High school for most kids is looked upon as a jail rather than a learning institution. I always hated school but then again, I think a lot more people were in the same boat as I. I guess I wanted to feel that I had a significant reason for hating my classmates, the utter thought of school, being able to stand out of my crowd of classmates and be able to say I hate school because of all of them, and not for the general 'I hate homework' statement.

Of course I had the cliques of the school. The drama team would be off by the theatre, making out in the odd corners of the hallways and doorways, standing around in circles, getting into random meaningless fights, running off, crying, having other fellow drama kids comfort them; the whole kit n' kaboodle. The druggies who made their den in the bathroom, basically trafficking who could come in and out. Bouncers if you will. Venturing in wasn't a really good idea. Not because I was afraid that they were going to do anything to me, but I guess when they were stoned out of their mind, pee never seemed to hit the toilet, at all. The jocks accompanied the athletic locker room hallways which smelt of ass 100% of the time. Always having their shirts off at whatever time possible to show off their muscular superiority to the rest their friends, and of course the females. I always found this to be quite queer. Don't ask me why I just thought it was weird...but the thought of half naked guys walking around in and out of the locker rooms, slappin each other yelling 'good game out there!" just didn't rub me the right way (no pun intended). And then we had the 'ladies, or 'princesses', and others (what I like to call the "entourage") would traverse the classroom hallways, talking about their dates, what they were going to do this weekend, how many wine coolers they had the other weekend and the ever typical guy/girl conversations that got on my nerves.

And then there was us, me, everyone else. The loners, I guess. If I had to give myself a title that is. We had our own little group. Like nomads, we would travel from spot to spot around the school, trying not to bother any of the other cliques along the way, and moved if we felt unsatisfied. We had our interests, most of which were considered pretty 'nerdly' in high school standards. Our interests in computers, gaming, books to a degree and our humor revolving around video games was something that, to enjoy or appreciate, you would have to acquire after a long period of time or mearly be born with that the sense of taste. To others, if you weren't outside where the sun hit your skin directly an doing something, it was a waste of time.

Whatever the case, it was just another day in tenth grade biology. A couple of us had the class together and arguing about some random video game that was great or debating whether Star Trek was better that Star Wars...something of that nature. There was a fellow classmate of mine, lets call him David, who I have known for many years. For as long as we have been friends, he has always had a bit of distance between him and social interaction. He was pretty tall, close to 6 feet which at the time, was pretty tall for our group of friends. He wasn't the skinniest guy on the earth but he wasn't fat. He had that extra baggage to him that any extra large t-shirt could cover up. And with one of his interests being an immense computer user, his skin was very white cream color, with just a hint of tan on arms; or maybe they were freckles. Either way, David was very apprehensive and shy to even his friends. When he spoke, he spoke with a tremble in his voice, as if he wasn't sure or even afraid to speak. Even his hands seemed to shake all the time. I almost wanted to ask him why; it was even a common thing with his parents, but it was just one of those things you just live with and try to understand.

I really don't understand why I did this to him. He didn't deserve it. I stooped myself to the level of the jocks giving swirles or wedgies to the nerds or picking fun at the kid who just tripped down the hallway spilling his books everywhere on the floor. I felt nothing at that time. I was just staring at him. Staring at how he looked. Thinking about how he talked, our past, everything, what made him tick. I had a bottle of Code-Red Mountain Dew in my hand. It was nearly empty. I twisted off the cap. It was an average cold winter day. His coat was on his chair. I looked over to him one last time, and gave a devilish smirk towards him, as if I was changing personalities on him...becoming some sort of evil person. Hoping he would see my smart ass grin and my bottle of Dew hovering over his jacket. He didn't look up. I grew impatient and I dumped the rest of the drink on his coat, coating the insides of jacket with a sticky soda substance. The bottle finished and I threw the bottle away and walked back to my table, still staring at him with my grin. He hadn't noticed. Eventually, I went back to my work, looking up at random intervals to see if he noticed anything. But class ended and I walked out without looking back at him, not knowing if my deed had made him angry, sad, or feel any emotion at all. As if I had forgotten, or didn't care.

To this day, I still wonder why I did that random act of cruelty. Why didn't he talk normal like us? Why was he so shy? Why did I do that to him? He wasn't so different from me. It was like I did that just to be mean to him.

And it was at lunch that day, I sat at my table of friends; the six seater table with his one seat open. When he came down towards our table, he walked right past us, sat down at a lone table, and ate in silence. I don't blame him at all. I'm sorry David. I know this does no good for you now, but it helps me.

Alright here we go bag number 3 for the kitchen. Let's see what we got today? Ah, here we are, a the usual pyramid stack of beer bottles on the counter. Some of them still half full. Alright, awesome. I can hit some of these and make some sort of song and tune with each one. Neat. Wait, what do we have here? 3 day old pizza. The cheese turning a nice moldy brown. Pepperoni curled up in a taco like shape with a dark dark red color that almost looks burned by age. I could nearly shatter this to pieces with one hit against the counter it is so stiff. Fucking pig. And lets see....what else do we have hear. Assorted plastics, papers we got here from food. Oh, here is a nice surprise. A half eaten banana under some cereal boxes. At least he was trying to eat healthy for once in his life.

Man, I have every right to throw this right in his room. Not like he'd know anyways. His room is a nuclear explosion of waste. Our cream colored carpets darkened to a near black with ground in dirt, dust and other misc. shoe debris he has picked up from his random and often few encounters outside. Clothes scattered on his bed, window, door, creating a secondary carpet for him, right near his closet. Speaking of closet, mounds of decrepit waste mound like a waterfall, almost having it be the center of the disaster. Ice mountain bottles take the base, Kleenexes crammed inside of them sometimes, growing unknown new life from the mucus and other bodily fluids that were placed on it. More mounds of month old jeans pleading to be washed, old T-shirts that had nearly changed color because of the months of nature abuse on it. Food wrappers from McDonalds, chili cheese burritos, the filling still seeping from the wrapper, and half eaten chicken nuggets are scattered brightly amongst the heap.

All of which is consumed by an overpowering smell that would make any hardened man gag within the vicinity. Not even a ton of bull manure can mask the stench of this man. He reeks of smell that makes flowers welt, a sort of wave that follows him around. A bottle of Febreeze could possibly take care of it, for a matter of time that is, only before the smell destroys whatever cleaning power it has. His hair is matted, black and greasy. His skin is a pale white, with red quarter like acne marks covering his face and shoulders. Overweight, 265 pounds, he still walks with a swagger, almost like a penguin, or if constipated. His chubby hands still grab for the 2 day old mac and cheese sitting under his desk and he continues to grind away at a computer game (that shall go nameless at this time). His shirts and wrinkled but plain. Often a witty phrase or demeaning quote will stretch along his chest, which are of a B cup to any woman's bosom measurement. Hair covers the front of his chest continuing down to his legs and foot, where often he'll describe himself as the second coming of Frodo. But the only adventures he has getting up to go down the hallway for his weekly dump.

"Yeah, yeah I'll clean it up tomorrow" he'll say to me, as breathes heavily towards the fridge for another mountain dew. "But I appreciate you cleaning up. I should buy you a beer". He holds up his dew in a celebration toast to me and my slaving to clean up his hiroshima like disaster in the kitchen while I nod and continue filling up the next bag from the counter. Off he'll walk into his room, shut the door, only to appear a couple hours later, whether it be to make another microwave burrito, or to use the bathroom.

The strangest part about him though, is that even if he creates a mess with every step he takes, he takes meticulous care with his socks. Out of every part in his room, there is a dresser, yes, still dirtied to hell with random clothes, messes, vomit like messes, but he'll keep in one drawer, a coordinated display of pure white socks,as if fresh from the store and have them aligned perfectly among one another.. As to why he does this, I cannot say.

I really can't explain how I feel towards him. He is nice in doses, much like aspirin medication or something but having to live with him was one of the most worst experiences of my life. I am not one to say that I live my life as clean as I can, there are times where I can get overwhelmed with not cleaning, but I still do my best to keep it as clean as possible. But to a man who lives like a pig in a room that can rival a landfill, I could never do that, even if you paid me a great portion of money.