Trouble with the Police

A young, Midwestern lad was dropped off at a small, Midwestern liberal arts college. He arrived at his dorm room where his two roommates were already busy unpacking. On the stereo played the Police's "Roxanne. " The young lad noted that one of his roommates had a slight resemblance to the members of the rock group (he had the hair).

For the next few months, the young lad endured many an evening watching his roommates and their friends crank up "Roxanne," and had the pleasure of witnessing a room full of burly freshmen air guitaring along with the Police. This was the ritual of his college initiation. At night, he attended dinner with these people, listened to their conversations which consisted of alcoholic tales and grading and commenting on the anatomy of various young (nubile?) co-eds at the college. On a good evening the two topics became one, as the young lad learned they certainly weren't mutually exclusive.

Occasionally the young lad would come back to his dorm late at night only to discover one of these young women in his room, enjoying herself with one of the judges. Always in the background were the sounds of the Police (although nothing illegal or illicit was happening, as these same occurrences played out at various colleges throughout the continental U .S. (for who knows how long.)

Cut now to this same young lad's junior year at this college. Next door lived a sometimes emotional, sometimes insecure acquaintance, who's ideal man happened to be Sting (the bass player, singer/ songwriter of the Police). This young woman eventually reaffirmed in the young lad that love was different than what he witnessed in his freshman year, and in gratitude he ended up naming a newsletter after her.

The relationship between the two was often strained. The young lad's roommate was even heard to mutter, "One of you is always mad at the other." One could tell when things were not flowing right when the two students would be isolated in their own rooms, one playing Sting (who the young lad thought was pretentious), the other cranking McCartney (who the young woman thought old), as if a musical war was better than a war of words. In the end, the rift grew too large and the differences broke the relationship apart.

Many years later this young lad, now graduated, was working at a local record store where the entertainment was provided by a free jukebox- thus the same ten songs played over and over throughout his eight hour shift. Among these songs was Sting's "Russians." Each time it played it cut like a dagger, a sensory reminder that made the young lad a little sadder. Everywhere he turned she was still sort of there.

Now days, this same lad is sometimes able to look back at all those days without a grimace. Still, music is the most painful reminder and when a Police song is played, the hidden emotions sometimes creep back from their buried place. Time may not heal all wounds but it does change us. Recently, the young lad made a tape for a friend. The second song he put on the tape was none other than "Russians" surely Sting's most pretentious effort. The prominent placement of this song perhaps suggests a step forward, perhaps a step backward, but a step nonetheless. Although he probably would not admit it. the lad now likes the song. I guess we can say he has been "Stung."