Glue by aells

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The studio available to me as an art student at a non-art university was far from perfect, but it worked. The supplies provided by the department weren't of the highest quality and the tables were probably older than my parents, but between the three roommates to maneuver around whenever I tried to work on a project in my own suite and the steep price of acquiring my own supplies, it was still my best option.

Of course, given that I wasn't the only art student at this school by a long shot, it was a given that I usually had to share the studio space with at least one other person while I worked. I'm not sure why— probably just because we have fairly similar schedules and therefore similar periods of free time— but more often than not, the person I'd be sharing with was Casey, a roommate of my friend who I knew only casually.

Casey looked straight out of the seventies, even aside from the typical flannels and blue jeans he wore. His beard was full, but not long. He said he'd started growing it in junior year of high school and, being that his school was fairly lax on dress codes and students' appearances, he was free to cultivate it to his heart's content. The result was that Casey not only looked like a remnant of a bygone decade, but also that he looked about ten years older than his true age of 21— often mistaken for a professor, rather than a student. Atop his head, a large, rounded mass of corkscrew curls— mostly a light brown, but with natural hints of golden blond scattered throughout. It sounds prettier in words, I must say; in reality it was more just the color of stagnant, silty mud. I was always more than just a little entranced by his eyes, though. The brightest blue you've ever seen.

I'm mostly a painter myself, but Casey was primarily a sculptor. I'd be hunched over in front of an easel for hours at a time with my feet falling asleep while Casey walked the whole room several times over, switching between work tables, hauling materials, and viewing his piece intently from different angles. We talked briefly sometimes, and never about anything significant, but for the most part we never dared interrupt each other's work. Recently, though, I've found myself intrigued by his latest project; it's absolutely massive, an abstract form that I didn't really understand as someone who isn't very invested in abstract art. But he was clearly putting a lot of work into this thing, more so than usual. I mostly held back from asking questions, but I couldn't help but ask about the unusual looking substance he'd been using in copious amounts.

He explained that it was a special glue that he'd had to spend his own money on; it's designed for sculptors, and he needed it to stick strips of canvas onto a wire frame, eventually building them up into thick, branch-like appendages. It's incredibly strong and needs to be used with gloves, but it's most noteworthy quality was how fast it dried once exposed to the air— within a minute, leaving very little time to fiddle around with it. That being said, it looked vile— thick, yellowish and gel-like— and smelled like a vat of chemicals, even from a distance. There was no way he was bringing that stuff into his own place, so when he finished at the studio, he stored it high up on top of a cabinet. Most people needed a step stool or step ladder to reach up there, but Casey was tall and could reach it fairly easily by standing on his toes. He wasn't a strong guy, though, so he struggled a bit to lift the full jugs up onto the cabinet with his thin arms. Because of this, he usually could only just get the jugs onto the edge of the shelf, not bothering to push them back further.

As little as I talked to Casey, and as much as I didn't care for his looks personally, I didn't dislike him by any means. He was actually a very nice person, being friendly and cheerful whenever we did talk. So, when I noticed one day, as he cleaned up, that he didn't have the cap screwed properly onto a jug of glue, I don't know why I didn't say anything to him. It would've been easy, right? To just point it out and save him all the trouble that came next? I guess I couldn't have predicted what came next, though... but I think some part of me had been wondering about it, deep down. A silly little "what if", not really a wish, more of a strange curiosity.

And then it happened. I had been painting, so I only heard it happen. Casey let out a loud yelp before a large thud hit the ground. Whipping my head to look behind me, I saw Casey's back, with an uncovered jug of glue spilling its contents onto the studio floor by his feet. As he turned towards me, though, I saw that the floor wasn't the only victim; about a quarter of Casey's hair had been covered in glue, the curls flattened and weighed down by the mass of goo. The excess had trailed down the said of his face and was collecting in his beard before dripping onto his shirt. I heard him curse loudly through gritted teeth.

"Oh man, hold on, I'm coming over," I called out in response. I approached him, carefully avoiding the pool of glue and standing the jug back up on the floor to prevent it from getting any worse.
"Can you help me to the sink? I'm scared to open my eyes, I don't want it to drip into my eyes—"
"Yeah, I got you, don't worry."
The sinks were on the opposite side of the room, and I had to guide him around the tables to get him there. I stood beside him with a hand on each shoulder, which I could only manage to do because he was hunching over to try and stop the glue from dripping further onto himself. I shuddered to think how he was going to explain this mess to the art department.

He gripped the edge of the metal sink and tried to get his head beneath the faucet, but his height was something of an obstacle to this. "Here," I said, "let me help you wash it out—"
"No, wait, put some gloves on! You don't want this on your hands, trust me." Even in a crisis, he still wanted to make sure that I was being safe. Might be a little silly, but I guess that really was his personality. I rushed to where the box of disposable gloves was and grabbed a pair, but as I tried to put them on, I kept getting them stuck. It cost a precious few seconds before they were finally properly on my hands, and I feared that it may have been too late by that point. As I turned on the faucet and tried to comb the glue out of his hair with my fingers, I realized that I was right— it was dried solid and I couldn't get my fingers through it at all.

"Damn, Casey, I think it's dried in there."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, it's not coming out, I'm sorry. I'm trying, I promise—"
"It's— it's fine. It's not your fault. Dammit."
"What are you gonna do?"
"I don't know. I have to clean up this whole mess. God, this is such a disaster..."
"Uh, how about I stay here and try to clean, and I call Tyler to come get you and help you back to the dorm? And once you're there you can figure out how to get it out."
"Yeah, I guess, but do really want to clean this?"
"Of course not, but I'll do it."

I called Tyler, my friend who lives with Casey, like I said I would. I told him to bring a hat for Casey to wear on the walk back. I explained everything to them, and they left as I was trying to scrape the smaller, more manageable drops of glue off the tile floor. It would take me about an hour to make any sort of progress on the large puddle, and I still had to clean up the rest of Casey's materials, so I gave up on that and tried my best to put the rest of his things in order. I figured we'd draft an email to the department head to explain the situation and hope for the best, but I'd at least come back the next day to work at it more. The only reason I could get it off the floor at all was because the tile was smooth— I had no idea how they could possibly get it out of hair. Maybe they couldn't, I thought to myself, and wondered if they'd have to cut it out. I smirked a bit, thinking how drastic a change it would be to see Casey with short hair. I felt guilty immediately.

Casey and Tyler lived on the floor above me, so I went to their suite immediately after dropping my things off in my room. Tyler let me into their place, where Casey was sitting in a chair in the kitchen area. It... didn't look like they'd gotten very far. The mass of glue was still stuck in his hair and beard, but a pile of used paper towels and some bottles of various cleaning solutions told me they'd been trying pretty hard to get it out. At the very least, it seemed like they'd gotten it off the bare skin of his face, and he had changed into a tee shirt.

"Dude," Tyler said to Casey, "I'm sorry but I don't think it's coming out." Casey looked dejected, staring at the wall. He had no response. "I can cut it for you. I have the stuff for it," Tyler continued.

Casey took a deep, deep breath and sighed loudly. "Fine."

My heart skipped a beat as Tyler made way for the bathroom. Why was I feeling nervous? I could clearly see that Casey was scared, but I had no reason to feel that way. I said nothing, but while the two of us were alone in the common room briefly, he looked at me and raised his eyebrows in recognition of the fact I was standing there. I pursed my lips back at him, but still had no words to offer. I wasn't sure if he wanted me to leave for this, but... I didn't want to leave. I wanted to watch it.

Tyler called out that he was ready, and I followed Casey to the bathroom, where another chair was waiting for him. Tyler had laid out a towel over the back of the chair, and on the counter sat not only a pair of scissors, but clippers as well.

"You're not gonna shave my head, are you?"
"I might have to. It's really in there, dude. And you have to get rid of the beard too. It's in there just as bad."

I could tell as Casey sat down that he was trying not to cry. I couldn't blame him. I think people assume men don't care about their appearance, but I think the fear is natural. Even if I thought he looked silly, I could tell that this sudden change was saddening to him.

Tyler wrapped the towel around Casey's shoulders. "I can start with the beard, if you want."
"Whatever," Casey huffed quietly.
The clippers erupted in a grating buzzing noise as Tyler turned them on. Casey flinched, and I think I did too. I was sweating, my heart beating rapidly. I stood in the doorway, trying to act casual and hide my awe toward the situation before me. Still, I felt my eyes widen involuntarily as Tyler plunged the clippers into Casey's beard. The brown clippings rained down onto the towel, but Tyler struggled to force the clippers through the patch of glue. Eventually, though, he got the blades beneath the dried mass and detached it from Casey's face, hitting the towel with a soft thud.

Seeing Casey's bare face for the first time, ever, was shocking. He was nothing less than beautiful, his cheekbones stark, and his jawline sharp. You would've never guessed that kind of face was hidden beneath the hair that had covered it. Suddenly, his eyes no longer seemed so out of place against his messy features— his face was more harmonized, softer, almost like a prince. He still wouldn't look at either me or Tyler.

The buzzing noise paused. For a minute or so, no one said a word as Tyler messed around with the rest of the supplies, but eventually he broke the silence.

"So, ah, do you want me to try and go in with the scissors first? I don't know how much of a difference it'll make—"
"Just get it over with. Please. Do whatever works the fastest." I think we all knew what that meant. Without a word, Tyler started up the clippers again, this time with a guard. I'm not really familiar with the numbers, but it seemed to be one of the biggest ones he had; clearly he was still trying to salvage something. 

Tyler decided to deal with the glue first this time, and it was even more difficult the second time around. This time, he had to pull up on the glue and tug at it to get underneath, and Casey winced in pain with each pull. He'd finally begun to cry, not trying to hold it back anymore. I think the physical pain intensified the tears, but I swear that the first few began to fall just before the blades connected with his scalp.

It was an ordeal to get the glued section off, and once it was off, Casey was left with a giant patch of fuzz across the top front of his head. I think he'd been hoping it was far enough off to the side that he could get away with an undercut, but seeing it now, that clearly wouldn't work. Maybe a Mohawk, but that wasn't his style obviously.

"So, uh," Tyler began, "it's out, obviously, but I'm gonna just have to even it all out. You doing alright?" Casey nodded yes, which was a lie, and Tyler went back to work.

Without the glue, Casey's curls fell softly on his shoulders as they were shorn off. The long pieces bounced and tumbled down to the floor, turning the tile into something more like a shag carpet. Tyler did a pass over from the back which caused some curls to fall past Casey's eyes; in response, Casey shut his eyes tight, still brimming with tears. The shaved hair left in the wake of the blades was a uniform shade of brown, as the natural bits of blond were no longer perceptible at such a short length. He wasn't going to be left bald, but he was left with maybe half an inch or less. Tyler kept palming his head to move it around and get at where he needed to shave. A few times, the clippers slowed down because of how thick and dense Casey's hair was, and Tyler had to force them through to get the job done. After the curls were gone, Tyler made swipes to make everything even and the shorter clippings stuck to the streaks that Casey's tears left behind on his face.

My heart was pounding. I was completely entranced. Watching it all happen was surreal, but I had to try and hide my excitement. I was still in the doorway and still trying to act calm, but with Tyler focused on Casey and Casey's eyes shut tight, neither one of them would've noticed a change in expression or stance.

When the noise ceased, I knew it was done. His eyes blinked open slowly and he reached up to wipe off his face as Tyler took the towel off his shoulder and shook out any trapped hair.

If I didn't already know it was Casey sitting in front of me, I would've never recognized him. He was a completely different person from the one I'd been acquainted with. He was stunning with his face fully exposed, not blocked behind facial hair or stray curls across his forehead. He looked like a model— like he should be walking a runway in Paris instead of being holed away in a cabin in the woods.

"So, I kinda forgot that I'm supposed to cook dinner tonight..." Tyler interjected into the awkward silence. "I'm gonna go get that sorted out, and then I'll come back and we'll clean everything up. Be back in a few".

"Sorry," Casey said to me a few moments after Tyler left the room. "I don't know why I reacted like that. It was stupid."
"No, don't apologize. I get it. Uh, do you want some help cleaning up the hair?"
"No way! You already cleaned up the studio for me. You don't have to do this too."

Casey was still tense, and I tried to think about how I could possibly make him feel any better. "I know you don't wanna hear this," I said, "but you actually look really nice."
"Seriously, you don't have to lie to try and make me feel better."
"I'm not lying. I mean it. It's insanely different, obviously, but I think it works. You have uh... yknow, a nice face."
A nice face? What the hell is wrong with me? "And yknow, your head is a good shape. Some people just have weird shaped heads and they don't realize it until after they shave their head. But yours is good."
For the first time that day, I watched Casey chuckle. "Thanks. I think I'm just nervous about all the attention it's gonna draw. I don't really want to listen to people commenting on it all the time."
"They'll get used to it. Maybe you'll get used to it, you never know."
"Well, if I do, it won't be any time soon. I've had the beard since high school and the hair my entire life... I don't even recognize myself right now."
"I get that. Not gonna lie to you. But as far as looks go, I think it worked out for you."
With that, Casey finally looked at me. Not just that, but he looked me in the eyes. The blue pierced through me— still sad, but also warm.

"You should stay for dinner. I'd— uh... me and Tyler, we'd love to have you."
"I actually don't think my roommates had anything planned for tonight... so yeah, I think I will."

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