Sparkring : Chapter 2

His room was swept clean; it always was. Sometimes, it just made me wonder if he was human for all the neatness that occupied, dominated, reigned over the room I peeped in. Desks devoid of any loose sheets of paper, books stacked neatly to one side and no trace of any visible stationary. The bed, made to as though no one had slept there the night before. Nothing on the ground except his bag and some other typical stuff that a teenager might own, yet still, were placed in that infinitely neat order that somehow seemed to irritate me mildly.

"What?"

Thump, thump, thump.

Michael struggled with my suitcase behind me. From the doorway to his corridor was about ten, eleven steps; yet he seemed like he had travelled ten metres. To tell the truth, he wasn't any physically gifted hulking teenager. A lanky and awkward one perhaps. A little weird too, considering that his favourite hobby; when he thought no one was looking, was watching the little potted cactus in the balcony grow. But he was fun to be around, with all his quirky ideas and... schemes, never a boring moment.

"Your room, how do you keep it so clean Mich?"

"Erm... well I basically pack up stuff after I finish, you know... the standard. And how many times have I told you not to call me Mich, Andrea? You know how I hate that name... Sounds like midget..." He trailed off as he gave a last despairing shove at the luggage that sat immobile.

"You really are a sorry excuse for a teenager."

"Hey!"

"Oh well, guess I have to move this myself." I grabbed the handle and pulled, the thing moved easily, leaving me to wonder how had Mich managed to struggle with this thing. "Oh yeah, where's uncle?"

"Out. Busy with his work." He replied, following me to the room specially set aside for me during the holidays. It was, as the house had three rooms and two occupants, leaving a guest room, which I claimed after the third visit. So this was offically, my room.

Measuring slightly over five by six, it had a spratan look and feel. A wardrobe, a single plain wooden desk and a bed were all placed in a neat symetrical manner, no doubt the work of Mich, a lover of neatness. Well that was one thing on my list of things-to-do: One, mess up the arrangement of my room. 

The walls were whitewashed, making the room seem brighter and bigger than it was, along with a bedside table and my alarm sitting neatly on where I had last left it since I came here, it was kind of cozy I suppose. Over time, I had left things here; a book, a pencil, making it all the more, well, me-like.

I was home.