Attempted...What?

All of what you're about to read occurred about fifteen years ago. I have changed the names of people involved, but not the institutions nor any other details.

When it comes to conflict, I feel lucky. I say this because, while I've had my fair share of yuck, most of my human relations have been amicable, and the few times I've faced a dire situation, the lessons I've learned have dwarfed the stress I endured.

However, there is a type of conflict that doesn't seem to offer lessons worth learning, and in these situations, no one, not even a saint, can suffer alone. What follows is the story of the most alienating conflict I've endured. I hope you enjoy it because reliving it was about as fun as defecating glass shards at a truck stop bathroom.

Ready?

I spent my twenties moving around the country, playing in bands and supporting myself with restaurant work, but as "turning thirty" loomed into view, I decided I wanted more income and less demanding work, so I moved back to Oakland, California in the fall of 2009 to attend grad school at Mills College, a locally renowned Women’s College in the Bay Area that, for financial reasons, reluctantly began admitting male students to their graduate art programs in the mid 1990s.

What this means to you, dear reader, is that I was, for two years, what guys there called “A Man of Mills” but the women (more often than not) referred to as "a penis."

Being a Man of Mills was incredible, because it let me, a "CIS-male," (a term that is ubiquitous now but had to be taught to me at that time), be part of a super-minority that regularly had to put up with offensive generalizations about "my people" from classmates who were either unaware or quite intentional in their sexism.

Put another way: I experienced what most women experience all the time!

But there was another side to my experience that few, if any of you, have ever experienced, even if you're one of the common or uncommon minorities in America. And that's the impossible, nail-biting pressure of trying to pretend, every day, that you are not studying at a private campus that features, for many different reasons, an entire population that is intentionally pursuing education without people like you.

I'm serious. America hasn't had legal segregation since the '60s and even the illegal forms were mostly eradicated by the 1990s. So while racism and sexism still run rampant, it's at least clandestine in the year 2025. But perhaps I'm mainsplaining...

At any rate, there I was, 29 years old, wide-eyed and nervous, but also prepared to suck it up and accept all insults, real, intentional, micro, and imaginary. Yes, I'd do that for two years, and in return, I'd hone my craft and get a degree to teach college.

A month into my studies, an attractive grad student, pseudonym Vera, started blatantly flirting with me in our class. I'd just ended a bad relationship, but friends were encouraging me to “try again,” so I reluctantly asked her out, and she said yes.

We went out that Friday, but I was bothered by some of her coarse world views. She had no tolerance for certain races and sexual orientations, and I didn’t approve. When I dropped her off, I declined her invitation to go upstairs to her single dorm room, and when she seemed irked, I lied and said it was late and I had an early class the next day.

I got on the road, and five minutes later, I received a text that I decided to read at the next stoplight. “Are you gay, or just a pussy? Come back if you aren’t either.”

I’d never seen anything like this. Confounded and confused, I replied, “I'm just tired.”

A moment later, “Fuck you, fag,” appeared on my phone.

I got home and texted a friend who suggested I call it a night, but my mind couldn’t relax. What was I avoiding? Wasn't it time to grow up? Maybe she was just putting on a tough front. Maybe I could teach her tolerance. Then, the worst thing that can happen to a guy like me occurred: I started empathizing with her. She felt rejected!

I texted a different friend about my predicament and she said, “Go back and talk it out. Explain that you just want to be friends, but do it in person.”

I thanked her and put my phone away for bed, but it it beeped and I couldn’t ignore it.

It was a new text from Vera. "You're such a pussy!"

Heart racing, I wrote back, “Can we please talk in person?”

"Yes. Come back."

Not a huge fan of texting on a flip phone (google it), I called her back to explain that it was late, but she told me her feelings were really hurt and she just wanted me to tell her what was really wrong, but she agreed it should be in person.

I idiotically agreed. “OK, I'll come, but I want to talk outside—not in your room.”

She agreed and we hung up, but when I arrived, she came down with four beers and suggested we talk at the outdoor section of campus where grad students could drink.

We sat at a bench and each cracked a beer, and within a few minutes, we were making out, and it was fun! A consummate “pussy,” I'd never asked a girl out without getting to know her first, so this felt like a reward for finally stepping out of my shyness.

We eventually pulled our lips apart and returned to her building, not even finishing our first beers, and when she opened the security door, she grabbed my hand to pull me inside, but I resisted.

I smirked. "Let's not rush, now that you know I'm straight." I then added, "Sunday?"

She grinned, kissed me goodnight, and when I got home, we indulged in playful texts insinuating passionate days ahead until I grew tired and fell asleep with a grin.

We met again that Sunday afternoon, but she again made a few racist and homophobic comments that bothered me, so when I dropped her off at campus, I lied and told her I still had feelings for my ex, and she looked disappointed, but also seemed OK when she said she respected my decision, so I suggested we could become good friends.

Later that day, however, she sent me three nasty texts. The first attacked my sexual orientation, the second questioned my integrity, and the third threatened me with vindictive action on social media.

I ignored all three, but when she sent me a fourth one that said, "I'm going to let the Dean and all our classmates know about your inappropriate conduct," I got scared.

I sent her back a long, emotionally conciliatory text, hoping to assuage her anger, but she responded with preposterous accusations and shocking, irrational vitriol, punctuated with a phrase I'd never encountered, that still makes me shiver:

"I'm going to press charges for attempted date rape.”

I called my mom and told her what happened, and she believed me, because I’m not a liar and she went out of her way to raise two sons who would never take advantage of anyone, male or female. She nevertheless told me to play it safe. She said that since I had text evidence that proved I'd left her place and she'd begged me to return, I should simply abolish all contact, including social media, and silently wait it out, even if that felt unfair. “You have to just let people think what they’re going to think.”

And then…Actually, I was going to retell this next part, but I saved the email Vera sent me after I unfriended her on FB. So while I’m a private person, “F*** it,” This is paywalled, so here you go, here's her message, with no edits (so forgive the typos):