FOCUS

Jason laughed at the poster that Tommy had on his door. A blonde with a Double-D bust size standing at a beer pong table. It read “FOCUS.”

But that’s not what I noticed.

Every vacation, some of us would stay behind and work, to try to make some extra money to pay bills or just to have a little more cash in our pockets.

Tommy wasn’t one of those kids; he didn’t even work during the school year. In fact, I remember when he called me as he left for vacation, wishing me happy holidays.

Jason and I had to rush to work on the coldest morning of the year--wind chills estimated the temperature to be around negative three degrees. Even while we were inside and seemingly safe from the strength of the freezing cold and wind, we could still hear them relentlessly knocking on our windows and doors like cops.

It was so cold that you could see it.

Luckily, we had a ride to work today—no one wants to stand and wait for a bus in this weather.

I didn’t make much of what I saw until I hopped out the shower that night. As we left for work in the morning, I saw a gleam of light peeking from the bottom Tommy’s door. I’m sure it’s nothing. People leave their lights on all the time--no big deal.

The coverage of the so-called economic recession has created madness. It has people acting all crazy, like they’re the ones suffering. We’re all feeling it, in one way or another, but there has to be a better way to handle it than to act uncivilized.

When your back is against the wall, you gotta do what you gotta do, but that shouldn’t include harming anyone. Crime and other violent activity have sprung up like Reagan was president again, and college campuses were not immune to these crimes.

At the end of every semester or during extended breaks, the news of robbery and other crimes always increases. Students who leave their doors or windows unlocked or even unattended for more than an hour will more than likely come back to bad news.

While alone in the apartment, I would live free. I would walk around naked, leave my door open and have my system blastin’ as I took a shower. But when I got out of the shower that night, naturally I looked across the hall to Tommy’s room…there was no light creeping under the door anymore.

The light was off.

I stood there…and thought about it for a minute. I thought that because Jason and I were in a rush, maybe the light wasn’t really on to begin with. I let it go and got ready for tomorrow.

My day isn’t like the typical student’s day; it’s more like the typical full time worker’s day. I wake up at 7 AM on most occasions. If I’m lucky, I might have some breakfast—usually a banana and a cherry pop tart, and if I’m really lucky, I might be able to squeeze in some time for cereal.

Take a shower, brush my teeth, wash my face, brush my hair, and I’m on my way. I don’t look back. During the semester, nothing changes, in fact when work is over; it just means that I have class now. It’s a grueling regimen and I still feel the after-effects.

Every morning, I quickly just walk by Tommy’s door without a second thought—so how sure could I possibly be?

I made note of it when I got out the shower last night, though—the light was off.

Before I walked in to my apartment, I checked my mail. A few weeks ago, I was talking to one of my best friends, Palestinian Sam, about my need for protection. I told him about how shit is getting crazy over here, a student got shot and died about two months ago, and here I am walking the streets with no protection? I’m a dead man walking.

I know that Sam was connected, but he wasn’t able to give me the hunting knife in person, so he sent it. People like Palestinian Sam always have some extra…tools lying around, and the fact that he owns a store means that the items are rarely scarce.

I walked in and Tommy’s door was the first thing I looked at. I guess I was bugging or somethin’, the light was still off. It was about 6 PM.

When I get home, I usually lock myself in my room for a bit, just so that I could get cleaned up and organized. Then, I put on something more comfortable, and make a little something to eat.

As I eat, I usually put on some Jay-z or Common and get in the zone—my escape from the world. Tommy’s room is directly across the hall from mine, so when I open my door and just look straight—I’m looking at that FOCUS sign.

The light was on again.

I started to rethink the way I did things. No more blasting music, no more leaving my door open—I didn’t even want my presence to be known.

I took a quick minute to cool out, clear my head. Wipe my hands on my shorts—I’m paranoid, I got sweaty palms and my heart began to race.

I grabbed the knife and stuffed it in my right pocket, just in case. I turned off the ITunes and started mentally preparing for someone—anyone. I anticipated someone to hop out of anywhere in my crib and try to take me out. I hope that they know that I’m not going out without a fight.

Sweaty hands don’t make good sandwiches.

I made sure that I shut my door behind me and locked it so that no one would be able to get in without knocking. My only window is to my immediate right and a blue curtain prevents anyone from seeing directly into it.

I made a peanut butter & jelly sandwich with one hand, and held the protection with the other.

This shit got me messed up, man. What was once a celebration for me, a time where I could do seemingly whatever I wanted, has changed--I’m in survival mode now.

I look over my left and right shoulders every few seconds. No more singing along, no more keeping my door open, no more just quickly walking by Tommy’s door, and no more showers with the door open.

I am not alone.

Now I crept, tip-toed even, to do simple things like use the bathroom and make sandwiches. I even took five-minute showers instead of 20 minute ones, because I wanted to be able to hear what was going on out there.

I always kept my keys in one pocket of my bath robe, and the knife in the other. I’m prepared and I know it, but it only makes me more anxious.

There was no sign of anyone when I got out the shower, and I stared at the door to try to see if I could see shadows in the light…no sign.

I put the knife under my pillow, and called it a night.

I woke up to sounds of some light banging and moving around in the middle of the night. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but I didn’t have much of anything I owned out there, and it probably wouldn’t be wise for me to let them know that I was here—especially if there was more than one perp.

So I stayed shut, quiet, clutching the knife under my pillow. I tried to listen real hard to hear footsteps, and determine whether or not they were getting closer to my bedroom door, so that I could plan a way to defend myself.

I didn’t hear much of anything else other than the sounds of water moving through the pipes and the central air/heat starting and stopping, but I could barely sleep.

Clearly disturbed, it’s like I slept with one eye open, and one hand under my pillow…ready.

This routine kept on for a week or so. Combine that with the amount of time and energy I spend working, and you will start to see things a little differently, too.

I have had many dreadful days and sleepless nights. It has had a bad effect on me. I got fed up with what was happening; I’m not alone, but I haven’t found who was here with me. Fuck stealth, I’m going to take action.

I began making my presence known again--wearing boots, playing music, and other things to let whoever was here with me know that they had company. One Sunday morning that I didn’t have work, I decided to take a trip across the hall.

Knife clutched in one hand…black leather gloves, black boots, black hoodie—I was ready for war and I wasn’t turning back.

I knocked on the door—no answer. I let it alone for about five minutes, but hid behind a wall in the apartment where they wouldn’t be able to see me if they looked out, but I would be able to see them.

10 minutes pass.

I walk up to the door and softly twist the knob…its locked shut. A lot of these locks are the same, so I tried to open Tommy’s door with my keys…it didn’t work.

All of these wasted days and nights, worried about who was here with me, worried about my safety, and they’re going to back down now!? I can’t let that happen, and as I grew impatient I began to try to break in.

Shoulder-rams and kicking the door didn’t exactly go as planned, and I began to lose hope. But I wanted to try everything—I wanted to get some sleep again, I wanted to get rid of this problem, and finally gain some peace back.

It was dark outside, and I turned off all the lights. I sat on the sofa in the pitch black, waiting for movement, for some sign of these intruders, waiting for them to arrive. As soon as I heard that key twist, I would creep behind the door and as they walked in, I’d make my move—that was the plan.

About an hour passes, and I notice just how hot it is, how sweaty I am, how anxious I am. Sweat is dripping from my body like water from the Niagara…and I don’t even mind it.

For the next three or four days, I have woken up on the sofa, in the same spot, with one hand in my pants, and the other gripping my new best friend.

I missed work on all of those days and have only been awoken by the sounds of birds and/or snow plows. My eyes—bloodshot, my hair and facial hair—caveman-like, my body odor—like elephants at a zoo.

I go back to the door, but there’s still no one there. A draft that I felt on my ankles sparked an idea—break in through the window.

I went outside in the blistering cold. Ice and debris hitting my face and body have never felt better. Barely anyone was on campus and I didn’t see anyone around, so I opened the window and broke the protective screen so that I could get in.

I clutched the knife and made my way in the window, falling through and landing on my hip, I fell into a perfect room that had no trace of anyone, anywhere.

The bed was fully made, the TV was off, and there were no clothes anywhere.

I closed the window and opened the closet to take a look into it…no one.

I was alone.

I left the room and looked through the other three rooms--I had to find these pricks!

No one was here.

I began to panic, screaming at the air, telling it to come out. Punching walls until I left streaks of blood and skin from my knuckles. I cried, fell, blacked out, and got up…

I made my way over to the sink to wash my face. I wiped my nose and cleaned the crust out of my eyes. While walking back into my room, I looked across to Tommy’s.

Her double Ds were still in my face, and the light was off.