A Sticky Situation Jamie Turner Copyright 2011 Jamie Turner Smashwords Edition A Sticky Situation Tommy picked up the white bottle. His eyes were aglow, a jewel thief who had just been given the hope diamond. He squeezed way too much onto the blue construction paper and spread it around with his finger. Glue What was it with kids and glue? Amongst coloured pencils, Popsicle sticks, pipe cleaner and glitter paint, glue stood out in the craft box like a beacon in the night. What was its addictive appeal? I just didn’t get it. I had stopped cleaning the dishes and turned to watch my four year old in action…or should I say in obsession. He had coated the whole paper till it glistened with a slippery coat of white, then stared at it almost proudly as if the quantity of glue reflected some sort of prosperity on his part. Grabbing another stack of paper, he started to cut out squares; he folded them in half and proceeded to place them across the sticky surface. Did he find glue mysterious? The way it held things together, kept things in place. Was glue some sort of magic to him? I giggled. Kids, what crazy imaginations they have. I turned away; back toward the sink…then did a double take back to my son. What was this? Tommy had aligned a row of paper structures on the page, then another row neatly parallel. What was he building? It all seemed so uniform. So purposeful. A design of some sort? A plan? Construction…Wait a minute… was I crazy or was he showing some kind of architectural aptitude here? I abandoned my dirty dishes and leaned over the counter to watch Tommy work. Well, glue was wonderful! Inspirational! Architecture. Wow! Architecture! Is this how Frank Lloyd Wright got started?! All of a sudden Tommy grabbed some coloured paper and ripped it into messy shreds. He squeezed generous piles of glue onto the master sheet and cemented down the ripped strands. Whaaaaaa? Was he seeing something I wasn’t? This was no structured outline that I recognized. What was the purpose of… Ahhhhhh ….Of course…no, no not architecture … he was creating… abstract art! Yes, yes I see it now! No, I didn’t understand his intention… but nor did I have to. It meant something to him, internally. Outsiders don’t always get the artist’s intention. Pablo Picasso wasn’t appreciated with conventional understanding. Glue, glue, glorious glue! It was his medium! His substance of creation! His divine liquid! I was glowing with pride. I wanted to reach for the phone to call Mike and tell him about his prodigy son - but I didn’t want to take my eyes off the little artistic genius! What would he do now? I was still beaming when I noticed Tommy stop - his eye had spotted a white smear on his left hand. He brought his hand closer…inspected the glob, sniffed it… then licked it clean off. Whaaaaaaaaaaaa?? ….well, now wait, wait, that could be a sign of….yes, yes of course…curious taste buds create curious… gourmet chefs, right? One has to start somewhere; begin developing their palate. How else would they get to know flavour, get a notion of consistency and texture? Glue, yes a little unorthodox but don’t all chefs have a flare for the unconventional? Beans and potatoes don’t make a …Julia Child! I grabbed the phone. I couldn’t keep this from Mike. I started to dial his work number. Tommy lifted the bottle again. This time totally forgoing the paper, he squirted a massive blob of glue onto the palm of his hand. He set the bottle down, placed his two hands together and mashed the sticky substance into his skin. He drew his hands apart and watched, his smile euphoric, as the white, gooey strings separated. I stopped dialing and placed the phone back in its cradle. I turned and walked back over to the sink. I picked up my cloth and silently resumed washing the dishes.