Socks

I’ve always hated socks. To specify, I hate receiving socks, and I have not always despised them. A personal and most probably an eternal dislike. Every time I have pulled and blanketed my legs with it, an untamed thought threatened to whisk me back to that cold twenty-fourth. 

I shifted my gaze from the vivid pixels of the TV to my Xiao Long Baos, waiting in stoic silence for me to devour them. I sucked the warm broth, soothening my mouth with a symphony of spices, making my veins surge in intoxicating amusement. My eyes broadened in relishment. As my meal danced and glistened upon the ceramic bowl, I couldn’t help but wonder if this Christmas would be as unpleasant as the one prior to the final two. A constant thought living rent-free which had lingered since then. 

It turned dark outside, where the only luminance was the sparks of distant street lamps.

“Don’t go outside!” My mother reminded me from the kitchen. I wasn’t going to, but I was tempted. I was dissatisfied to spend the last few days of Winter break without the slightest of thrill. My heart yearned to pump. I went up the stairs, pressing my foot against the creaking planks. My mother turned her stare to where the sound had come from - she knew it was me - it was just instinctive action.

I laid on the bed, fixating my eyes on the ceiling, where the fan had been churning strangely counter-clockwise. I felt paralyzed, purely because of sloth. I had become lost in thought, drifting through fantasies where problems dissolve. Angels’ voices deafening my ears from outside noises, singing the most melodious of tunes to calm the storm. A soft whisper assured me, “You are alright now.”

The phone buzzed, disrupting my reverie. I sighed a breath of disappointment, the dreams had come to an end, before answering the call. 

“Hi Charlotte,” a voice lunged out of the phone. “I just wanted to show you my present.” 

“Hi Claire, have you opened it yet? I'd just love it if you'd show me your present.” That was a lie, I did not care what silly gift her neglecting parents had handed her, It was an attempt to be kind.

“I haven’t opened it yet, but I’m excited!” She exclaimed loudly, almost to the extent she had impaired my hearing. I could hear paper being crumpled and tossed, and the sound of plastic being disarranged by her hands. Abruptly, sudden silence filled the room, leaving me to ponder.

“What is it?”

“S-So,” she stuttered as if some monster stood beside her. “Socks?!” I could sense the fury in her words.

“Socks?’ I said, but I had already been pulled by the haunting thought. I tried to refuse… I tried to resist the memories from gushing in… though it had already grasped me with an iron grip. Faint images momentarily engulfed my vision. The events replayed, though not through the eyes, through the sight of my mind. The clarity of the scene intensified. It was as if I was reliving the twenty-fourth of December, 2020. 

I found myself awoken by the magical fragrance of morning coffee and a batch of freshly baked cookies as the smell pervaded into my bedroom, a gentle smile briefly illuminating my face. I inhaled deeply, relishing the scent that flowed through my delighted nose. Despite my active senses I was paralyzed in the depths of thought. I examined my palm, well... I examined a palm so familiar to me, the one I once had.

“Charlotte,” my mother’s voice, soft and angelic, reverberated throughout the empty rooms. “We’ve got to go to your Uncle’s,” I knew this would end badly. The mood of the room turned unpleasant. I had not seen them in a while, neither was I too keen on visiting him.

My uncle was a paunchy hermit, living remote to the nature side of life. His life was ridiculed by a series of unfortunate happenings. It made you want to feel pity on his behalf. The man’s remorse and sadness was almost tangible. His presence would set disdain on any occasion.

I breathed in the chilly air and delved back into the rhythm of my memories. I was fully absorbed. The following scene unfolded like a genie from its shiny lamp. We all loaded our bags and luggage into the BRV, peering out the Californian oasis which surrounded us.

As we traversed deeper, into the vast expanse of Nevada, our anticipation formed into concern. The car’s engine coughed and sputtered until it came to a silent halt. The steam mocking us as we got out of the car’s interior. From the serenic view, our tranquility was met by despair as we realized we were now stranded in the middle of a Nevadan desert.

We had no choice. We pushed the now useless BRV to the side of the road, as the desolate environment tightened its grip on us. Cars were sparse, and our attempts to flag someone down went unnoticed. I sat alone in the tree’s shade as the torrid Sun consumed us, it was the South-West’s curse. Wondering, pondering and other synonyms of thinking, why we had done this? This question remained hanging in the air, waiting to be answered. The day was inching to its inevitable conclusion.

A screech reverberated throughout the desert air, a couple offered us a ride to the nearby gas station, we gratefully accepted. At that time, If I could recall, I felt ecstatic. The sensation of being free, even though we were just stuck for thirty-minutes or less felt… great. 

As we got back and drove our car, the desert transitioned into the outskirts of Laughlin. He’s moved, I thought. My mother knocked on the door of a small, modern log cabin. A bearded man whose appearance was the spitting image of Hagrid answered. 

“Hi sister!” His face radiated with joy, tears of happiness shimmering in his eyes. He was my uncle.

The clock struck 10pm, we were all given our separate gifts. I eagerly tore the box’s wrapping into thin clusters of paper. As I unraveled the knots, my enthusiasm dwindled into despair. My mother looked in the box - it was socks.

• Charlotte Liu's diary, Christmas Eve of 2023.