My parents were asleep when I came home so I swiftly went upstairs to roll another joint before going asleep. I sat on my bed, turned on The Beets and began constructing what I believed to be a masterpiece of joint-makery. The actual fruits of my endeavour would be forever unknown since it would be gone by morning. It was at that moment that I realized that I'd been working in semi-darkness, the light in the room was off. That meant that the light was coming from the hallway and the door was open. Shit. I looked up and my heart nearly exploded for a nanosecond because there was a figure standing in the doorway looking at me. Alas, it was only Porkchop. Ever since he'd been fixed he had this thousand yard stare that looked through you as if you were a ghost. I was midway through rolling and froze there staring back him not sure what to do. I looked him directly in the eyes. In the old days if Porkchop had happened upon a coked-up Doug Funnie rolling a joint in his bedroom he would have found a creative way to alert the rest of my family through non-verbal communication and that would be that. Rehab, counselling and a good old-fashioned moral lesson that the whole family could enjoy. However, the castrato simply stared back at me with his tired eyes full of mild surprise and indifference. It was clear that he resented us as a family and had also been affected by Skeeter's death. I saw a resentment that was saved just for me in his eyes. I was his best friend and had been too busy grieving and destroying myself to save him from his fate. Even after everyone else had seemingly moved on with their lives I was continuing down a path of hedonistic self-destruction to escape from reality and he knew it. He knew me better than anybody. My parents had their suspicions about what kinds of things I was getting up to, but they still had patience with me because of Skeeter and preferred to live in denial. This was the first time that I had come face to face with Porkchop in a long time. In many ways, he was the only person I couldn't bullshit. He knew I was high and he knew I was fucked up. We'd always had a non-verbal bond where we understood each other perfectly and for brief moment it seemed like it had returned and we saw two very different people looking back at each other. I understood why he resented me. He saw me as weak. I had gone to pieces after Skeeter's suicide and now I was doing everything in my power not to put myself back together. I had been too weak to prevent him from getting the snip and when I found out it had happened, I'd been too self-absorbed to care. I felt a tremendous amount of guilt. But it wasn't enough to stop me from doing what I wanted to do and there was realistically no way I could make it up to him. This entire exchange between the two of us went on for about 5 seconds. I didn't know what else to do so I just said.
" Hey."

His eyelids dropped slightly to cover half of his pupils as if to say.

" pathetic."

He looked away and slowly walked off. It was possible that he cared even less about me than I did about him these days. From his body language it was clear that we understood each other: I wasn't going to change and didn't want to and he didn't give a shit about me or anyone in this house. That was the way it was, and it had been that way for a long time. He hadn't come up to check on me or see how I was. He had run into me by chance on his way back from taking a shit in Judy's room. He knew she was coming home for the weekend and wanted to leave her a nice surprise to piss off my parents who had spent the last two weeks fussing over her arrival and trying to get everything perfect. They hated the new Porkchop as much as he hated them. He shat and pissed everywhere even though he had previously been housetrained, he went into the attic and ate valuable documents and family photos and strategically stood in places where they could trip over him. They kept him because they were with stuck him and because they would feel too guilty if they had him put down. They had already broached the idea of getting rid of him with me a few months ago and I was indifferent about it apart from pointing out that who in their right mind would take him and why? They realized I was right. This was their bed and they had to lie in it and that bed much like Judy's, was filled with dogshit.

I closed the door, turned on the light, finished up the joint and lit up. I threw myself back on the bed and closed my eyes. The sound of the Beets filled my ears. The different instruments became apparent, the drums, the bass, the vocalist breathing in before singing. This was all shit I wouldn't usually notice unless I was high. It also occurred to me in that moment how lousy a band they were. I got up and changed the album. Soon The Beatles' across the universe was playing and my thoughts drifted away from my nihilistic castrated family pooch. I moved my left foot and it knocked against some of the shit that had accumulated at the end of my bed. I played a game with myself to try and identify as many of the things as I could just by feeling them with the outside of my beaten-up converse. There was a bottle of cola, several potato chip packets and a book of some sort. I was confused about what book it was. I hadn't read much since Skeeter died and the last time I tried was when I stole some William S. Burroughs novels from Judy's room on the recommendation of someone I'd got high with. Even for a pessimistic drugged-up teenager I found Burroughs' work to be juvenile and shit. Like something one of Dawn's friends could have written if they decided that they were an artist one day. Rather than simply put the books back where I found them in Judy's room I put them in the trash. I saw it as doing her a favour. This considered, the mystery remained as to what book it was. I decided that I didn't care and tried to go to sleep. That lasted for about 3 minutes until paranoia got the better of me and I sat up to check out what book it was. I took it in my hand and immediately recognized it. It was my old diary. I hadn't seen it in a full year. I used to religiously write in it every night, Porkchop by my side. I opened it on the first page and it was about the first day that I had moved to Bluffington. A brief glimmer of happiness soon washed over me which quickly mutated into bittersweet nostalgia. I sifted through the pages recalling random details about days that I could have never remembered if I hadn't written them down. I found a wry smile poking out of the corner of my mouth about how different everything was back then. It seemed like nowadays the world was in black and white and back then we all lived in technicolour. Porkchop was Porkchop, Skeeter was alive, I was desperately in love with Patty and everybody hated Roger. Well, everybody still hates Roger but I don't. I began wondering when I had stopped writing but it escaped me. I flicked the well-worn pages to the end which was full of blank pages and flicked back to find the final entry. It was the third of May. The day before Skeeter Killed himself. Of course. When else? My enjoyment had been dampened and I flicked further backwards. I read page after page of my declarations of love for Patty and all my attempts to woo her. I felt conflicted about my former self. On one hand, I was incredibly innocent and well-meaning. I was truly infatuated with Patty and devoted to pursuing her. On the other, why didn't I just grow a pair and ask her out properly like a normal fucking person? How did I not notice how much of a creep I was? My mind quickly harked back to the conversation between Roger and I on the way to the Studebakers. Fucking Chalky. Prick. How could she go off with that guy? He's an asshole and you know what? She isn't much better. I spent all that time madly in love with her and willing to do anything for her and she threw it in my face by just spreading her legs wide open as far as they could go the minute Chalky so much as looked in her direction. Fucking bitch. Come to think of it, maybe Roger's right. Patty's not retarded, she must have been aware that I at least liked her more than a friend. There were times when I was convinced that she had deeper feelings for me too. If that was the case, then was it so fucking hard for her to make a move? I made so many that she could have had me at practically any opportunity. Fucking bitch. I suppose she thought I wasn't good enough for her. She was lucky I ever even liked her. I would have given her the world or died trying. You know what fuck her and fuck Chalky! It's their loss. I have better shit to do. They probably sit around pretending they're all grown up doing boring shit and watching basic ass movies all day. Chalky will only cheat on her anyway and when he does I won't be there to pick up the pieces. There will be no fucking Doug sucker Funnie's shoulder for you to cry on. Fuck you. Goodnight!

And another fucking thing! Patty and I used to be like the three fucking amigos! Where the fuck was Patty!? I know I drifted away from everybody but that didn't mean that she had to abandon me! Our best friend killed himself and I can't remember the last time I spoke to her in the last eleven months! Some friend she is. Is it so inconvenient for her that she would rather forget about me completely than be reminded about what happened!? Is she here trying to help me? Have we ever even talked about what happened with each other outside of the context of a group of people who never even knew Skeeter as well as we did and how none of it made sense? The answer is no. We haven't, and all signs point to the fact that we never fucking will. She's too busy shacked up with captain cardboard. She doesn't give a fuck about me and she doesn't give a fuck about Skeeter. She just hurts everyone she meets and she's with the right person because Chalky's probably the only person too shallow to ever be hurt by her. I've got better friends, I've fucked girls who are just as attractive, no scratch that, way more attractive than her and I'll probably fuck a lot more before I'm done. She doesn't know what love is and she doesn't deserve all of the love I could have given her. It's her loss not mine. Fuck off.

But I think I might still be in love with her…...