I was studying in a lounge in the college student center vaguely aware of the college radio station playing non-descript music in the back ground. Suddenly, the music ceased and I could hear breathing on the overhead speakers. I and another girl looked up. Everyone else continued working.
There was taping, followed by soft sobs from the speaker. A female voice said quietly, "He's been shot. John Lennon's been shot." She sniffled and then a more authoritative, young male voice took over and repeated that John Lennon had been shot outside his building in New York City. It just came over the wire.
A Beatles song quickly played. I don't recall which one. I couldn't study any more; I was stunned. It made no sense. People spoke to each other confirming what they had just heard. I remember thinking I needed to get home. I couldn't get up.
Sometime later, the male announcer said that John Lennon was dead. I felt weirdly numb in disbelief. I gathered my books, put them in my back pack and began my long walk home in the dark.
When I got home, my brother asked if I knew. I said I did. The radio would not stop playing Beatles and Lennon music. I couldn't stand it. I went to bed. My room was dark, cold and quiet.
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