So, it’s that time of year again and I’m not exactly sure what I can call Christmas because it changes every year. There were the years of sitting at home with my family in a toasty room with a fire burning, our Christmas tree a mere six feet tall, hardly bigger than my father. There were the years at my new home, lying on a carpeted floor and laughing so hard that I was nearly sickened with all the Christmas spirit. There were the years that Dad would visit in the morning with our gifts, the years when I lost faith in Santa Claus, the years where my brother was finally able to believe in Santa Claus, the years I spent waiting for the day to end. There were years of excitement filling the air, the years of family uniting under a vertically challenged Christmas tree and eating chocolate pudding pie. But every year, there was always something missing. There was never any snow.

Now, don’t get me wrong. It’s not like I’m living in Florida or Texas, where snow is the most improbable natural occurrence, even in December. But in New York, yeah, it snows every once in a while, but never on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day. The clouds come to haunt us, perhaps even laugh at us for doing so much as to hope that it snows on a snow-labeled holiday.

Christmas morning had been the same every year for the past I-don’t-know-how-many-years. My sister and I would wake up and go to the living room to open presents under the tree. Then we’d hang around, perhaps play video games for a good few hours before family would start to arrive. We’d sit around the dining room eating whatever foods had been prepared and then dig into a dessert that was worthy of mouth-gasms. We’d laugh; we’d have the time of our lives. And then, we would settle down into a pair of new pajamas and have the greatest sleep prior to a new day, a new vacation, a new escape.

I wish I had appreciated those days while they had lasted.

There had been the Christmas where nobody had come, where everyone had been too busy to arrive to our house. And the four of us, my mom, my sister, my brother, and myself had sat around playing board games before finally getting dropped off at our dad’s. There was last year, where spirit was grim after the death of our dog, my pet, who couldn’t last long enough to unwrap a new bone for herself on a day of giving. And then, there was this year.

I know that there are some who have it worse than me. There are kids who have no families to spend their days with, nobody who cares about them, no home, no money, no food. There are the kids, even the ones who live right next door, who have no holiday in the first place because of religious ideals. I’m not worse off than them and if I said I was, I would easily deserve a proper slap in the face.

Christmas morning this year was like an omen as the three of us walked into the living room to find that our brother had already opened his Christmas presents. My mom gasped, screamed, her anxiety enveloping her. Me and my sister, Christy, a year younger than me, could only grimace at the sight of the pre-opened toys and hide a smirk at the humor of it all. And throughout the day, all we heard was our mom muttering, “I can’t believe he opened his presents before I could see him.”

For the third year in a row, our entire family had alternate plans. Our little brother was off to spend Christmas with his father, leaving the three hormonal women to rot in a house full of ripped wrapping paper and Christmas cookies. And so, we upped our hope of a decent day and took a ride to our aunt’s house, who was spending Christmas with her new boyfriend. Her two kids were with her ex-husband for the day as well, so it would only be the five of us spending Christmas together.

“Come on,” our mom said, grabbing her jacket. I shrugged, knowing that there was nothing better I could be doing. Christy seemed somewhat excited about getting out of the house. After all, our mom had told us we’d only been staying an hour, something which suited fine with me. So I grabbed my jacket and entered the car without second thoughts.

Ten minutes later, I found myself sitting in my aunt’s living room sipping Pepsi, a box lying on the floor.

“What’s that?” Christy asked. She tapped her foot against the box, which didn’t budge.

“It’s a fondue fountain,” said John, my aunt’s boyfriend, a triumphant look on his face. “We should try it out today.”

I nodded and glanced at the TV, which was playing Christmas music on whatever satellite channel it happens to be turned to. My mom and my aunt were sipping a beer at the kitchen table. John was looking through a bartending book he’d received and continued with that by making a series of mixed drinks from the liquor bottles under the cabinet. Christy was now looking around for a deck of cards. And then, I caught sight of their new kitten, a tiny little creature that almost made we wonder whether or not I was capable of crushing the little thing if I just happened to put my foot in the wrong place.

So cute. Meow. The little fucker was running away from me when I put my hand out. And I rolled my eyes and sat back against the couch.

Things were generally uneventful for the next hour or so, of which I found out that we would be staying longer than we’d thought. My aunt Jane had a pack of chocolate chips which we dumped into the fondue fountain after we’d slightly melted it. In the hopes of it actually working, Aunt Jane got out some biscotti for us to dip into it. An hour later, and the fondue fountain consisted of a chocolate mess, clumpy bits sticking to the fountain sides as we all grimaced at the sight of the melted chocolate.

“It kinda looks like shit,” Christy commented, and we all agreed with a forced laugh that only occurs during Christmastime.

Some more time had passed, and Christy and I found ourselves rummaging through our aunt’s DVD closet, finding a movie we liked and showing her.

“I hate that movie,” she said with a look of disgust. “You can have it.”

“Can we watch it now?” Christy asked, for she’d never seen it before and only had heard high comments on it from me and my dad. My aunt nodded and we headed up the stairs to pop the movie into her DVD player to watch.

I will never know what happened for the hour or so we spent watching the movie upstairs. But as soon as we were called down to dinner, we paused the movie and went back downstairs. Christmas dinner was steak and mashed potatoes and I realized, as I swallowed the meal, how I would have never asked for a Christmas at a table with, yes, close family, but with the absence of other people I cared about along with the presence of John, whom my sister and I despised.

Meanwhile, the fondue fountain continue to erupt with chunks of chocolate, and me and Christy headed back up the stairs, not taking any notice of the state of our mother. Perhaps we didn’t want to notice or perhaps we just didn’t look hard enough to see the recognizable smile on her face.

We never quite finished the movie. Soon, we were called downstairs by our mom.

“I just got a phone call,” she stumbled, and I winced at her slurred speech. “Stefania just got a call from her parents in Slovakia. Her grandfather died.” And my mouth drops open in a loud gasp. Stefania, our Au Pair and house-mate for the past two years, hadn’t seen her family for as long as she’d been in the United States. Three weeks earlier, the death of our grandpa had been a shock but at the same time, we’d been able to go to his funeral, to be with our family to grieve. She wasn’t able to do this, and finding out about this on Christmas, well, that must have been a nasty shock.

“So we’re gonna leave soon,” Mom finished, her eyes half open, and Christy and I gave each other a look of disdain. We all knew where this was headed. Car trip number four, at least in the past few months, where we would have to hold onto whatever we could find in the hopes of surviving the ten minutes we’d spend in the car.

I’m so sick of wondering whether stepping into the car with a drunken woman will be the last thing I ever do.

Christy and I gave each other an unsatisfying grimace as we said goodbye and Merry Christmas to our aunt and what’s-his-face. Sharing the step into the car, she grabbed the backseat while I unwillingly took the front, pulling on my seat belt and pulling the strap as tight as I possibly could without suffocating. Mom was already swerving as she pulled out of the driveway, squinting her eyes as tightly as she could, her nose just inches from the windshield.

“Watch that car!” I screamed as a car drove down the road, passing the driveway. The car halted immediately and the three of us flew forwards in our seats slightly. Now would have been a good time for me to be religious, I couldn’t help but think. Oh, the irony of Christmas and lack of prayer.

Are you punishing us? I wondered as I stared up through the windshield into cloudy, Christmas night.

We managed to make it out of the neighborhood without any incidents. Mom was staggering the car, clutching the wheel until her fists were white. If we got pulled over, this would be the end of the life as I knew it. If anything happened, this would be my last few seconds of solitude before my life would turn around or end. And what a way to spend these last few moments! I would never think that sitting in a car holding onto the door handle with a drunken mother and angry sister would be the way to go.

It would be a lie to say that the car ride was uneventful, because it was certainly eventful and it was certainly interesting. Then again, any Christmas involving ten minutes in a car with a drunk driver would be considered interesting given the circumstances. We were thankfully able to pull into our driveway without any major incidents. I stepped out of the car and felt the blood flow that was now rushing through my system freely once I was able to let out the breath I'd been holding for the length of the journey.

I stepped into the house, disgusted. Christy did the same. We both found ourselves in our brother's room, exchanging glances and scowling any time we heard her footsteps wandering in the hallway.

"I can't fucking believe her," Christy muttered and I nodded in agreement, my eyes wandering over to the new Playstation 2 that we had received earlier in the morning. My sister noticed that I was eyeing it and she nodded, rolling her eyes. "Whatever makes you happy," was what I think she said, and she left the room, probably going downstairs to spend some quality time with the Internet.

I popped in one of the new games, a ridiculous Spongebob game that I was only playing from lack of alternative options. I began to play, not hearing the heated argument between my sister and my mom outside, just beneath the window to my brother's room. I didn't hear the car starting, I didn't hear it pulling out of the driveway and I only came back to my senses when I paused the game and realized that the house was too quiet.

I don't know what the expression on my face read, but I automatically got up and wandered around my house, looking for a sign of life. There was none. Christy and my mom had gone somewhere and I was here for the time being. I didn't think anything of it. Emotionless, I dragged myself back into my brothers room and continued on my game.

A few minutes later, my mom arrived back at the house. She stumbled into her room, clutching a paper bag, I believe. I sighed when I saw her, not loudly enough for her to hear, thankfully. In a disgruntled manner, I struggled to continue that pathetic game and didn't look up from the screen until Christy came back into the bedroom ten minutes later, flushed and out of breath.

"Brianna," she said. I paused the game, turning to face her. She said my name again. "Brie."

"Yeah?" I asked, curious.

"Do you even know what was happening while you were playing that game?" I paused.

"No." I had an uneasy feeling in my stomach. Her tone didn't sound good. Whatever had happened in the past half hour, Christy was apparently not happy about it. I had the feeling that the night was going to get worse.

"Mom was going to go out to 711 for more...stuff." She didn't need to clarify. I knew what she meant, thinking of the contents of the brown paper bag she'd brought into her room.

"So where were you?" I asked.

"I tried to stop her," she said, her eyes narrowing. Anger and disappointment was written all over her face. "I stood behind the car so that she wouldn't back out. She was getting so fed up with me, she was fucking yelling and screaming at me to get out of the way. Finally, I just got in the car with her, I figured if she had me as an extra set of eyes, she could maybe drive a little bit better."

"That...wasn't a good idea," I told her.

"I know, but I didn't want her driving alone," she answered. "There's more. We stopped at 711, the one about a mile or so from here, and I said, 'You'd better not be getting more drinks.' And she was like 'So what if I do?' I was hoping she was just going to get cigarettes, crazy as that sounds, but no, she just wanted to get more drunk. On fucking Christmas." Her voice was shaking. She was getting more and more upset as she spoke. "So I got out of the car and walked home. I didn't want to be there anymore with her, she just got out of the car and went inside to get more stuff, so I left the car and walked home." She was on the verge of tears. I found myself subconciously moving over to her and giving her a hug.

"I can't believe you did that. You seriously walked back home from the 711?"

"Yeah," she said, "and it was fucking freezing. And when she was driving home, she slowed down the car as she passed me, I could have sworn that she looked at me and then she just drove on. She didn't even try to pick me up or anything. I don't think she even knows that I'm home yet."

"What do you want me to do?" I asked, moving my hair out of my eyes.

"I don't know. Can you just...just ask her where I am? See what she says."

"Yeah," I told her. I got up and opened the door that led to the hallway. Peering around the corner, I saw my mom's door open. I turned to face Christy once again, who wore an unreadable expression on her face. Sighing lightly, I pushed myself into my mom's room. She was lying on her bed, a nearly empty glass of wine on her nightstand. Her eyes were closed.

"Mom." I said. She didn't respond. "Mom." No answer. "Mom!"

Her eyes opened slowly, taking in the scene. I could almost imagine her feeling at the moment. The room spinning, her fifteen year old daughter, angrily standing at the foot of her bed asking her what could only be a major accusation. Yeah, she was in a tough position, but I wasn't about to lighten things up for her. I pressed my face into a frown and bore my eyes straight into hers. "Where's Christy?"

She didn't answer at first. Her eyes scrunched together, she sighed deeply, one hand coming to her head while the other came around and grabbed the glass of wine, finishing what was left in the glass and placing it back down on the nightstand before her eyes met mine again. "I-I don't know." Short, simple, honest. Great. More work for me, the interrogator.

"What do you mean, 'you don't know?'" I asked again. I paused. She wasn't going to answer that. "What happened?" I asked.

She shook her head. "I don't know, I don't know." Her slurs were almost unreadable. I cursed her silently.

"What do you mean 'you don't know?'" I asked again. She gave a melodramatic moan.

"I don't know where she is."

"What do you mean, you don't know where she is?" I asked, my voice getting angrier.

"We went to 711 and I got out of the car to get some stuff and I came back and she was gone and I looked for her but I couldn't find her so I drove home and she's not here and I don't know where she is!" The last part came back in an exasperated yell. I couldn't tell whether or not she was crying. I scowled in disgust.

"I can't believe you," I said. I turned around and saw Christy standing in the hallway, listening to our conversation. She saw me and nodded, so I nodded back. We both knew what we were thinking.

"She's right here," I told my mother. "She walked home. She came back a little while after you did, she's right here."

"Oh. Good." And my mom looked relieved, despite the fact that her voice showed no hint of remorse once she'd found out that her child was safe.

I exited the room and met Christy back into my own room, completely forgetting about the video games that I'd left blaring on the TV next door. Christy looked up at me, giving a slight nod as a thanks for "talking" to my mom moments before. I sat on the bed and looked at her with the most solemn expression I could muster. I soon found it was unsuccessful. I couldn't help it; I started to cry.

"Why does she do this to us?" I asked, the tears dripping slowly down my face. I was glad my voice hadn't gone yet. I was still able to keep a nonchalant composure, despite the fact that, well, I was crying.

"Yeah." It wasn't an answer, it was just an agreement of the question. Christy looked as if she were tearing too. I bit my lip. Merry fucking Christmas to you.

There was a pause. And then she said: "I think we should call Dad. Tell him to come pick us up." I nod. She continues: "I mean, he's picking us up to take us to Vermont tomorrow anyway, we might as well go there tonight so he doesn't have to drive." I nodded again. Christy searched for the phone in our room. Unable to find it, she left the bedroom for a few moments and then returned, hastily holding the portable phone in her hand. She took a deep breath, looking up at me once more before dialing. I could hear the dial tone, heard the beep of her fingers hitting the buttons to my dad's house. It wasn't on speaker phone, but I could lightly hear the sounds coming from the other end. It rang a few times before it picked up.

"Hello?" said the voice on the other end, and I recognized it as my step mom's voice. Christy said the usual, Hello, Merry Christmas, is my dad there? And seconds later, I heard my dad's voice coming from the other side of the line. I realized that I wasn't able to understand what he was saying, at least not clearly. Thankfully, it was Christy who was doing the explaining. He wouldn't have anything to say besides whether or not he would be picking us up in a half hour to take us back to his house.

Christy told the basic side of the story; she said that Mom had gotten drunk at Aunt Jane's house, that she was driving with us in the car and also driving herself out to get more to drink. She didn't mention anything about how she'd driven with my mom to the 711, or how she'd walked the mile home when she couldn't stop my mom from getting more to drink. I heard a silence on the other end. Then my dad's voice sounding like, "What do you want me to do?" For once, it seemed, it was a question that wasn't accusatory.

"Can you pick us up?" she asked slowly. "We don't want to stay here tonight. We can't stay here tonight." I heard a deep sigh come from the other end of the line, then:

"Alright. I'll be there in a half hour." That I heard perfectly clearly, but I wasn't surprised. He wouldn't leave us here when our mom was like that. Hopefully the roads wouldn't be crowded. I wanted to get out as quickly as possible, and it was hard enough with my dad living a half hour away. Some how, we managed to go back and forth between houses every so often without being completely bothered by the distance. Then again, we were used to it by now. After all, it had been the life we'd been leading for nearly ten years.

When Christy hung up, I turned back into my brother's room, turning off the video game, then headed back into my mom's room. Her refilled glass of wine was already half empty, and she was wearing a dazed expression on her face, her lips pursed as she saw me enter through the doorway.

"Wha-wha' d'you want?" she asked, her slurring becoming more obvious.

"I wanted to tell you that we're going to Dad's tonight." It wasn't a question. I wasn't asking her if we were able to go. It was a statement. We were going and there was nothing she could do about it.

She turned her head to the side and looked at her glass of wine, a mixed look of disappointment and frustration recognized by her furrowed brow. "Okay," she said. She looked a bit surprised at what I'd said, but then again, she wasn't exactly sober. And how could she be surprised? She should have expected this. There was no way we were going to stay in the house with her in this state of mind.

A half hour later, I had everything I needed to take to my dad's house. My dad was in the driveway while Christy and I headed into my mom's room for the last time that night.

"Bye," Christy whispered, and she gave my mom a kiss on the cheek before leaving the room. She called out, "Merry Christmas!" as she entered the hallway, leaving me alone in the room with my mother.

"I hope you're happy," I think she said, and I could have sworn I felt my eyes roll on their own, completely subconsciously.

"Merry Christmas," I said. I gave her a kiss on the cheek, then backed out of the room. "I hope you see that you did this to yourself."

I think she was crying now, again, but I couldn't entirely tell. I wasn't sure. I didn't stick around long enough to find out; I left the room without saying another word. Then she yelled "I love you!" and as I left the house, I yelled back, "I love you too."

Christy was already in the car, sitting in the passenger seat just like I'd expected. My dad sat in the driver's seat, looking grim.

"Hey, Dad," I greeted, and I kissed him hello before sitting back in my seat behind him. He smiled lightly.

"Hey," he answered back. "Ready to go?" And we both nodded as he backed up out of the driveway and left the neighborhood.

Throughout the drive, we explained to him the full story of what had happened. When Christy was speaking about her part of the story, when she'd gone with my mom to 711, I couldn't help but stare out the window, not registering anything that they were saying. The clouds in the sky were thick, gray, hiding the black night and the bright stars that lay above the layer of darkened fluff. I found myself staring into the street lights, dizzying myself as each one whizzed by.

And then, something caught my eye. Under each streetlight, where the light shone brightly underneath the bulb, I saw little flecks of white drifting in and out of the light. It was...snow flurries. For the first time in my life, I watched little snow flurries fall slowly to the ground, where they quickly melted before there was any opportunity for them to stick.

But it was still snow on Christmas. And for what felt like the first time that day, I let out a real smile.