The first thing Evan asked for when they got to the hospital was a set of clippers. He had helped Joe move off the bed into a chair so that he could carefully shear off the matted hair from his head and face. It was a relief to feel the hair fall off him, like a literal weight coming off. He didn’t realize how much the mattes had been pulling at his skin until they were gone.
“I didn’t know you could cut hair,” Joe muttered as Evan carefully trimmed around his ears.
“My dad used to cut my hair.” He gingerly pulled at one of the mattes in Joe’s beard. “When I got older, he taught me how to do it.”
“Is there anything you can’t do?” Joe rolled his eyes.
Evan seemed to consider the question for a moment. “Sing,” he said finally. “My sister used to say that my singing was worse than a pack
