Mom,
I am writing you this letter on the last piece of unglued stationery in a two mile radius. Hopefully, the mailman will find it. If he does, I implore you to publish this and let everyone know my greatest folly. The reason for my demise. And our dog, Mr. Bombs.
I don't want to blame this on you. Because I distinctly said to you: "Mother, my winter drapes are unraveling. Whatever will I do? Is there an adhesive strong enough? Because I have lost faith in tape. " That was clearly the death knell. Or maybe just the crossroads. Maybe you could have said: "Son of mine, just buy new drapes. You clearly have the income if not the fix-it knowledge to repair drapes. Who tapes drapes anyway?" But instead you said: "Why do ya tawk like such a fancy nancy? Ah'm ashamed of yer words. Let's getcha a hawt glue gun."
Walmart Cashier Amy, do you even know the role you played in my stuck together death? Blood is on your fat hands, Amy. And you, Hector, day manager of Arby's, who idly watched me show you our glue gun purchase. Blood is on your roast beefy mitts, too.
It started innocently. I initiated the glue gun startup sequence. Plugged and electrified. Loaded the glue cartridge in the chamber. Saw the tell tale sign of molten goo. And in a dash, I applied to drapes and zally-kazam, hot magic! I should have put it away. I should have buried it in the yard or consigned it to hell but it whispered to me. Reggie Bopkiss, what else can we put together? What else in this world must be fixed?
And I started simply. I hot glued the remote to the couch arm. I hot glued the fork handles to the spoon handles for easier utensil use. I decoupaged the banisters in funnies. I glued outfits together. And then I started to wonder if the world was too apart. Too separate. If I could combine the earth together into a greater Pangea. A Pangea of EVERYTHING.
I hot glued birds to squirrels. I glued my car to the ground. I stuck the doors to the jambs. I glued all the paper I had stolen from trees back onto trees. I snuck into people's houses. Glued salt and pepper together. Pets together. Brothers to sisters. Husbands to wives. I glued the phones shut. When the cops came I glued their mouths to their badges. And then partners together. And then whole precincts.
I made people part of their houses. Families together. No divorces were possible, no kids were lost or killed. You never had to call someone because they were right there. Stuck to you. There was no more shame, no more privacy. You saw it all. You showered together, went to the bathroom together. Everyone was so in awe of their new lives, no one even smiled. But that was coming.
Or at least two miles of happiness was coming. Of togetherness. Before I got too stuck. Until I had glued my hand to my gun. Glued my gun to a real gun. Glued that trigger to a dog. A small yapping terrier who was glued to a cat who was glued to a mouse who was glued to a heavy bag that is slowly falling off the table.
I feel like I would have won the Nobel Peace Prize for this one. Which I would have glued to me. But that is not to be. Mother, when I am dead, take my body and drop it in the La Brea Tar Pits. Mother Earth's original hot glue.
And know that I blame you. For all of my death and all of the beauty I created. I would have glued the Moon to the Earth for you.
Stuck to you,
Reggie Bopkiss
