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We had only known each other from the weekend or two we had spent together in the previous summers, and while we got along - you wouldn't necessarily consider us to be friends. Most of our relationship existed only on the surface and we portrayed exteriors which we deemed fitting. Being as different as we were, we weren't competitive in the traditional way - me being openly un-athletic, and uninterested in most of the things that teenage males normally did (like play video games), and him being content with his own form of idiocy and cheeky immaturity. Both of us were colossal pricks, and admired each other's ability to make being cruel seem so natural. Realizing neither could be more wit-fully mean than the other, we usually would just make fun of others. Any competitions we had were entirely on the unspoken, subliminal level and usually just involved personality traits. Michael didn't realize that I knew he was diagnosed with ADHD, and that I knew he was taking Ritalin for it - and it seemed me that he was trying extra hard to act like he was just a normal kid; and he probably was, in all honesty. It may have been a false observation on my part.

Underneath our sharp and extrovert personalities we both had a genuine sadness which only seemed to emerge late at night. Once his parents forced us to shut off the television and go to bed, it seemed the conversation would always become suddenly serious. In his shoebox room, with a closet with only one door and a TV saddled on an upside down laundry basket (which in true hilariousness had old clothing on the inside of it) my sleeping bad was strewn across the floor right ...

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