12 days of Christmas - The Drive

Written by: Chan Kar Teng (24-I2)

Designed by: D S Dhanvin (24-E4)

It’s raining.

Fat droplets of water crash down onto the roof of the car, sliding down the windows in erratic, messy streaks. Sam watches the beads of rain collide and merge with one another against the glass pane, immersed as he tries to bet on which droplet will win the race to the edge of the window. The blob of rainwater Sam chooses trickles down the surface, then splits into two and crosses the finish line simultaneously. It’s a tie— neither of them wins.

The rain is pouring, and its roars nearly block out the sound of his parents arguing in the front of the car.

Nearly.

“— your fault! If you hadn’t insisted on going to your house for Christmas, we wouldn’t be driving in this rain!” his mother exclaims exasperatedly.

“Me?! You were the one who refused to celebrate Christmas if I didn’t bring your stupid cauliflower mac and cheese over to my place!”

“I’m just looking out for Sam! He loves my cauliflower mac and cheese! Don’t you, Sam?”

He blinks, his gaze rising from where it was previously glued to the outside world— he had to be here, now. Inside the car. In his personal hell. Not out there.

“What?” he says, distracted. He feels his palms gaining moisture as his mother stares at him expectantly from the passenger seat, waiting for his affirmative reply so that she can win whatever dumb fight she was having with his dad. “Um, it’s okay. I guess.”

His dad snorts, clearly happy with Sam’s reluctant answer. “See? He doesn’t like it. I told you it was a waste of time making that monstrosity.”

His mum shoots her soon-to-be ex-husband a nasty look, then furrows her brows slightly at Sam. She shifts her body to face the road, her shoulders stiff and her arms crossed. She doesn’t turn around to look at Sam again.

Sighing, Sam places his left elbow against the car door and rests his head on his hand, eyes darting around the interior of the vehicle, trying to find something — anything — to focus on, to distract himself from his parent’s quarrelling. Christmas Eve used to be fun. It used to be filled with joy and anticipation as Sam’s favourite holiday crept closer and closer. This year, however, all he felt was dread.

His mum’s cauliflower mac and cheese. Dad’s new puppy needing company. Mum’s pet allergy. Dad forgetting to get a babysitter for his dog. 

There is always, always something to fight about.

Christmas Eve was never like this in the previous years. Sam still remembers his family’s Christmas celebration from when he was five years old. His dad assembled the Christmas tree in the living room, allowing its rainbow lights to blink asynchronously, painting the inside of the house with kaleidoscopic streaks. When all of the baubles were hung, his mother passed Dad a huge glass star, meant to be the finishing touch atop the pine tree. However, his dad had too much to drink, and his hand slipped past hers, knocking the fragile star onto the floor, effectively shattering it into smithereens, leaving Sam helpless except to stare at the crystal carnage by his tiny feet. His mother, blind with rage, seemed to almost turn red, her fists trembling with anger as she screamed at Sam’s father, calling him names so terrible that they were way above Sam’s age range. 

Okay, so maybe not that Christmas Eve… but Sam swears Christmas Eve was never as bad as it is currently. When he was eight, his mother took him to the McDonald’s near the park on Christmas Eve, treating him to a supper of chicken nuggets and apple slices, but she ran into a friend halfway through his meal, and absentmindedly followed her friend to her table to chat, leaving Sam behind to slurp his milk carton all by himself. One thing led to another and Sam got bored, so he stood from his seat and began exploring the park, his eyes wide as he surveyed the multiple ginormous playgrounds and jungle gyms present. Crawling with excitement, Sam decided to try climbing one of the jungle gyms without telling his mother first, but when he reached the highest point, he lost his balance and fell to the ground, spraining his left wrist.

When his dad found out, he went ballistic. He screamed at Sam’s mother for not looking out for their child, for forgetting about him, instead chatting with her friend and failing to ensure he was safe. Sam wasn’t sure if his dad was genuinely that concerned for him, or if he was just trying to win an argument. Either way, that Christmas Eve ended in both him and his mother in tears, and the perfectly magical day came to a tragic close.

Sam, still resting his head on his left palm, shifts uncomfortably in the car. He gazes at the hand he was leaning on and furrows his brows, as if asking the bones in his body why they had to be sprained that Christmas Eve all those years ago— didn’t they know that his parents’ relationship was already strained?

He thought this year was a particularly bad Christmas Eve for him and his dysfunctional family— especially with his parents being mid-divorce and all— but maybe their marital issues didn’t get in the way of just this holiday season, but of every holiday every year since Sam could remember. His parents were always fighting, divorced or not.

“Don’t even get me started on how you ‘forgot’ to get a dogsitter for that stupid corgi of yours,” Mum huffs as Sam tunes back into their argument. “You did it on purpose so we had to go to your place for Christmas.”

“On purpose? I offered to bring Milo to your house!”

“You know I’m allergic to fur! Why would I willingly infest my house with it?!”

Dad lifts one hand from the steering wheel and wipes his face in exhaustion. Sam can see bags under his eyes from the rearview mirror. “I only forgot about getting a dogsitter because you were pestering me all weekend about buying all of Sam’s school books for next year! Frankly, I don’t understand why you couldn’t do it yourself!”

“Oh, sure! Make me do everything again. It’s not like I already do enough for Sam, right? It’s not like he lives under my roof!” Mum retorts, her voice shrill. Sam winces— he hates when she gets like that, all high-pitched and agitated. “It’s not like I have a full-time job outside of caring for my son while you’re unemployed!”

“Excuse me, ‘caring for your son’? How about when you let Sam climb that jungle gym unsupervised and he sprained his wrist? Were you caring for him then?”

There it is. Dad always finds a way to bring up Sam’s old injury in every argument, regardless of the context. It’s honestly a talent of his, but Sam is beginning to get sick of it.

”That’s enough!” Sam speaks up for the first time all night, both his fists clenched, nails digging into his sweaty palms. His voice cracks, but he ignores it. “Do you really have to fight every time you see each other? You do this every Christmas! I can’t even remember the last time I had a peaceful holiday and it’s because of the both of you! Can’t you just get along with one another? For just a day? For me?!”

By the end of his outburst, Sam is breathless. He’s panting in the backseat, trying to control his breathing as his eyes jump between his mum and his dad, wondering who will respond to him first— wondering who will apologise and comfort their child first.

There’s a long silence. The air grows thick and heavy. All that can be heard is the hands of Dad’s wristwatch ticking.

11:58pm.

“Now look what you’ve done.” It’s his mother who opens her mouth first. “You’ve taught your son to disrespect his parents.”

His dad scoffs. “Oh, so he’s my son now? He’s yours when you take care of him but mine when he screws up? Give me a break.”

“Who else am I supposed to blame?! I did everything I could to raise him! I tried my best!”

“Really? Your best? REALLY?!”

Sam can’t believe it. He’s grown accustomed to his parents arguing, and has always imagined himself stepping up to stop them. He thought that, if he told them to take their son into consideration, they would stop fighting so much.

He thought… It doesn’t matter. He clearly thought wrong.

12:00am.

It’s Christmas.

His mother still hasn’t looked at him. His father is still driving. His parents are still arguing.

Nothing has changed.

“Merry Christmas to me,” Sam mumbles under his breath. He sinks deeper into his seat, and goes back to watching the rain. The road ahead of him stretches on for forever— he doesn’t wonder when it will end anymore.

He doesn’t like Christmas enough to find out.