Corona Flash Fiction: The Prize

(Obligatory Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.)

I hear the loud thud and squeak of this aircraft’s tires as it lands on the tarmac of Changi Airport. The pristine view of the orderly line of trees on the horizon is a welcome change from the lively but chaotic landscape of Ho Chi Minh City, where I’ve been in Coronavirus-induced exile for the past five months. The Singapore government finally started letting in foreign work pass holders back to the country in phases like clockwork as part of their easing plans. But the only thing that excites me right now than basking in the glorious tidiness of this country’s organized urban sprawl is giving my little Liam the tightest of hugs. And maybe a loving embrace to my trooper of a husband who’s been managing our bundle of trouble while I was away.

I waste no time. Just as soon as I get a cell signal, I pop in my wireless earphones and put my family on a video call, thankful that this may be the last time in hopefully a long time that my interactions with them are restricted to this tiny mobile screen.

My husband’s bearded face appears, scruffier than ever. He’s glad to see me of course, but he’s just as excited for our son to finally see her mother again in person. He passes the phone to Liam, who promptly asks me if I brought the space shuttle Lego set that I got him for his fifth birthday just weeks after I was stranded, a birthday I celebrated on a nine-panel Zoom call with the families from his usual play dates and both sets of grandparents.

I tell him that I have his present still packed in my suitcase. He is quite insistent in seeing it again, even though I’ve been dangling it as a prize for months if he promises to be a good little boy while I was away.

In the background my husband is giving me a condescending look, as if to remind me once again that this was a bad idea all along. I ignore him.

I figured that this present was another reason for him to look forward to seeing me, and perhaps forgive me for not being around. Kids are fickle beings, and I’m realistic enough to understand that parents need to offer an occasional bribe to their children in return for their affection.

I know It would have been more prudent for me to order his present online and had it shipped straight to our house, but I thought it would be a great way to incentivize good behavior. It’s the best I could do as a remote parent, which makes me wonder how functional separated couples are able to handle managing their kids.

Nonetheless, based on my regular checkins with the hubby, my remote parenting style seems to have worked. Liam’s usual unruliness has toned down from the time I brandished the prize. He no longer throws his veggies to the floor during his usual dinner time tantrums. He’s stopped waking up his father in the middle of the night for a glass of milk. He’s even nicer to our helper, and always reminds her to bring a mask when she goes out for groceries. It’s a drastic change from his usual impulsive, aimless energy.

Selfishly though, I figured that this present was another reason for him to look forward to seeing me, and perhaps forgive me for not being around. Kids are fickle beings, and I’m realistic enough to understand that parents need to offer an occasional bribe to their children in return for their affection.

It’s easy enough for me to rush out of my seat and grab my suitcase in this less than half empty plane as it arrives at the gate. Walking through the long hallway of Terminal 3, I’m still holding my phone, deep in conversation with my husband. Just the usual domestic updates in where I find out that the annoying old couple next door finally moved out yesterday, that one of his colleagues was finally cleared of Covid-19 after weeks in isolation, and that he’s learned how to make three kinds of sourdough bread from scratch this week. The stream of good news gives me boost of eagerness to rush back home, so I speed up my walk into a mild jog towards immigration.

As I arrive at the counters, the queues are longer than I’m used to, although expected due to the recent influx of expatriates, irritable and craving to get back to their comfy homes after months in exile. I decide to keep the video call on, but before I continue my conversation with my husband, Liam grabs the phone from him. With a toothbrush on hand, he gives me a short demonstration of how he’s brushing his teeth by himself. I applaud him of course, even though I already knew about this new skill that he’s recently acquired.

But apparently there’s more. He directs me to the shoe rack, grabs a pair of his sneakers and shows me that he can tie rabbit ears on the laces. It was still a loose knot, but it was a welcome surprise. Before I can compliment him again, he returns to his insistence in seeing the box of Lego I got him.

Now I’m starting to have doubts whether this ploy to improve his behavior was truly working. It should have right? He’s even achieved these important childhood milestones ahead of time.

My husband takes the phone back, gives me a scolding look, and reminds me again in detail about how dangling a reward for good behavior is counterproductive in actually instilling such behavior, and that it’s better to let them understand the consequences of good and bad actions.

What does he know? I mean, his explanation makes sense. But I’ve been trying my bloody best not just to connect with Liam, but to also shape his personality while I’m away. It’s been a long few months and it was hard not seeing your child grow up. I’m tired, prickly, and I just want to get home. I thought the hubby understood this.

Annoyed, I tell him it’s my turn at the immigration counter and that I’ll give them a call again later when I’m on my way.

The journey from the baggage claim to the taxi stand was a relative breeze, as I decide to take the next cab available even if it was a premium, slightly more overpriced one. My phone rings again before I could call my family, and the first thing I hear is the familiar sound of Liam’s wailing. Stating the obvious, my husband says that our son is throwing a tantrum, impatient and persistent on seeing his present.

I tell my husband that I can actually grab it from my carry-on beside me, but he’s insistent that I do not cave in. I argue that it will calm him down, but he shrugs it off and tells me that he’ll handle it. To assure me of a pleasant welcome, he says that dinner is waiting, dinner that he himself has made from scratch. That defuses my discontent for a bit, as I hang up the call. I really just want to get home.

The taxi pulls up on our driveway after an uneventful but pleasant ride through Singapore’s sleek expressways. I pay my fare, carry my luggage and head up the lift. I take out Liam’s present in a shopping bag from my carry-on to make sure it’s ready in case he decides to throw another tantrum.

Finally, I arrive in front of the familiar dark wooden door that adorns our apartment’s entrance. And just after one ring on the doorbell I hear the rushed pitter patter of footsteps, a sound that replaced the stress of recent events with pure joy.

The husband greets me with the biggest of smiles and the warmest of hugs. The smell of aromatic herbs and freshly grilled steak permeates my senses. And from the living room, I hear the words “Mommy!” in the most cheerful voice I’ve ever heard in a while. I promptly place Liam’s present beside my legs, and bend down with my arms outstretched to receive the most anticipated embrace in the history of my life.

But to my disappointment, instead of falling into my arms, my son grabs the shopping bag beside me, screams “Lego! Lego!”, and rushes to the living room in such a manic excitement that he leaves a path of mild destruction in his mad blitz; shoes from the rack disarranged, pictures from the foyer’s console table fallen, pillows from the couches kicked and splayed all over the floor.

My husband heads towards him and scolds him for not greeting his mother, while I’m at the doorway standing a little speechless, a bit more annoyed, but deep down inside, definitely much more relieved. Relieved that I’m finally home.

I brush off my son’s little blunder, crash into my bed and stare at the familiar white ceiling in our bedroom. Whatever, I’m here. And I’ll make it a point to be here for as long as I can and be a better parent from now on.