The Riddance's Christmas Riddle

It’s Mrs. Riddance, and she was back for another mind-nerving ‘life quest’, as she would love to call it. 

We went back to our seats as she was prepping for a short speech that we didn’t really want to hear. 

“Alright, Class. What a lovely sight. I know it must be very burdensome to wake up every morning and having to see me today, but well, that is something that I myself couldn’t help,” said Mrs. Riddance. I had to applaud her self-awareness of how the majority of us saw her, although part of me felt a bit sorry that she had to even say it in front of the class. 

Mrs. Riddance reached for the attendance checklist, marking and striking here and there, and continued, 

“We’re entering the festive, one of the better days on the 365 cycle, aren’t we, lads and ladies?”

Some of us nodded, while some plucking in their notebook in hopes that the class would be finished soon. 

“So I have this idea for a new project you can do before the final term. I’ll pair up each of you, those with the lowest score and the highest score, and you’ve got to do is go shopping for your loved ones!” 

“Huh?” The class snapped in horror. 

When Mrs. Riddance paired us up on a project, she always had the bully and the bullied together. And for whatever reason, it was not a really bad thing, but it could get really bad. I was on the fence, but there was no leeway in negotiating with her decision. 

---

“Snickers, don’t stomp on me!” Nicken shouted at me. 

“Uh, sorry. It’s still in the morning.” 

“Who the f*ck cares?” 

“Oh God. Chill please.” 

Nicken and I were outside of Weemart, and my mood already went sour because of her shouting. 

I planned to pick the closest item I could reach and go ahead to the cashier. It’s not like Mrs. Riddance had little spies that watched over all of us. 

And while Nicken and I weren’t exactly enemies of the sort, we were not very fond of each other. She was way too grumpy, which somehow reminds me of my grandpa, while I could be too chill that I get on people’s nerve too, I guess. 

Nicken took one of the trolleys and walked over the pantry section. I followed her. She held the medium-sized frying pan, checking on the price tag. Then it made her frowned. She turned to me. 

“Aren’t you gonna pick one of those?” Nicken asked.

“What do you mean?” 

“I’m telling you to pick one of those.”

“And why do you think I should?” 

“No reason. Because it didn’t seem like you would need it, and then you could instead give it to me.” 

“Oh, well.” I’m still processing. At times like this, I wish my social cue skill would activate itself automatically and I didn’t really have to load this long. 

Nicken started to look aggravated, then I said, “I’m not sure what to get.” 

“Something your mum likes. Or dad. Whatever.” Said Nicken. “C’mon, don’t make me a bystander of your one-dialogue showmanship.” 

“F*ck!” She screamed. “Mind your own business!” She snapped at one of the moms that looked at her. 

“Okay, okay.. Chill, please. I’m gonna pick this one.” I chose the one she inspected earlier. She smiled for a second and went back to her usual sour expression. 

“You’re doing the right thing.” She said. “Now you should also pick something. I’m not gonna see, so take your time.” 

I’m a little bit taken aback by her sudden shift of personality. I decided to gift my parents respectively, for my mom, flower ornaments on a cup, and for my dad, a new cleaning cloth for his favorite car’s dashboard. Not to mention the glittery crafts my younger sister favored, and when I got back to the cashier where Nicken waited, she also put the frying pan along with the stuff I brought. 

“Must be nice to gather together in the fireplace-lit room,” Nicken muttered to herself, but I could hear it clearly. 

I decided that it was best if I didn’t say anything. And since the frying pan was within my budget, I paid for it too, although I was annoyed with her demanding behavior. 

“Aren’t you curious? Why I was being like this?” Asked Nicken when I was done with paying and we’re back at the entrance of the market again. 

I didn’t reply. I’m still thinking of where this conversation headed. Will she try to reason with me, to make me pay for more of her expenses, and let her controlling tendencies had me surrender over it with no counterattack? 

What was Mrs. Riddance's point? Was I really that clueless and ignorant of people’s situation? One clear thing is how I was annoyed just by looking at her face. I remembered, not only this moment, but those incidents in the past too, where she would forced me to buy her lunch, extorting money, and that not only me, many of my classmates had similar complaints, having to receive the same treatment from her. 

But as the first snow fell, something ignited in me. A warm feeling that was juxtaposed against the increasing cold… seeps in, planting something in me, a realization that it had to be done because otherwise, it would be the same as another day- my feelings, my thoughts, and my perception of her, of people like her. 

“Why don’t you come for dinner? You could also bring your family. We could enjoy the feast together.” I said. 

Nicken scoffed. “Are you trolling me?” 

“This is why I hate talking to you.” I blurted out, immediately regret it because Nicken’s face became even sourer. 

“No, no, please, just come. Let’s start over. It’s not like you’re being invited to a roasting show.” 

“I’ll think about it,” said Nicken. 

---

“Frying pan? Hmm.” Mom tapped her fingers on the washbasin as she dried off the water off the acidified turkey meat. 

I didn’t tell my mom that I used my part-time money nor about her extorting money from the class, but Mom seemed to has a concerned expression for a reason different than mine. 

“It could be that she had a rough time economical-wise.” 

“What?” 

“What’s with ‘what’? You didn’t think of that possibility?” Asked Mom.

“Not at all.” 

“You should from now. People had their own circumstances- and that is a freaking common sense. I thought I‘d already ingrained that in you, Miss Marla.” 

I sighed. 

“When is she coming?” 

“Soon. I don’t know if she would even come.” 

“She would,” Mom assured. “I already cooked the best meat feast ever, so I’m sure she would come. It’s always been like that with other guests.” 

---

“Holy Muffins! This place’s a beat!” Rattled the old man who was wearing oracle glasses and turquoise coat. For a man his age, he looked pretty extravagant.  

I was the one opening the door, and before I was Nicken, with who seemed to be her grandpa, with a little kid, approximately in his 3 years of age, licking a lollipop. 

“Oh, you came,” I said. 

“Oh hi, you must be Nicken!” Mom came from behind me, hugging Nicken and patted her on the back, and did the same to the grandpa, and the young boy. 

“Come in, please!” said Mom. “Our feast and table are ready. We can’t wait to spend it with you three, my delightful guests!” 

Nicken beamed with a smile, and the young boy became ecstatic, licking the candy at a speed I had only witnessed on cartoon shows. The grandpa did a victorious dance with his head and hands, and we proceeded to the dining room. 

When all of us had sat in the chair, the snow started to fall even harsher than before. 

“Your little brother, how old is he?” Asked dad as we had started eating. 

“He will be four next year, and he is my son.” 

Son? I gasped. We all stared at her. The atmosphere suddenly shifted, the air drearier, our breaths held back a second.

“Juggling between school and raising him isn’t easy, so I realized I could be really burdensome for my classmates sometimes, including Marla,” said Nicken. 

“You’re already doing great, though,” said Mom. 

Nicken shrugged. “Thanks to the frying pan Marla bought for me, I could feed my child that day. My old frying pan was cracked open in two, and I had no idea how to cook things without it. That day, no money at all too. So yes, I’m really grateful to be here. Eating all these delicious feasts, and get to share it with you, and with my family too. What a time to be alive!” Nicken laughed. 

We also laughed with her. But then the food on my plate tasted slightly different... somewhat saltier. It seems that my tears were the culprit. Good Riddance!