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Excerpts from the journal of Ronald McFarthing.
~ May 13th 2021
The mess was rather a lot more than I expected it to be. More so than any other party I’d been to, which had recently been quite a lot.
Shelly did not appear too pleased about it all. She kept pacing the length of her long kitchen, running her hands through her hair and muttering about how she was never going to be able to clean it up.
“I’ll help you.” I had told her.
She had glared at me. Shelly has a wicked glare. She has these big, almond-shaped ocean eyes that at once appear so innocent and docile, only to quickly slit and pierce into you like the coldest ice. Her glare is all the more powerful because it is so rare. She enjoys parties, revells in them; she is the type of person to smile simply because the moment is good.
But Shelly struck me with that glare then, and spat out, “obviously you’ll help. You made this mess.”
That was rather hurtful, but she was panicked. It was not entirely my fault that the floor was soaked in spillages, but I understand that I didn’t help. How could I? I felt like a gazelle being swarmed by a herd of lions, there was too many people and too much noise and they were all getting so close and my chest started to constrict and everything became small and shallow and the world slowed and it was me or them and I lashed out and. Well.
I grabbed a mop, trying my best to smile at Shelly. But her shaking head and wild eyes were fixed on the sticky mess on the floor.
It mattered not. I got what I came for.
~ January 24th 2021
Today is a good day.
The sun is shining and I managed to fry my eggs this morning without setting off the smoke alarm. Agnes will be happy, she’s complained four times now.
I’m planning on going on a walk to the river later today. I thought about bringing some bread to feed the ducks, but I think I recall reading somewhere that you shouldn’t feed the ducks? Which sounds odd to me. It’s one of my most prominent childhood memories, going down to the river with mum. She would sit relaxed on the bench with the novel her book club was reading that week, and I would sit at the river bed, gently gathering my host of duck minions with a steady supply of bread. I suppose we used to do that once a week, for a few years at least, especially after dad left.
Now I’m told we shouldn’t feed the ducks.
Rather makes me feel like a rebel child. I was taking risks without even realising it. It would be nice to be able to do that as an adult, but I suppose adulthood comes with the added benefit of knowing exactly what risks are involved.
The added crutch.
I wish I didn’t have that crutch.
~ February 2nd 2021
Someone invited me to a party today.
Jeff, from work, is having a bash for his 50th and has asked me to come and bring crisps. I don’t know much of party etiquette, but I generally thought that the host provided the food. Plus, Jeff is old enough to afford to do so.
Even so, I told him I would think about it, and I know you would tell me to go. You’ll probably tell me to go in our next session together, but really, I am only just getting the hang of this journal thing, I’m not sure forcing unnecessary social interactions will help anything. I already have enough stress at work, I do not need more outside of work as well.
Caroline called me yesterday. First time I’ve heard from her in months. She sounded good, recently got a promotion to Junior Executive, whatever that means.
It’s strange, after all this time I expected myself to miss her, but I don’t believe I do. Her presence always felt like a parasite in the brain: you know something is wrong, but you cannot quite pinpoint what.
I still love her of course, I have to. But it is incredibly freeing to know that I don’t have to miss her.
She’s gone, and there’s quiet once more.
~ February 20th 2021
You were right, the party was not the end of the world.
I’ll admit, however, that it felt as though it could be when I first got there. There were so many people, do parties usually have 60 people? It was a lot of breathing. Is that a normal thing to notice? I’m not sure. But that’s all I could see for the first half hour. A room of bodies pressed up against one another, the perspiration thick in the air, and chests heaving up and down and up and down and none of them were in time. It was so hot, unbearably hot, and there was just the press of wet air as it puffed from people’s mouths.
After a while I started to withstand the pressure, even talking to a few people I knew. I was not quite sure when to leave though, that is not a skill I seem to have mastered.
Most everyone else seemed to read these invisible signs, picking up on body language and hieroglyphics and whatever they used, and they knew it was their time to leave. I have no such skills in deciphering.
I was the last person there, and since Jeff was passed out drunk on his couch, mumbling about the mess and how hellish his morning will be, I decided to help clean up a bit.
That wasn’t right was it?
I shouldn’t have done that.
You’re going to scold me at our next session, I know. I should have left. Yet, if I’m completely honest with you, and myself since this is a journal after all, I thoroughly enjoyed the peace of it. There’s something blissfully therapeutic in cleaning, in starting small and methodically going through the motions until the entire picture is clear again.
The picture has been foggy for so long.
I want to wipe it clean.
~ March 5th 2021
Today began a good day.
I managed to go back to the Little Market. It was exactly as I remember it, down to the environmentalists handing out flyers and yelling about the rising sea levels.
Judith still has her baked potato stall, even after all these years. Mum would drag me there on weekends, insist on ordering two classics – a baked potato with baked beans and cheese – and we would meander through the rest of the stalls.
Mum knew everyone. How did she always know everyone?
We didn’t have a lot of money, but mum used to spend what little we did have at those stalls. I even still have my collection of snow globes with me now. Mum favoured the dreamcatcher stall, but I adored the snow globes. It’s a world encased in a sphere, and if I try hard enough, I still can imagine that there is life within them, just waiting to break out.
Or perhaps they enjoy their bubble of safety, maybe breaking them free is the wrong thing to do. I’m thinking too much into this.
The Little Market is the same, but I’m not. One look at Judith and I fled. I couldn’t even make it to the snow globe stall.
But I managed to get there.
Caroline called again. I did not pick up. But I cannot stop thinking about it. It felt wrong to talk to her today, she never liked the Little Market. I might message her tomorrow.
Although, I’ve been thinking it might be best to not speak with her.
She plagues my thoughts enough as it is, talking to her would be overkill.
Right?
~ March 17th 2021
Penelope Yang hosted a modest party tonight.
There’s really no other way to describe it than that. It was simple, with 17 guests, platters of food spread out on her marble countertop, and smooth jazz playing throughout.
I was getting rather worried that there wouldn’t be much to clean by the end of it, when lo and behold, her reckless husband came home drunk and tripped into the wine rack. Bottles went flying, splashing streams of scarlet across the pristine white floors. It was quite the spectacle.
Poor Penelope, she was beside herself, and while she was dragging her husband to bed and the rest of the guests made hasty departures, I readied myself with a mop and got to work.
She was so grateful, which I’ve grown to expect now.
You were sceptical but I assure you, I really have gotten better at reading people. I’m now not sure that I was ever bad, more than I did not care enough to notice certain signs. But people tend to be quite grateful when you help them clean up a mess in their homes. It reminds them that people care about them, and helps them forget that there was a low point in their role as a host.
They were successful, and I am able to clean.
It’s nearly 4am now, and I can’t seem to sleep. I haven’t felt this excited in a while. Months. Before, the world seemed to come to me in the way of a far-off ship, flaring with a life I would never be able to swim to. Now, I can simply lie back upon the waves, controlling the one thing I can: the motion of myself.
Perhaps I’ll float to the ship one day, perhaps not.
I’ll let the waves decide.
~ March 25th 2021
Today was a bad day.
Caroline came to visit me.
She looked awful. Her blonde hair was tied up in a tight bun, her make-up subtle and sharp, and she wore a form-fitting navy pantsuit. She just showed up, without warning, demanding to speak with me.
“You haven’t been responding to my messages!” She yelled, hysterical.
“I’ve been busy.” I had calmly told her.
She seemed highly unsure, which I suppose I cannot entirely blame her for, so I told her about all the parties I’ve been going to. It seemed to perk her up, which irked me endlessly. Why must I have to go to parties in order to be okay? When did socializing become a necessity for mental stability?
I decided not to tell her about the cleaning afterwards. I doubt she would approve or understand.
She forced her leech-like presence on me the whole day, hauling me out to a relentless dinner at this snooty restaurant.
She would not stop pestering me for details of my life, as if she is entitled to any of them.
“Ronald, I’ve been worried about you.” She would repeat. “You can’t disappear.”
“People disappear, Caroline.” I told her. She had flinched at that, and I remember finding it weirdly exhilarating. That I could make her flinch, that after everything I could still affect her. I thought we were beyond that.
“Just…let me know you’re alive once in a while. Okay? I’m sorry I haven’t been here, that I wasn’t there. But I want to help. Call me if you need anything.”
I agreed. If only to get her off my case.
I know you think I should talk openly with her, that I should tell her how I feel. But how do you tell someone you don’t care about them when you’re tied to them forever? It’s not good practise.
I had asked if she was going to stay, but even she couldn’t handle that much time together.
She left later soon after.
~ April 2nd 2021
There’s a new girl at my work, Shelly.
She’s rather pretty in a chaotic sense, and she’s a young, excitable worker. But where Shelly really shines is in her ability to host a party.
At first, I did not care to speak with her, or interact at all, but then she declared to the crew that she was hosting a “soiree” at her apartment that weekend, and that we were all invited. I haven’t mentioned her yet because I was not sure what to make of her. But where she is faulted in being a chatty, imposing sort of person, she makes up for in her sheer hopelessness at keeping a party in order.
The poor girl decided it was BYOB! Oh, it was a travesty. There was crumbs all over the place, drinks spilt, even a bit of vomit caught the edge of the couch.
I tested something tonight, as well. I have been wondering for a while, and hypothesised myself, whether it would feel just as good to make a mess as it is to clean.
It was midway through the party, people were either wasted or dancing, and I picked up a can of beer and carefully poured it onto the floor.
I’ll admit it felt akin to riding a motorcycle with no helmet, exhilarating.
I started cleaning at that spot, as if covering up a secret made for only myself.
Shelly did not notice. No, she was only grateful to me for helping her wipe away the mess.
They are always grateful.
~ April 14th 2021
It’s been a year.
Caroline called, as she would. She asked if I needed anything, if I was going to be okay alone. I assured her that I was not alone, even told her of a party I was going to later that week.
She doesn’t understand, and I don’t try to make her.
I called the helpline again, but they had no new information. How can a person just disappear? How can they have no leads?
I went back to the train station, as if I could find something that I hadn’t seen that day. As if anything would be the same a year on. But there’s no trace of mum.
I got home and needed to fix something. It felt like I was spinning wildly, as though the world had tipped off its axis and I was in freefall.
I grabbed the bat from under the stairs and went to work. The house was in shreds and tatters by the time I was done.
It’s been a year since mum disappeared, since she was supposed to meet Caroline, since Caroline bailed on her to see dad, as she always always has.
My house is a mess right now. I’m currently sat in the wreckage with this sick kind of excitement. The snow globes lay shattered at my feet. I wonder how much I can destroy until it becomes impossible to clean.
I want to find out.
~ April 30th 2021
Shelly had a party and did not invite me.
I’m not sure what I did, I’ve been nothing but a gracious guest; being out of everyone’s way until the party ends and I help clean up. I am practically a free cleaning service. I even tend to keep to corners of the room, watching for messes, ensuring to keep from disturbing anyone from having a good time.
But Shelly did not invite me.
It does not make sense.
Perhaps I should ask her, question her motives. But I do not want to seem desperate, it is only a party, right? All I want to do is help with the cleaning. I could even offer to come at the end, just to clean.
No, that would not do.
I’ve come to realise that there is a euphoric high that comes with both making the mess and cleaning it. It is pure control. Unfettered and yet leashed to myself.
I’ll do that tonight instead.
I bought various staining sprays recently. I’m going to see if there’s anything that I cannot clean.
~ May 2nd 2021
I cut myself making the mess today.
Caroline had called. There was a new lead on mum’s case. She called to tell me that it went nowhere. They always go nowhere.
The blood was hard to get out of the white sheets. But the hydrogen peroxide took care of it.
~ May 12th 2021
Shelly finally invited me to a party tomorrow. I was beginning to become rather worried.
She seemed hesitant to invite me. Apparently, I made her uneasy, but I assured her I meant no harm, I just found a weird joy in cleaning.
She’s told me to bring a cake, it’s Stuart’s birthday after all.
I shall bake the cake today.
~ May 13th 2021
Continued…
The blood was thicker than what I practised with. But I tried not to trouble myself with that. It mopped up easily enough.
Shelly was beside herself. Really, it was not such a big deal. The majority of the guests had left. It was only three of them left but they came at me so fast and aggressive and I think one of them tried to pry the knife from my hand.
I lashed out.
It was foolish, I know, but people make mistakes.
Shelly asked why I brought the knife, which I found odd. She requested I bring the cake, why wouldn’t I bring something to cut it with?
The trouble came when one of the bodies stirred in the crimson mess. Henry, I think? It was hard to tell. He made a gargled noise and Shelly made a high-pitched squeaking one and I understood enough to know that I couldn’t wipe away this mess.
I admitted defeat. I’m sorry.
Calling the one person I knew owed me, the one I knew would come at last, I turned to my sister.
“Caroline? I made a mess, and I can’t clean it up.”
Then, because I had nothing left to lose, “I need your help.”
At last, she came.
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