The Boy Meets Girl Massacre (Annotated)

by Ainslie Hogarth

  “You make it look so delicious!” he said.

  “Just drink it, Alf.”

  And he did.

  “Feel better?”

  “Actually yeah!” he said.

  And we kept drinking the whiskey till there wasn’t much left.

  56. A body-image disorder characterized by insidious negative thoughts about a minor or often imagined defect in appearance.

  Twenty-Eighth Entry

  Okay back again. The good thing about The Boy Eats Girl Inn is that all the carpets and the furniture are so goddamn gaudy that even if someone happened to spill the most stainable substance on anything, Olivia would probably never even notice.

  I’m kinda drunk. Kinda drunk. Okay I’m pretty drunk. The first sign of drunkenness is terribly underestimating your drunkenness. Body getting all slow and dumb.

  There are lots of people here now. Probably too many. Probably we’re really going to regret having invited absolutely everyone from school to this party, but right now I don’t care.

  I’m hiding in the closet. Everything’s going great. Everyone’s having fun. There’s this idiot here named Bill. He said the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard in my life. He was trying to hit on Andrea and noticed that she bites her nails and he said, “You know girls who bite their nails are subconsciously lesbians. Did you know that? Think about it … yeah.”

  Right? He’s one of the dumbest people in the world.

  But I’m pretty sure Andrea is going to sleep with him. Because he’s really good-looking and if people find out she slept with him, they’ll maybe bump her up a level in attractiveness.

  Actually THAT’S the dumbest fucking thing in the world. But it’s true. She’ll probably look a tiny bit hotter to everyone if she bangs him. Even to me. God, we should all be aborted.

  Diary, I really hope you’re planning to kill me; kill all of us; put us out of our misery.

  Oh shit, someone fell down the stairs. Christ that’s loud under here.57

  Okay it sounds like they’re fine.

  Dwayne showed up even though no one ended up using him for booze. I don’t know how he found out about it, but whatever. Turns out it was his whiskey that Alf and I took so he isn’t as tremendously drunk as usual, but he’ll get there soon. Last I saw him he was swaying by himself in front of a speaker, with a look on his face like he’d just swallowed a live goldfish.

  Why is everyone even here? Clothes better than usual, hair better than usual, faces better than usual. They can’t just be here to get drunk, surely. There were lots of basements and parking lots and jungle gyms and schoolyards for that. So what? They’re here so they can all be like you, diary. Or I guess, like me through you. They all wanna work on a better version of themselves by showing up and hanging out and acting a certain way. They’re all a bunch of walking diaries. You’re as real as they are. And you are too because I made you real. I wished you to life, remember?

  Of course you remember. Because apparently that was the single BEST thing that’s ever happened to you in your life. BEING BORN. BEING BORN. YOU’RE SO LUCKY FOR BEING BORN. Be grateful to me, diary, because I gave you the most precious gift, right?

  I hope you don’t mind being stuck here in the closet in the dark all night. I’m not trying to punish you, it’s just that I don’t have any big pockets on right now, and I can’t let anyone find you. This is where you’ve gotta stay so I can come in and take breaks with you, write stuff down in the most flattering way I can so I don’t forget it. Because you’re the better, more flattering version of me, remember? And you’re alive, so pretty soon I really am going to have to start hating you.

  Speaking of hatred. There is a girl here tonight, this girl named Robin, who one of Alf’s friends brought to meet him. Alf’s friend (Ian) thought that she and Alf would “hit it off” which made me more angry than I thought it would. And I was extra angry because it turns out Alf knew Ian would be bringing her, so he combed his hair and wore jeans instead of sweatpants.

  I thought maybe he’d worn them because of our kiss.

  Okay, diary, you’re right, he did wear them because of our kiss, okay? Okay, shut up.

  Robin’s got an okay body and is pretty. Pretty in the way that missing or murdered girls are pretty. That wholesome kind of “this girl was going to grow up and be a hot mom one day” way and now she won’t have babies and be a boring member of society like the rest of us because something killed her too soon. TOO SOON. Whatever that means. Too soon.

  I hate Robin.

  Alf and I can’t be friends forever if I hate all of the girls who might wanna date him as much as I hate Robin.

  57. In the closet under the stairs.

  Twenty-Ninth Entry

  A bunch of us were in the suite and a few people were hollering for the Ouija board.

  “Alf, go get the Ouija board, man, let’s have a séance,” this guy Tim barked at him. Because everyone treats Alf like a butler.

  And if I wasn’t drunk I probably would have been quieter when I said, “Alf you want me to get it?”

  “No! Ha! I can get it!”

  But I could see he was scared to go alone. Probably he was trying to impress milk-carton-pretty Robin, who he’d been talking to in the corner when that Tim guy demanded the board.

  Alf left the suite and headed downstairs. I watched him over the bannister to make sure that nothing happened.

  I knew the rub. Alf didn’t.

  I’d seen the others. He had no idea.

  I’d seen Sybil and Margaret and could handle anything else the house had in store, but Alf, he couldn’t. He’d gotten so scared he’d peed himself. I should tell Robin that.

  He retrieved the Ouija board from the closet without a hitch, then came back upstairs and put it down between a bunch of us.

  And I thought about when it had just been me and him up here, sitting over this same Ouija board, and we both had our coffees and he was smiling and we were having fun. It suddenly seemed so quiet in here. Thinking about it. Like someone had poured last night right into my ears.

  Last night Alf had asked me what was wrong. What’s wrong? What’s wrong, Noelle? No one had ever really asked me that and wanted to help so much before. What’s wrong? And he even took me all the way into the basement. Where I left him because I’m bad. I’m bad. I’m not good to my father, I hate him, a sick old man and I want to leave him just like I left Alf in the middle of the night to do god knows what.

  Maybe I did try to kill Herman.

  But he’s not a sick old man. He’s not, Noelle. He’s perfectly fucking fine, just a selfish lazy prick. WHO LIED TO YOU. WHO IS A LIAR.

  Shut up, diary.

  SHUT UP.

  I don’t need to hear it from you, okay? I know he’s sick in the head, alright? I get that. But he’s still a fucking liar.

  Anyway, there were four of us at the Ouija board. Me and Alf and that annoying Robin girl. She’s been hanging around him all night. I heard them laughing and they sat really close on the couch for a long time.

  And Alf’s other kind of friend, Rod. A nice guy, kind of nerdy like Alf. He was gonna play with the Ouija board too.

  We all put our hands on the planchette and I felt a quiver run through me. Not fear but something else, the memory of Sybil’s cold body sitting next to me in this very room. And I think Alf felt it too, only he wouldn’t realize that chill was Sybil. He would just think he was scared. He looked up at me with big eyes.

  Rod and Robin were pestering him to start asking questions.

  And Alf was regretting this decision. This decision to tell people about the Ouija board. He was too scared to keep going and he wanted me to help.

  “Okay, Alf, if it’s okay with you I’m going to take the reins here. Just going to ask it some general questions first. You know, get it warmed up,” I said.
>
  Alf exhaled and said, “Be my guest.”

  “Alright.” I sat up straighter and continued. “Is Alf gay?”

  And Rod and I pushed it over to YES before Alf had the chance to realize what we were doing and Alf realized that I was helping him by turning the whole Ouija board thing into a big joke before anyone got too serious about it. But also I was trying to make him look like a nerd in front of that Robin girl. Yeah I know, I know. I’m mean. Don’t start.

  “Alf, you’re cheating!” I stood up and pointed at him.

  “I am not!”

  “You are! You were pulling it towards NO. Alf, this doesn’t work unless you’re serious about it.”

  “Oh come on, you idiots!”

  “Okay, okay, let me ask it a question,” and Rod took over. “Will Alfred go and get us all beers.” And we all held the pointer on YES while Alf again tried to pull it toward NO. Again defeated.

  “Cripes, Alf!” I exclaimed. “I thought you had respect for the dead. Cheating at a game like this, my god.”

  “Okay, but Noelle, you’ve gotta come down and help me because you’re an asshole.”

  “Okay fine.”

  We got up to leave the room, both of us kind of drunk and unsteady. Alf put his arm over my shoulder.

  I knew they might toy with the Ouija board for a while but eventually lose interest because nothing in this house would PERFORM, would give them the SUPERNATURAL EXPERIENCE that they wanted. The house would prefer them to look like fools when they lied and said they’d felt something graze their arm in the bathroom alone, or that they’d seen something move down in the dark lobby.

  And then it just happened. Before I knew it I’d pulled Alf into one of the rooms. And his lips were on mine and they were so soft and sweet and it was a kiss. And it felt really good. He tasted sort of like beer, but also sort of like laughing. I know how dumb that sounds but I really felt like I could taste how funny he was all over his mouth. And so we kept kissing and kissing and Alf had my cheeks in his hands and he pulled my face back, looking me in the eyes.

  I didn’t want Alf to be around that Robin girl anymore. Alf was mine. He would be my friend forever, no matter what. No matter if tonight, just once, we fooled around.

  “Noelle, you’re great.”

  “No I’m not, Alf.” For god’s sake, I think I’m only doing this so that you don’t have sex with Robin. And to reward you, I suppose, for manning up and coming to the party because we want you here.

  We want you here.

  We, like me and the diary and Sybil. We’re all happy that you wanna stay here, work at the inn forever. It’s what you want and we can make your wish come true.

  “You are,” he continued, though I tried to shut him up with long, laughing kisses. “I think you’re just the best, Noelle. I really do.”

  “Well, thanks Alf. But then why are you talking to Robin?”

  “To be nice! She doesn’t know anyone here really. Ha! Were you jealous?”

  “No!”

  “Noelle, I love you,” and then I could feel his hands shaking on either side of my face and it made me laugh. Then he laughed.

  “Alf, you’re my best friend.”

  “You’re my best friend.”

  And then we started kissing again. And I pulled Alf towards the bed because I didn’t want to keep talking about how he loved me, I didn’t want to have to say anything back. I just wanted to have sex with him. But a small part of me wanted to burst into tears. Because after this we might not be friends anymore. And the kissing was really nice, better than I’d expected. And I suddenly realized that I trusted Alf. I trusted him the way I trusted my dad with a Q-tip in my ear. I trusted him that he’d wanna be friends with me no matter what. Because I had to, because here we are. About to have sex probably. About to have sex definitely.

  The party thundered outside. Because it was a great fucking party, with its own momentum.

  Alf was suddenly naked, and so was I, and he was kissing me and saying things like, “Are you sure you wanna do this? Oh Noelle, I’ve wanted this to happen for so long.”

  And I didn’t really know what to think about that.

  My sore spot throbbed, excited for the balm because it always felt good and calm when I was having sex with someone. I pressed into my bloody scalp with the heel of my palm and then Alf and I hugged so hard we both burst into patterned space and bobbed along for a while like there was no one else here.

  After it was done I said he was just a pervert now, instead of being a virgin pervert. And he laughed. He laughed. So I guess I’m allowed to make fun of him again for being a pervert. Which is nice. It really is.

  I want it so super red in there that she barely looks human.

  Now I’m sitting in the closet and writing because that just fucking happened. Alf and I had sex. We had fucking SEX. ME AND ALF. And I don’t know who else to tell about it. And I don’t know what to do now.

  Everything seems totally fine. It really does. Probably Alf’s so excited he could die. And I’m glad I could make him so happy. I am.

  I’ve got a beer in here and it’s sort of fun to drink it alone. I’ve never had a drink alone before.

  Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaand drunk.

  Andrea was in Alf’s room with that Bill guy. I gave her a key which maybe I shouldn’t have. I told Alf and he laughed instead of getting mad so I guess it’s okay.

  There are people just outside in the hallway drinking and I don’t want them to know I’m in here. I don’t want them asking any questions. So I’m going to wait till they leave. These two girls from my school. Sisters. Ariel and Brittany, and though they aren’t conjoined they may as well be. No one will ever be attracted to either of them and a childhood accident left them each uniquely disfigured. Ariel has a fake eye and Brittany can’t grow hair. They’re good-natured though. And not in the annoying way that disfigured people can often be, the way they are on the shows that Herman watches on TV.

  When I left the suite, June was lying on the floor in front of the speaker and flipping through CDs and kind of letting people come up and talk to her. She had this idea that she could get more drunk lying down. She said she’d tested the theory so who was I to tell her it was stupid.

  Thirtieth Entry

  My closet doesn’t feel so small after the party.

  A few people are sleeping over, which is not going to go over well with Jessica tomorrow but I don’t really care right now. She’ll come in early, she might have a little fit but then I’ll cry and I’ll show her the scab on my head and I’ll beg her not to tell Olivia and hopefully she’ll feel bad enough for me that she won’t.

  Last I checked, Dwayne was passed out on the lawn, but he might have wandered home by now.

  Brittany and Ariel are sleeping in the lobby on that dirty swirling carpet. Fucking gross. I literally have no idea when someone last vacuumed it. It might, honestly, have been years. Alf and I say we did it, and check off this little box behind the front desk saying we did all this cleaning stuff, but honestly I don’t even know where the vacuum is.

  Andrea and Bill were going to sleep in Alf’s room. Sorry, Alf, that’s completely my fault. And they’re definitely going to have sex in your bed.

  Alf and I are going to sleep in my bed. Together. He’s up there now, probably sound asleep already. And it’s going to feel nice not to be alone. And I hope it’s fine tomorrow. I really do. He did what I wanted him to. He came to the party and it was great. Robin left. And nothing bad happened. I knew that the house would behave.

  I didn’t just sleep with him because he came to the party, diary. Okay? I’m not a fucking COMPLETE monster beast. Okay? Alf and I are best friends. I would never do that. And it wasn’t just because of that Robin girl either, or his new jeans.

  Maybe I love Alf. Maybe I do. Maybe maybe maybe I do.

  Goddamnit, diary, wou
ld you stop judging me for god’s sake? Ever since I picked you up you’ve been a total bitch. Making me write down all the things that are weird and bad about me, leaving it out like a big fat bloody vein waiting for someone to rip it open, read it and kill me.

  You haven’t been my better self at all. You’ve been just terrorizing my regular self. Ever since I started using you, I’ve been fucking crazy.

  You’re the reason, diary, you’re the reason all of this is happening. You’re working with the house. You are. The house knew that bathroom light, that door closing in my room was just enough to get me writing. It knew about you all along.

  And you made me look at myself in this terrible horrible way, see and know that I should have never been fucking born, making me scratch away at that fucking thing in my brain, my skull showing now I’m sure of it and I wanna break it. I really do. I wanna break it like a windowpane.

  The house wants it. You made it happen. You’re bad. You don’t love me. You’re just as bad as me, turning on your mother and your father.

  Okay I’ll write it down because why not. Because why not just do it. These diaries, these girly little things, always judging always judging, little girls taught to judge everything, lie about themselves already, writing in the diary, omitted, things omitted but right there always, ever-present OTHER, you’re an OTHER, a JUDGING OTHER built into me, right into my brain because you are me, my TRUEST ME DIARY DIARY DIARY DIARY confess, confess, CONFESS! Writing writing writing torture. Fuck you, diary. FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU!

  A loud crash sound down in the basement.

  But I know that no one else really heard it because everyone’s drunk and passed out or having sex upstairs, not listening, not paying attention to the house like me, in one of its most secret insides. Most secret insides. Our closet under the stairs. Inside the house and a part of the house like we’ve got the same parts, the same stuff flowing through us and out of the hole in my head.