25th of December, one of the most revered days in the year. Mostly seen as the highlight of most peoples calendars, a time to meet up with the family and share love, warmth and other emotional nonsense. But not for me, Christmas or Noel as the French called it, was by far the most vile, horrendous thing to happen to me, and it never failed to reach and sometimes surpass my expectations.
This year, it seemed to be at the height of it’s ghastliness with Patrick roommate extraordinaire also known as The Ass. The Git. The one who snores, sitting next to me jabbering nonsensically with my sister whom I had the good fortune to only have to meet only once in a year. As she lived only to fill me in on insignificant details about her life, especially the new baby who just happened to gurgle in tune to ‘Ice, Ice Baby’. And I’m the crazy, unstable one in the family…
Anyway, Patrick and Anita looked as though they were getting along like a house on fire, constantly being fuelled by litre upon litre of Kerosene, to my disappointment. I had hoped someone else would be understand how miserable it was to be surrounded around my family during Christmas, but sadly Patrick was among the majority of people who liked children. I always knew he was strange.
‘So Angus how come you never mentioned Patrick in your letters?’ My mother asked, and once again I cursed her inability to seal her heavily botoxed lips. Everyone at the table turned to me, expecting some sort of suitable explanation so I mumbled something about “forgetfulness” instead of the truth. Which was the fact that Patrick was too much of a dolt for me to waste my valuable time writing about him, and how I had been forced to live with him despite the fact that I specifically asked for a single room.
Only a few more hours, and then freedom.
‘Isn’t it great how Angus seems to have made friends, he always was a quiet one.’ Mother said louder than I cared, ‘Any moment now he’ll have a girl down for Christmas.’ she continued as though I wasn’t in front of her, curly red hair and all.
You see, everyone had this strange notion that I well, invited Dozy Patrick to my house for Christmas when really, he invited himself, or he more or less might have. Walking into the room drunk, wailing about his girlfriend breaking up with him -Smart girl- and how he had nowhere to go for Christmas. I mean, I was prepared to walk away from him or ply him with incredible amounts of booze to keep him semi-comatose so I could escape to my home -hell in the making-, but I felt a twinge. Yes a twinge, not one of those, ‘ouch you just punched me in the face’ ones, but a ‘be a decent human being’ one. So I said, ‘Oh you could come to my house.’ while meaning and praying inwardly for the opposite but I guess God really doesn’t exist or my years of being Atheist have finally immunised him from answering to my pleas because Patrick said Yes.
‘Ha, ha. Mother, it’s bad manners to talk while eating.’ I informed her painstakingly, turning to my father trying to communicate to him with my eyes, to maybe tell her to shut up. But my eye communication must have been faulty because he turned away and started talking to my brother-in-law -Anita’s Husband- Tom about his new plumbing business.
‘Always the mature, lecturer my Angus.’ She said, staring at me pityingly so much so that I felt like she was giving me a pat on the shoulder with her eyes. At least her eye communication wasn’t on the fritz. ‘Pass the salt there honey.’ She said, and I did.
I looked at the clock. 9:45pm, only four more hours till escape. My head throbbed, my nerves were frayed and there was still at least thirty minutes of dinner, and then drinks, or club trawling.
I looked down at the turkey, and bile rose in my throat. I picked up my glass of vodka -or according to the rest of the room water- and took a long sip. My brother sat at the edge of the table, having what was an over 18s whispering conference with his fiancée, while my grandparents sat on my left side being terribly ignored by me. I had never liked them, even in my childhood, when I liked even awkward bands produced by Disney. Sitting on the other side of my dad was Kris, my one time friend, she had a habit of appearing every Christmas and trying to talk to me, it was to say the least uncomfortable. Opposite my dad was Tom, who was still having a discussion about a plumbing business that was about as interesting as “Piano Cat” who wasn’t in anyway interesting. Meanwhile the unfortunate pain in the ass called Patrick was on my right, and my sister was right next to him, and Maria our family’s sheepdog sat next to her nibbling on the scraps that Anita fed him. Yes Maria is male…explaining takes time and energy.
The Christmas tree was propped next to Maria, it’s entire mass towering over the table in it’s decorated glory. My mother made the entire family decorate it every year without fail never listening when the grandparents complained about back pain and rheumatism. This year Patrick placed the angel on the top of the tree and had managed the snap the already weak tree into two. I sighed and took another long sip out of my glass. Perhaps in a while, I would manage to be drunk enough to blot out this memory from my mind.
‘Angus, you’ve hardly touched your turkey, is there a problem?’ My mother asked sneakily, searching for a reason to bring up the “Turkey Story”. I was only three, okay. I picked up my fork, and dug into the turkey, making a point not to actually bring it up to my lips, or eat it.
‘No mother, it’s delicious.’ I said, sneaking another look at the clock.
5 more minutes.
‘May I be excused.’ I heard myself saying, and next thing I knew I was heading towards the bathroom away from my family, and lets not forget Patrick.
I twisted the tap, and water spewed out of it, rushing down the sinkhole away from me. Escaping, something I could only dream of. I cupped my hands together to gather a bit of water splashing it on my face as nausea hit me. I then reached into my pocket for my mini-comb. Looking into the mirror, I tried to fight my hair back into place. My eyes stared back at me, filled with surrender, dread, frustration, and all the emotions that flooded me during my Christmas visits.
I had blue eyes, something I had always hated as they clashed so much with my ginger coloured hair, and my sunken face. I adjusted my bowtie, pulled my mobile phone out and checked my Facebook notifications, when the door opened suddenly.
The door to the only bathroom in the house had no lock because my dad had broken it in a fit of anger back when Anita was a teenager and had the tendency to spend eternity in the bathroom. Kris stepped into the bathroom, watching me warily, like a deer caught in the headlights…yet she did not stop until she was right in front of me. Then she did something I expect after two bottles of spirits and some beers, when people are cross-eyed from drinking too much. She leaned in and crushed her lips against mine. My new -expensive- smart phone slid out of my grip and crashed onto the tiled bathroom floor, and I stood motionless in shock.
Seconds later she walked out of the bathroom leaving me perplexed and in a state of bewilderment. All I knew was that Kris Bates my once childhood friend had just sexually assaulted me with a kiss and I hadn’t completely detested it. Huzzah?
I noticed that I hadn’t turned off the tap and hastily adjusted that. Then I staggered out into the dining area.
‘Angus where have you been, we were worried that the toilet had sucked you in.’ Patrick said jovially, his arm around my sister. For once I didn’t feel like physically assaulting Patrick, I was too dazed to notice how much of an annoyance he was.
‘Well?’ Anita asked.
I watched her still in her haze, ‘What?’ I hadn’t been listening, and can you blame me.
‘Are you coming out or not? Kris is coming.’ She added slyly leading me to believe she knew something I didn’t.
‘Oh yeah. Going out. Don’t think so.’ I said, tucking my hands in my trouser pockets. ‘Patrick we have to leave at 7am, so be here by then or you can walk back.’ I said in my sure-fire way, only I wasn’t feeling that way. I feigned a yawn, and walked the stairs to my room, the one I had been sharing with Patrick. Then I feel into my lumpy bed, the one that had become too small for my adult body, reached under my bed for my bottle of scotch and forced myself into oblivion.
The next morning when I woke up, my world was spinning as was my sense of awareness, I dreamt that Kris had forced a kiss on me while I was in the bathroom and…
Oh…that did happen. I reached for a couple of items of clothing suitable for a cross country drive and stumbled into the bathroom. 30 minutes later I had packed all my stuff quietly and placed them in the trunk of my car. I had also placed all of Patrick’s stuff in the back seat. I picked up a Post-It as I always did and scribbled down my farewell, and Patrick’s -this time-. Then I proceeded to drag Patrick out of the bed and wrestle him into the car. By the time I drove out of the driveway it was 6:30am, and I saw a couple of figures outside the house waving frantically. It was their angry wave, the ‘that boy left without saying goodbye again’ only this time Anita was hopping, I guessed it was because of Patrick.
At 12:30 Patrick woke up with a massive hangover, to a cup of coffee and a bagel -I am far too nice for my own good. At 1:00pm I noticed that I didn’t have my phone with me. Well that explains Anita’s exaggerated waving…oh well, until next Christmas.
The -Until Next Year- End.
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