Washing
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When I first saw Michael, I couldn’t help but notice just how depressed he looked. The red-haired strongly-built seventeen year-old could hardly hold his head up. His parents said that he had been really down for several weeks, but no one knew why, and he wasn’t helping either. He couldn’t seem to come up with the energy to get to school, and preferred to stay in his room, alone. He had been a good student, enjoyed playing on his school’s lacrosse team, and was heavily involved in student government. At a time when he should have been thinking about choosing colleges to apply to, he seemed to have dropped out of life.