my head and suddenly he was hovering above me, holding me down and… NO! I told myself firmly, you’re not going back there! Sighing, I lay down underneath the sheets and began the long list of phone calls I needed to make.
My dad was first and then my mom. Lucas (my twin brother) was next - who I remember saying, “That’s Sheboygan’s criminal justice system at its best. Anyway else, that bastard would’ve been convicted and thrown in prison,” and then the inevitable, “I’m sorry, Dawn.”
They each had the same questions and running through the list of answers was wearing me out. How could this happen? Why does he get off free? And the most common one, Are you alright?
By the end of those conversations, I hated that question, “Are you alright?” No, I was not alright, far from it. But what could I say? I’m terrified that he’ll come back, that he’ll try again? He’s big enough that he could break the door down easy. What happens if he calls me? These questions and more haunted me, making me want to crawl into a steel enforced room and lock myself in.
Looking for a change of pace, and perhaps some new perspective, I finally called my friends, Amanda and Kelsey. I had tried Kelsey first but she hadn’t answered, so Amanda was the first of my friends to know the awful truth. Amanda had been one of my biggest supporters, being the one who first got me to call the cops. She’d had a similar situation, but instead of rape she’d been beaten by an ex, and had always regretted not going to the cops. That was why, on June 19th 2014, I had called the cops.
I had missed all my Vet Tech classes for that day, in order to appear on the witness stand and it was all for naught. Amanda talked to me for a long time, and then finally, reluctantly I still think, she hung up.
Kelsey picked up this time around, and in a sense was the lucky one to deal with the brunt of what had happened. I had held things together, letting silent tears fall down my cheeks, but never breaking. I had still been in shock. Now though the shock had worn off, and I was racked with huge sobs and incoherent questions. She was great, talking me through it all, calming me down, and finally handing me the one thing I needed more than anything, escape. “Do you want to come stay at my house for tonight? You’re more than welcome.”
Those wonderful words, were the turning point for me. I knew now I had to get away, get out of Sheboygan and away from my rapist.
“Yes,” I choked out, “Are you sure it’s okay?” It was, after all, past nine pm. It would take at least an hour to get there.
She assured me that it was and I told her that I’d be there in about an hour. I raced around the room, throwing what I thought I would need for the night in my backpack, and then called my parents and brother to give them a heads up and to secure sitting services for my cats. In the end, they understood, somewhat.
I was out the door and in the car before I started crying again. Despite the fact that I was driving, I still had tears rolling down my cheek. I felt as if someone had reached in, broken my heart in two and just when I had managed to loosely stitch it up, the stitches had been ripped out effortlessly.
That long drive to Green Bay gave me a lot of time to think. I was getting over the shock of it and now I was angry. No, not angry, furious! How could the jury do this? How come they did not believe me? Why did the DA not present a stronger and better case?
By the time I arrived at Kelsey’s I was so mixed up and confused that I didn’t really know what to feel. I had never been so happy to see a friend as I was to see her. She ushered me inside and helped me put my bags in the guest room. Everyone else was in bed (it was about ten pm by now), and we worked our way quietly downstairs to talk on the black overstuffed leather couch.
I do not remember everything we talked about, and I do not think that it matters. I told her what I was feeling about the rape, about him being free, and about desperately wanting to get away from Sheboygan now that he was out. I had expressed interest in moving to Green Bay before, but it was too expensive for me at the time.
“You know, I was talking to my mom the other day, and she said you could move in here if you wanted,” Kelsey said.
The minute those words were uttered I knew I had done the right thing in accepting my friend’s caring invitation to spend the night. I knew what I wanted to do, and when being given the possible chance, I knew I had to grab for it. We agreed that Kelsey would talk it over with her mom in the morning, to find out if that offer was valid, and if so, what she and Kelsey’s father would like monetarily from me. We headed on up to bed, my thoughts racing again, but this time in excitement.
As I lay in the darkened guest room, on the bottom bunk of a bunk bed, I thought about a lot of things. I thought about the rape, the cops, having to tell my story over and over, the court and trial, the conclusion, and finally, Kelsey’s offer. As I thought more and more about it, I knew that if Kelsey’s mom agreed, I would move in a heartbeat. Here all I felt was peace, no fear and no pain. Soon I was fast asleep.