I Always Feel Like (Somebody’s Watching Me)

A majority of my time while I was at college was spent in the music building. I wasn’t a music major, but it was where I felt most at home and where I fit in. If I wasn’t in the hive of practice rooms, I was studying in the fishbowl. In the center of the building was a lobby on the lower floor outside the doors to the concert hall. On the second floor a balcony went around the edges of the lobby. You could look over the rail down at the various students milling around much like watching fish swim about an oversized aquarium.

During moments of roommate strife I found myself seeking the refuge music offered me. Friends discovered that calling was futile and to just seek me in the music building. More often than naught they would discover me asleep amongst my books upon the padded benches of the fishbowl. After a time they were no longer content with simply tapping my shoulder to awaken me from my dreams.

Paul (yes my Paul) and a couple other guys would drip water on me from the above balcony to see how long it took before I awoke. I think I tried to smack that annoying little bug on my face a few times before I realized . . .

I had keys dropped on me, knees tickled, and books slammed on the floor close to my head. Startling me awake as my tormentors dissolved into laughter taking me with them.

Upon this discovery, that I would awake with great flair, one friend, Mike, decided to get a bit more creative. He bought a glass bottle of juice from the upstairs vending machine and planted the bottom of it firmly on my cheek. Chuckling as I awoke with a gasp. Dang that was cold!

A week or so later, just as my paranoia was subsiding, I was once again studying by osmosis. My dreams are vague and scattered, and I seldom have any memory of them unless they are unusually vivid. I was in such a state when floating through my conciousness came a very deep menacing voice,

“Someone is watching you . . .”

My eyes flew upon in terror and there suspended barely inches from my face was another face. The intake of air whistled audibly into my lungs as my heart exploded in my chest. Before I could even register what was happening the face moved and burst into laughter.
“You should have seen your face!” he hooted merrily.

I wonder how long the bruise on his shoulder lasted . . . heh!