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Exactly four minutes, and the song was over. That means, in the past four hours, I had heard it 60 times. Opening one eye, I squinted at the clock on our microwave - 4:03 a.m. it read; I shut my eye and tried to remember if the clock was slow. My roommate was snoring, oblivious to the strains of 'N Sync's "God Must Have Spent a Little More Time on You" that had been emanating from her stereo for most of this early morning.

"Can this be real? How can I put into words what I feel?"
"No, I don't mind if you play your favorite song a few times so you can fall asleep," I had said four hours and five minutes ago. A few times... right. Repositioning the pillow over my ears, I recalled our first phone conversation.

"Hi! May I speak with Sue Johnson?" I asked.

"Sue Ann Johnson," came the prompt correction. A sinking feeling took hold of my stomach as she told me proudly that her high school had forced her to skip her senior year; her hostile behavior had alienated her classmates and teachers. Nevertheless, I hoped for the best and tried to build on what we had in common.

During the next month, we agreed to keep a stockpile of chocolate chip cookies and share cleaning responsibilities. But that sinking feeling rose again as I trudged into our assigned room on move-in day, arms laden with a semester's supply of bathroom cleansers and cookies.

"Hi," Sue Ann crowed. "I've chosen my furniture, and I've left you the closet by the door, because I don't want it. I mean, imagine if someone opened the door while I was undressing?!"

Extricating my fingers from the knotted handles of my bags, I shook the hand she had thrust at me and gave a dazed nod of consent to her request. A peek into the bathroom revealed an immediate need for cleaning; I asked Sue Ann if she wouldn't mind doing the honors.

"We don't have to clean the toilet. I bought this package of 2000 Flushes, and if we stick it in the tank..."

"The toilet doesn't have a tank," I interrupted, my patience already wearing thin. I shoved the bag of cookies into my drawer; I was going to need them more than she was. "I've got a brush and liquid cleaner."

I turned to start unpacking. The sound of an aerosol spray, followed by the toilet flushing, seemed odd. I looked toward the bathroom: The unused brush and can of Lysol air freshener nearby told me that this had been her first cleaning experience. With a sigh, I pulled the liquid cleaner from my bag and wrote "Toilet Cleaner" on it for future reference.

"My life was complete; I thought I was whole. Why do I feel like I'm losing control?"

My hopes that the day might take a turn for the better proved to be wrong. Refusing to join me for freshman orientation, Sue Ann disappeared for the remainder of the day. When I returned, tired and in need of a shower, I discovered that, in the process of taking hers, Sue Ann had flooded the bathroom. Oh, and the new boyfriend she met while I had been enduring lectures on college life was coming over soon, so could I hurry in case he needed to use the bathroom? I locked the bathroom door behind me and watched the water cover my slippers. The boyfriend came long after I had finished my shower and made my first attempt at falling asleep.

Our fateful music conversation took place around midnight, when I decided that enduring anything that kept her asleep was better than trying to sleep while she was awake.

"They broke the mold when you came into this world... God must have spent a little more time on you, on you... on you."

It was 4:10 a.m. I hoped they really had broken the mold. But somewhere between the 16th "on you" and the reprise, I realized this song boosted her Self-Esteem. Though Sue Ann may have been pampered, she didn't feel loved. High school administrators couldn't help her, so they had pushed her out; unable to control her, Sue Ann's parents had sent her away to school. Hoping to ease the pain of rejection, Sue Ann claimed the first person willing to date her and turned to a song that told her what she desperately wanted to hear. Though her past did not excuse her present behavior, it did explain it, at least in part.

At 4:16 a.m., I reached into my drawer for one of the cookies. Maybe I would share them; after all, Sue Ann needed some sweetness in her life. But first, we were going to have a long chat about that stereo.

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