Glued Together - A Memoir

Amy, Suzette, Tonya, Angie, Colleen - July 2011

This is a story about mending, and gluing.

Last week, a few members of our high school swing choir, including my five best friends from this era, had a little reunion at my house.  When I was in school, my parents invested in a video camera, which at that time, was like a TV camera without the handy wheels. My dad toted it around on his tired shoulders to every concert, even remembering to charge it, which is something I do about half the time now as a mother. Because of this heroism, we watched old videos at our party.

One from the library was a Christmas concert, our junior year. The concert, brilliantly choreographed by Rob Hatzenbeller, a choir member, takes place in the toy section of a department store. It began when the curtains opened, revealing all of us in formation and a sign above our stage reading “Kamapart”. Very clever name, more poignant for the five of us than its creator certainly intended it to be.

"Man is born broken. He lives by mending. The grace of God is glue.”

-Eugene O’Neill

None of us remembers much before 8^th grade. All we know for sure is that we came into it broken people in search of glue.

The summer before our freshman year, I spent time at Suzette’s cabin on Angostura. We took her parents’ paddleboat out on the water and listened to the Footloose soundtrack, over and over. I think these songs caused us to fantasize about our upcoming high school years – it would be full of great singing, good acting, skilled cinematography, dancing, and fun; just like the movie. I loved hanging out with Suzette as much as I loved the yummy, creamy mac and cheese we made out of a can after beaching.

This same summer, Suzette went to visit Angie in Chicago, who had lived in Hot Springs prior moving there before we started 8^th grade.  During their visit, Angie announced to Suzette that she would be moving back to Hot Springs in time for school. The two returned blood sisters, which inflicted a bloody wound in me.

Nevertheless, Suzette and I began our freshman year in good kindred spirits, yet, dateless for the homecoming dance. Her mother, Lorry Lou, would not hear of us missing out on the fun; she bought us both corsages, took pictures, and sent us off to the dance together.  Later that year, I feigned counsel to Suzette; she was trying to choose between two attractive guys that were pursuing her.  Unbeknownst to her, I had no sympathy and wished I could soothe my green heartburn with a date with the leftover guy. No luck.

Tonya moved to town during our sophomore year. She and I became friends almost immediately; I latched on to her for the steadying effect she had on me. She stole the heart of Ross Johnson, a Hot Springs heartthrob, almost immediately. This baffled many who had never quite figured out how to catch him. To me, she had a deeply caring heart; she offered the stability I craved during our volatile sophomore and junior years when Angie and Suzette dated the same guy. It was like juggling plates in a circus for the lucky guy I think; he’d dine with one, toss that plate in the air while dining with another, catch that one, and throw the other in the air. I think he enjoyed watching the plates spin from below. As a result, the two best friends spent a considerable amount of time not speaking to one another, and I joined Tonya and Ross for lunch on most days.

Colleen was a bubbly, full-of life, say it like it is girl. We all have great memories of cruising in her yellow car that Colleen named “POS” (short for Piece of Sh**). One night, Colleen gave Suzette a ride home; they talked for hours, and Colleen became what Suzette describes as her angel – her steady friend through all of the love triangle turmoil.  Really, she was a shock absorber for all of us, soothing our sores from the bumps, but at the same time wishing we could just get along. She remembers a birthday party she had - she invited all of us, and asked if we could just get along for two short hours for the sake of having things the way she wanted them on her birthday. In the middle of the party, the plate guy showed up to take me on a date (he must have wanted to throw a side salad plate in the mix to liven things up). Evidently this ruined our unity for the evening. We just didn’t have the perspective on life she had due to the spinal defect she was born with. Her physical limitations consumed the energy that the others of us had necessary to maintain our drama.

Angie and I had our faith in common, which gave us a unique connection; one that offered great potential of a close, long-lived friendship. We walked home from school together and had established a bond talking about what God might really have up his sleeve for our lives.  The summer after our sophomore year I went on a music ministry trip for the summer. Angie was one of my biggest cheerleaders. When I got back, she presented me with a beautiful cloth-covered photo album to showcase my trip pictures. In the front cover she wrote: “I made this album because I wanted you to know how very proud of you I am. This summer has been quite an accomplishment, and you should be very proud of yourself…Love and Friendship, Angie”.

The tight metallic bond between us began melting under the heat of competition shortly thereafter; we began desiring medals we could wear more than the bond of friendship. Unbeknownst to us at the time, we each began looking for approval of ourselves and of others by achieving and by giving good performances. Angie had talent easy to be envious of:  she was a studied pianist, had a gorgeous voice, and demonstrated acting ability way beyond what I possessed.  I had talent too, but luck was heavier on my side for a season. For some reason, solos and lead roles in musicals landed in my court more easily, mainly towards the end of our time together.  Angie became determined to “beat me” at something, as Suzette describes, but in my mind, she already had, two years ago. You see, in addition to having gobs of talent, she had something else. She proved she could win the heart of whomever she wanted with her bubbly personality; she did what my shy uneasy demeanor could not.  If I couldn’t win hearts, I could win titles and scholarships, which I set out to do. 

Early our senior year, Angie and I both applied to be in the Hot Springs Junior Miss Pageant; we were the only two candidates. I won simply because I had the advantage of a straight-A report card, which, besides music, had been the focus of my efforts all four years of high school. A forced hug finished the show; we walked out of the dressing room with our makeup, hairspray, and another slash in our friendship.

Tonya, Amy, Anne (another friend), Suzette, Angie, Colleen
Graduation - May 1988

I’ll never forget the ache of the rest of my senior year. It had become Custer’s Last Stand of all that the two of us were vying for and all that we thought we needed. Suzette became Angie’s support during this tumultuous time, which polarized the three of us. I spoke to the two of them very little until graduation, at which time we spoke not at all. Angie and I, who were slated to sing “Friends” for our graduation ceremony, conducted an entire stage rehearsal without speaking.  The stitching that had connected us together had been snipped, completely. We had sacrificed each other on the altar of figuring out who we were; each trying to be someone of significance the only way knew how – by trying to be the best, to win, to perform well for the applause of others. The show was over, the curtains closed, the stage was bare, and there we were; tired toy soldiers, with limbs broken and hanging by strings like puppets.  We had no ability to take off the costumes that covered up our brokenness, nor could we scrape off the accumulated layers of stage makeup that had masked who we really were. “Friends” was just a performance, just a show, and it was over.

After graduation, we all went our own ways; Suzette and Angie to different colleges; Tonya, Colleen and I to SDSU.  The following May, I returned to Hot Springs for the summer and ran into Angie; we exchanged niceties, and then, she invited me to dinner. She had something to say.

She told me she’d been having strange, recurring nightmares about me, and concluded it was a sign we needed to talk. She went on to apologize for her anger and enmity of me, and we both agreed that we derived way too much of our identity from our ability to achieve music parts and solos and titles. Glue, beginning to mend broken limbs.

About ten years later, while in a counseling session, I discovered we had a mutual friend: Angie. My counselor, Pat, had been the interim Pastor at Angie’s church a few years back. One day Angie came to him desperate for help. She was burnt out. “I’ve been waiting for you” was Pat’s greeting to her. He’d been watching her.  The kind of glue that could heal the same wound we each had found us. The same counselor, at different times unbeknownst to both of us, helped us shed our makeup and costumes and find value without achievement.  

A few weeks ago, at midnight, while planning our reunion party, Suzette and I continued to chat. Our fingers typed as we recalled what had caused our division, and attempted to answer each other’s questions left mysteries for almost 25 years.  We were gaining deeper understanding, forgiving, laughing, gluing.

This morning, I’m drinking my coffee, replaying conversations from last night. The reunion party is over. The patio is bare. Friends have returned home with their families. No broken toy soldiers lay here. Instead, empty pop cans, dirty paper plates, and crumbs – all representations of a gathering of whole, mended people. We now see our high school years from summits we’ve been forced to climb. Suzette lost both of her parents, and has received healing from so many great friends God placed in her life. Angie faced divorce, painful infertility, and the black hole of burnout and now serves her church with her gift of music, and invests in lives of her children and her students; teaching them that they don’t have to win to have worth. Colleen began to experience deeper joy after completing her surgeries, and watching others wrap their arms around her and her birth defect over the years. Tonya wrestled through stomach problems, and has had to let go of lots of expectations of herself. I learned to slow down and to usher perfectionism out the door through chronic pain, and now I write about how those who were once broken toy soldiers and torn stuffed animals displayed in the Kamapart toy department are now mended by the grace of God, which is glue, and are surprised to look at one another and discover that we have all morphed into real, Velveteen rabbits.---alg







A cat fight for old time's sake! Suzette, Amy, Angie