No Escape

Stopped at a light on my way to the grocery, I flip on the stereo to whatever CD is in current rotation. After only a few minutes, though, an overwhelming urge to switch to the radio comes over me. It's an odd urge. Normally I don't listen to the radio, seeing as how most of it is crap. But today I must. My soul requires it.

I click on the presets, but I get no satisfaction. What am I looking for? I click on the auto-seek button. It goes through the local stations, stopping for a moment on each one. Do you like this? No? Okay... Do you like this? No? Okay...

Then, after a while, I hear it. It is the Sirens' call. It is Escape (The Piña Colada Song). My soul is soothed.

The Piña Colada Song has long played a role in my life. A friend and I used it for many years in a series of psychological experiments on my sister. We'd find it - no matter how well hidden among her CDs - on a compilation disc. (Thankfully, I've forgotten which one.) We'd stick it in the stereo, press endless repeat and wait. Her reaction would range from disgust to humor, depending on her mood. There was one time, however, when the situation got violent.

My sister, eight months pregnant with her first child and very hormonal, was asleep on a chair. Beads of sweat dripped down her face from the lack of air-conditioning on this very hot July day. Gristle from the large steak she had just eaten lingered on the corner of her gaping mouth. We should have known. We should have... We put the CD in the stereo and out came the first fateful notes of The Piña Colada Song.

I've blocked out much of that day, but every now and then I'll wake up screaming from a nightmare of blood, tears and arrests. Needless to say, that was the last time we ever did it.

Today I'm not screaming. I'm realizing that I've never actually listened to the words. So here, at the light, on my way to the grocery, I finally do.

What a stupid song.

The guy was "tired" of his "lady" (and really, who says that?), so he starts reading the personals as she's asleep right next to him. Whatever. Then he responds to one. No surprise. Then they meet, and guess what? It's his lady! Yay! They laugh. They drink (Piña Coladas, no doubt). They escape.

I don't, however. The Piña Colada Song is in my head and it won't go away. I remember now why I should never heed the Sirens' call. I am drowning in a swirling blender of 3 oz light rum, 3 tbsp coconut milk, 3 tbsp crushed pineapples and ice. I'm sorry, sweet sister, for all those years. Please, please, just pour me into a Collins glass and let me die. And thank drinksmixer.com for the recipe. Thank you.