Elmer’s Glue

I came home for winter break after my first semester of junior year, unloaded all of my clothes from school onto the floor, and continuously rummaged through them anytime I needed to leave the house until I decided it was time that I put them on hangers and made my room somewhat habitable. Cleaning a room that is long overdue for some organization is honestly one of my favorite pastimes. I throw my hair up in a ponytail, put on a shirt from one of my average high school volleyball seasons, and play old Taylor Swift--that is, if the surrounding audience is lucky. However, sometimes nearby listeners do not have that privilege because I may be in one of those moods where my obnoxious workout playlist seems like it would hit the spot this Tuesday morning.

Many girls cut their hair after a breakup, dye it dark, throw themselves into a new workout routine, or post a picture on Instagram that their average-looking ex boyfriend told them not to. However, I have tried all of those and found that nothing worked better than rearranging and organizing my room. There is something exciting about convincing my mom that, “no, my mirror isn't ‘way’ too big for that corner, it's actually going to look very ‘contemporary’” and breaking a sweat because I haven’t lifted something as heavy as my dresser since…well the last time I tried to do this.  Aside from completely disturbing any Feng Shui I had created in my room, I enjoyed looking through all my saved birthday cards I keep in a box at the top of my closet or finding that dress I haven’t worn in years.

It’s always very nostalgic to remember exactly how you felt in a dress that is a little too tight on you now, and although it may be a little motivating, it's still sentimental to see how much you've grown since the girl who once was zipped in it. 

But this time was different. I had already sold all of my old clothes to pay for gas at the end of the summer, and all that was at the back of my closet was a dusty ukulele, a couple yearbooks, and a translucent pencil box. The pencil box held a bitten Ticonderoga pencil, an eraser with lead holes in it, and a crusted over Elmer’s glue bottle. It was a wistful moment; I hadn’t seen these three things in years, at least not in this condition. They had memories lived in them, had served their purpose, and had reminiscing smells of being thirteen again. In college, everything is on my computer. The pencils I use now are mechanical ones I found on the ground on my way to class, and I can't remember the last time I used anything other than tape to fix something. However, it makes me smile to know that my two younger brothers are still well acquainted with this trio.

Just a little over a year apart, they take middle school on by storm together: Jack being the younger one with a much bigger attitude and Patrick the older who listens graciously. Although opposites, they complement one another and remind me of innocence with their poorly made sex ed jokes and classroom gossip. Coming back from college and spending time with them is like opening up the translucent pencil box at the back of my closet. They're familiar and a quiet reminder that it's important to stay youthful. Hanging out with them transcends me from the stress of college for just a second and opens my eyes to what it feels like to be a kid again.

In fact, Patrick is my little bit heavy, opaquely white, Elmer’s school glue. He doesn’t look very good on paper; however, he works like a charm nonetheless. Often overlooked by the Scotch tape that shows at the top of everyone's junk drawer, Elmer’s school glue still continues to sit patiently in the childhood translucent pencil box with mismatched crayons for when you’ve run out of options. He comes out strong, can be a little smelly, but is a veteran at putting the pieces back together. Jack and I, seemingly being completely different individuals who have just the same amount of attitude to drive one another crazy, are bonded perfectly together by Pat. He’s familiar, easy to understand, and apparently a classroom favorite. Childlike, never says very much at first, but is great with everyone and completely foolproof. 

I have memories of my kindergarten teacher repeating, “dot, dot, dot no need for a lot, kids,” as I held the big glue bottle in my miniature hands with a furrowed brow trying to concentrate, squeezing out dots wherever I felt the project needed strength the most. Regardless of the advice given, I never failed to connect the dots with viscous zig-zags of glue across the sheet of paper. 

I guess you could say I never understood the concept of “a little goes a long way.” 

Similarly, Pat shows up in dots, giving sporadic drops of affection when I need strength the most: whether it's soft knocks on the door in the morning telling me breakfast is ready or his tenderhearted habit of never failing to say “love you Gabby” when hanging up the phone. Although they are all small gestures, each one never goes unnoticed, working cohesively to serve as the gentle adhesive for when the rest of my life is falling apart. 

I miss Pat whenever I go back to college because Elmer’s School Glue doesn’t exist there. It's not there in my professors' offices when I have been working through the same four lines of code with information I don't understand or when I'm at the bar crying because the drinks started tasting like “boys are really shitty.” The eager and persistent invitations to play one v one basketball don’t come from the frat boys in my building, and when someone runs into my room now, saying “Gabby come check this out!!” it happens to be the result of a pregnancy test not a video of a monkey skateboarding. 

As I continue to mature, my misgivings become more arduous, requiring materials much stronger and forcing me to move past the glue sticks and teach myself how to use my own methods of bandaging.

We all try to become experts at patchwork attempting to use our cumulative learned experiences and problem solving techniques to make things work. Metaphorically we hope so desperately to sew, mend, tape, repair, what's lost to us but what if everything isn't meant to be fixed. To use the word ‘fixed’ would entail that there is a problem. What if the end of a relationship is not really a problem at all and regardless of how many times we try to piece it back together the opportunity for growth continues to present itself. After numerous attempts in the past, I’ve learned that with age the cuts just run a little deeper now, some tears are irreparable, and regardless of how much glue I try to use to hold a relationship together, one side may never stick.  

However every so often, while I'm sitting in my big girl apartment or in an auditorium full of students and life starts to feel heavy, I begin to notice dots of Elmer's glue around me. Glue that is lenient when I make mistakes and completely non toxic. These dots are not flashy indications of attention or affection but gentle ones that have my best interest for the juvenile version of myself. 

Dots that look nothing like Casamigos but rather identical to my roommate who brings me a Venti cup of Starbucks milk because she knows how much I dislike coffee.

And although they are not Patrick, they work like a charm nonetheless. 

Go find your bottles of Elmer’s school glue.  

The people who quietly come to the rescue when you need it most and give them a big squeeze.