It was 4 am. I was sleeping, which is traditionally how I like to spend my 4 ay-ems. My roommate Luke was also fast asleep – or possibly slow asleep, I couldn’t tell – and was sprawled out on the lower bunk. If I remember correctly, I was having my usual recurring dream - the one where Bob Saget throws an overhead projector at me as he drives by in my parent’s minivan - when suddenly, I was awoken by somebody yelling, “What the freak took you guys so long?”

I opened my eyes and blinked into the gloomy 4 am gloom, which was distinctly gloomier than most glooms I’ve seen. I couldn’t figure out where those words had just come from. Could it be my own mouth, mouthing off without my knowledge or consent? Or was this the night-time voice of a God? I would have continued to wonder, but just then something from below me said “Mmmmnnng.”

I squinted my sleep-deprived eyes and peeked over the edge of the top bunk. On the bottom bed, Luke was still out cold, but he swung his arm as if he was trying to attack an invisible piñata. “You can’t make me,” said Luke. Of course, I agreed with him, but this was neither the time nor the place for assertions like that.

“Luke!” I whisper-shouted.

“Tim?” he mumbled back.

It may have been 4 am, but even I had the sense to know that my own name was not Tim. I was about to correct him, but Luke continued talking.

“Tim, you frickin’ loser,” he said. I was a little taken aback. I wasn’t quite sure who Tim was, but I certainly didn’t appreciate being mistaken for this quote-unquote “frickin’ loser.”

I decided to tell him so: “I’m not Tim!” I said.

Luke began clumsily pulling his blanket away from him, trying pathetically to untangle himself from his bedding. Finally he freed himself and swung his legs slowly over the side of the bed. “Now we’re gonna be late for the basketball game, you idiot.”

I was stunned. If I had known we had a basketball game to get to, I would have gotten up earlier. And there was no need for him to keep calling me names like that. “You were supposed to meet us downstairs,” Luke mumbled, trying to jam his shoes onto his feet. Backwards. With his eyes still closed. “Tim, where’s your towel? Tim! You’re such an idiot!”

I was really starting to not like this Tim guy, whoever he was. I was less offended though, because by that time, I realized that Luke was not fully aware of his words and actions. It was the middle of the night and Luke wasn’t really in control of his mouth or his body. Indeed, as you too might have guessed, I realized that Luke’s body had been possessed by the spirit of Al Borland from Home Improvement.

[Please note: that part about the spirit of Al Borland isn’t true. No need to write me e-mails asking for clarification. In reality, I bet it was actually the spirit of US Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice.]

Luke gave up trying to jam his shoes onto his feet and was now lumbering towards the door, clad only in his boxers. I was a little worried. If he was indeed off to a basketball game, I feared he would probably upset a few people. If they didn’t kick him out due to his questionable choice in clothing, they’d probably punch him out for calling everybody Tim. But Luke walked right out the door.

He re-entered the room a few minutes later. I looked at Luke. Luke looked at me. “What?” he said.

“You, uh…are you going to the basketball game?” I asked.

“What are you talking about?” he responded. “Kevan, it’s 4 am. Go back to bed. You’re talking in your sleep.”

by Kevan Gilbert