Wednesday, December 08, 2004

Deadly afro

For one semester back in college I was sure I’d be the first man killed by a psychotic sleep walker. I had two roommates, Darren and Bobby. Darren was never around. He paid his rent, but his girlfriend had a place of her own paid for by Daddy Big Bucks. Bobby was always fucking there. Homeboy had no other place to be. He had a blonde afro the size of Epcot Center, and it was on purpose. He had it permed every couple of months. Even had a mustache like Magnum P.I. But he paid his share of the rent and managed to make my Milli Vanilli style look good and that was all I cared about.

I was up flipping channels on the boob tube at 2:00 one morning when I heard his shower come on. I thought it was odd that he’d get up in the middle of the night to shower, but maybe he’d been spanking the monkey and forgotten to use a sock to avoid the mess. It happens. He got up at 6:00 and showered again. I asked him why his ass had to use up all the hot water when he’d just showered a few hours before. He said I was full of shit. Why would he get up in the middle of the night to take a shower?

Whatever, bro.

A few weeks later I was up again watching TV when I heard shouting. Bobby’s door flung open so hard it hit the wall and he ran into the living room screaming. “He’s in my bed! He’s in my bed!”

Bullshit. Who in the hell would get into Bobby’s bed? He stood in the corner, whining and shaking his left arm with his right hand. Crazy bastard. I reached around the wall and flipped the light switch without going in, just in case he wasn’t out of his goddamned mind after all, but when I looked in there was nothing but a pile of crumpled sheets.

“Dude, there’s nobody in here.”

“I felt him, I felt him! I touched his arm.”

I was later able to discern that he had fallen asleep on his arm, it went numb, and he touched his own hand thinking it belonged to another man in his bed. By morning, Bobby had no recollection of the entire thing.

The day Bobby brought a 9mm back to the apartment I nearly shit my pants. “What in the – Fuck no! Uh uh, no, bitch. Take that shit out of here.”

He said he needed it for his protection.

“From what? You're the weirdest fucker in the whole complex."

He insisted he needed the gun for his safety. He put it in his nightstand in his bedroom and told me where I could find it if I ever needed it. Yeah, when hell freezes over. Which I hear happens once every three years or so, but nonetheless.

A few days later it was just after midnight when Bobby’s door creaked open. I looked up and saw four fingers, an eye and part of a ‘fro showing through the narrow gap in the doorway. The eyeball started roaming all around the room, not looking at anything in particular, then it and the ‘fro slowly disappeared behind the door, the fingers slipped back inside, and the door closed gently.

I went to my bedroom, locked the door, and didn’t come out until the sun was up. By noon, Mr. Bobby had a new place to live. I’ve lived alone ever since.