Letters to Santa

The child's scrawl on a Christmas card—such a small, yet special thing. The malformed letters were squished and scrunched every which way in the cramped space beneath a canned greeting, drafted by some man or woman who spent the day coming up with, "Season's Greetings!" while watching the clock tick slowly toward the magical hour when the slog of coming up with fresh holiday greetings ended. This special card was reserved for the Head Elf himself. Santa. Saint Nick. Kris Kringle. Pere Noel. However a child referred to him, it was all the same. This, though, was Blake's first-ever missive to anyone, and when the child placed the card in the mailbox, he hoped it would reach its intended recipient.

In spidery letters, all capitals, the inscription read:

Dear Santa,

I don't want anything for Christmas. Someday, could you visit me? If I deserve a lump of coal, I'll know why. You see all. I liked your TV show with the reindeer.

Your friend,

Blake

The boy patted the door of the mailbox shut, tossed a look over his shoulder as he wandered back into his house, and hoped his wish would come true..

Days, weeks, months, and years passed. Blake eventually gave up expecting Santa's visit, and after a time, he forgot he had ever sent the card. In an extravagant wedding several years after college, Blake married Marisa. After two years, Blake and Marisa welcomed Anna. Two years after Anna's arrival, they welcomed Santiago. Blake's job took him to places near and far, and he wasn't home as much as he hoped when he married his wife and fathered children. He became lonely during his travels, and eventually, he met someone here or there. The thing about Blake: he didn't feel guilty. He was in a situation, had an itch to scratch, and there were ladies willing to scratch the itch. If it had been an actual itch, he would've gone to the pharmacy to pick up some hydrocortisone to remedy the problem. He didn't see how his search for friends on the road was any different. Although Blake was unfaithful to his wife, she was still right next to the center of his universe—the center being Blake, of course—and she was also the mother of his children. Perhaps motherhood had stolen some of her shine, and perhaps some of her lost luster contributed to Blake's itchiness.

Marisa viewed her marriage quite differently than Blake. She worked three ten-hour shifts every week as a nurse. At the end of the third day, she would arrive home exhausted, but with Blake gone so much of the time, she took on the dual-parent role. When Santi entered kindergarten, Marisa learned to carve a car for the Pine Wood Derby. When Anna joined Brownies and choir, Marisa delivered cookies, candles, coffee cakes, and wrapping paper. Marisa eagerly awaited Blake's return no matter how drained she felt. She loved her husband to his marrow, missed him deeply when he was away, and pulled out all the stops to make every homecoming memorable, something that would tether Blake to the sanctity of their union.

At this time of year, the stores filled with Christmas music, lights, and bright shiny decorations. Marisa, a petite woman with olive skin, dark brown hair, and dancing green eyes, loved Christmas with a fervor only matched by children held in thrall by the promise of Santa and presents. Marisa, Anna, and Santi wanted to go to the department store to ride the kiddie train that ended right in front of the platform where Santa held court. Blake, quite tired from his travels, and all manner of meetings, agreed. In the lead up to the holiday season, Marisa purchased matching hats, scarves, socks, and mittens for the four of them. Blake found it hard to wear the thick socks and complained how difficult it was to get his feet situated comfortably in his shoes, but seeing the flash of joy on his wife's and children's faces led him to choosing slightly looser shoes to accommodate the socks. Their troubled looks melted away once they knew Blake was on board with the seriousness of family solidarity through coordinating accessories. The family bundled up before making their way to the subway.

When they reached the department store, there was a long line for the train.

"We can skip the train and go right to the second line to wait for Santa," Blake said.

Marisa raised a frown, but before she could say anything, Anna, begged, "Daddy, half the fun is riding the train. We have to ride the train."

Anna was a tiny thing who took after Marisa. Santiago looked more like Blake with his white-blond hair and puppy dog brown eyes. Blake could never deny Santi. At five years old, Blake hoped that Santi's life took a different turn than his own. He hoped Santi would find a job he truly loved, something that fulfilled him and gave him plenty of time with his family. Blake looked at his wife, children, their lives together, and he wished he had taken a different path, one that didn't take him away from Marisa and the kids. He wished he had been a better man and committed to his one true love. But he absolved his guilt with the hydrocortisone analogy.

Marisa and Santi fit on one of the tiny train cars, and Blake took Anna on the car right behind them. They deboarded right in front of a grand Christmas tree, decked out in lights, tinsel, and a smorgasbord of ornaments. They curved around the tree to see a cottage that looked like it was put together with sparkling sugar cookies and candy canes. The air smelled, in turns, of hot cocoa or rum-laced eggnog or spiced cider. They had landed in a Christmas assault on their senses. And there were elves. Some were adults, and some children, and none looked like their costumes had come from Party City or central casting. There was something magical about this particular day, this particular time, and this particular location.

Blake's phone buzzed in his pocket. He withdrew it to see it was a work 'friend.'

"Marisa, it's a work call. I have to take this. Are you okay moving forward with the kids?" he asked, and he fixed a look on his face to indicate he was put out by the call.

Marisa's face fell, but she was used to being both parents for the majority of her waking hours. She nodded. "Can you be quick, though? I don't want you to miss Santa."

"This will be just a moment," Blake answered before stepping out of line.

After completing his call, with a sheepish look, Blake returned to his family.

"Nothing serious, I hope," Marisa said.

"Nothing that can't wait until next week," Blake answered, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck. Marisa took Blake's free hand and gave it a squeeze.

They reached the front of the line, and Santa greeted all four of them by name. "Ho, ho, ho, if it isn't Blake, Marisa, Anna, and Santiago!"

Blake was taken aback. He wondered if this was a personalized experience and Marisa had registered for it. The Santa who sat on the big chair in front of him and his family looked so real. He was the Santa that Blake dreamed of when he was a boy.

Each of Blake and Marisa's children approached Santa, sat on his knee, and gave him a list of three things they wanted for Christmas.

Santa's eyes sparkled, and he chuckled gaily. "Santi and Anna, I'm making a few visits this evening to special children on my list. It's a very long list, and it has taken me many years to make my way through all the requests. Would you like me to visit your apartment with a couple of my elves? Jingle and Sparkle love to make visits with me."

The children nodded enthusiastically. Marisa wondered if Blake had registered for an up close and personal experience with Santa Claus. She was rendered speechless. The children hopped off Santa's lap, and he reached forward to take hold of Marisa's hand. His blue eyes trained on her, and he said melodically, "I will see you at 6 p.m., on the dot."

Santa released Marisa's hand, which seemed to be the cue to move on. Marisa and the kids made Christmas cookies when they returned home. Blake worked on hanging Christmas lights on their balcony. His work didn't take long, and he moved into the kitchen to see his wife and children at work. Marisa looked up to see him watching them.

"Join us. We've got the first batch about ready to come out of the oven. You can stir the icing." She held out a small whisk and bowl.

They decorated cookies until there was a knock at the door—at precisely 6 p.m.

"That's strange," Blake said. "The front desk didn't buzz anyone up."

"Oh, it's probably Santa," Marisa said absently. "He said he'd be here at 6, sharp." She gave a nod, glancing at the wall clock. She paused her work on wreath-shaped cookie to direct her children, "Anna, Santi, go ahead and answer the door."

As soon as the door opened, Santa burst in with two elves in tow. Jingle and Sparkle. Jingle was around 5'10", looked like a Rockette, and, actually, was dressed like a Rockette. Sparkle could have been Marisa's sister, with her lustrous black hair and light eyes. Blake remained in the kitchen while Marisa and the children received their guests and settled them in the living room.

Santa was just laying out a large bag when Blake entered the room with a tray of cookies. He stopped dead in his tracks. Sparkle and Jingle looked just like two of his work 'friends.' Each of the elves looked Blake directly in the eye, and he didn't know which way to look first. He felt his bowels loosening, and he his shirt dampened under the arms. Marisa looked at Blake curiously.

Santa reached into the breast pocket of his jacket to remove his glasses and two envelopes. "Ho, ho, ho. It takes me so much longer to get through all of my visits nowadays because children send emails instead of letters, and there are so many to go through, and we have to reconcile everything against the naughty and nice lists. It's a whole process," he said while situating the glasses on his nose.

"Anna, Santi, did you know your mom and dad were once children just like you?" Santa asked. The children nodded.

"I've seen pictures of Mommy, and she looked just like me!" Anna crowed. "She's so beautiful, and I'm going to be beautiful just like her."

"Your mom has been on Santa's nice list for as far back as I can remember," Santa laughed. "And I hope you will be, too."

"What about our dad?" Santi asked. "Has he always been on the nice list, too?"

"Well…" Santa said, "I think your dad has had his fair share of time on the naughty list, which is part of the reason I'm here today, kids." Santa looked at everyone in the room, and Blake's forehead visibly beaded with sweat.

"I have two envelopes here," Santa continued. "Your mom and dad each wrote a letter to me when then were much younger. Your dad asked me to visit, and here I am."

Santa read Blake's letter to the children, and they were unimpressed. Blake breathed an audible sigh of relief afterward. Santa reached into his bag to remove a very large lump of coal. It was black as night and contained sparkles like tiny stars. Santa boomed, "Blake you are on the naughty list. Isn't that right, Sparkle? What do you say, Jingle?" Both elves nodded. Blake was, indeed, very naughty.

Marisa took in the scene, her eye darting back and forth between Santa, the elves, and Blake. "Ah, children," Santa said, pushing his glasses back up his nose. "Here's your mother's letter. She sent it when she was around ten years old. She was a little bit older, but I have always loved this letter, and imagine my surprise when I found she and your dad were a couple." Santa read Marisa's letter:

Dear Santa,

I want a good man some day, someone like my dad. He brightens every room he walks into, and my mom's eyes light up every single time she sees him. He brings her flowers, opens car doors, washes the dishes, and he's always in her corner. That's what I want.

Still a believer,

Marisa

Santa got up from the couch and squatted in front of where Marisa was sitting. He sat facing her and gripped her shoulders. "Look me in the eye, Marisa. As you and most every child knows, I have lists, and I see all the good and bad boys and girls. I see them when they're little, watch them grow up, have their own little ones, and watch them exit this life. I don't have to go digging up the past because I see it every day, and I remember everything I've seen when I look at the lists." Marisa was completely enraptured. Her pupils were dilated, leaving just the thinnest border of green. Santa held her gaze. "This is very important, Marisa, for both you and your children. You have a big decision you get to make today. Your husband is on the naughty list, and you're on the nice list. It can't be much of a surprise, can it?"

Marisa looked deep into Santa's eyes, slightly spellbound. "It's not a surprise, Santa. He's not careful about what he leaves in his pockets or his suitcase or about cleaning off the smell of another woman's perfume or lipstick on his shirts. He's naughty."

"Kids, why don't you take Jingle and Sparkle into the kitchen to show them the cookies we made?" Blake directed. His voice audibly hitched when he uttered the elves' names. The children saw some kind of drama unfolding in the living room and wanted to see how it played out, but they were more afraid of disappointing their parents—and Santa, truth be told. They capitulated and went into the kitchen.

Santa broke eye contact with Marisa. She looked at Blake. Her flawless olive skin began to redden. "I decide?" she asked.

"You decide," Santa gently patted her hand. "When Blake was a boy, he said he would accept what he deserved. What do you think he deserves, Marisa?" Santa reached for his bag, dragging it close to where he sat with Marisa. "Would you like to see what's in my bag?"

Marisa nodded. Santa withdrew a binder. He opened it and began to page through the contents. "Ah, here we are." Marisa leaned forward. "Blake can spend the next year in the North Pole, making toys for good boys and girls. You'd be surprised how many naughty boys and girls see the error of their ways after spending a year in the North Pole. I couldn't match his current salary, and that's why I have an option for you to consider." Santa paused, cocking his head as if he could pick up something just out of earshot. Marisa looked around, and when her gaze landed on Blake, he looked ashamed, terribly ashamed. She startled when there was a knock at the door.

Santa gave Marisa a nod to answer the door. At the door stood Marisa's high school boyfriend, Griffin. "Marisa, hey," he said gathering her to him in a hug. He closed his eyes, relishing the feel of her body against him. "You are never going to believe this," he said. "I just finished my last year in a medical mission in the Gambia, and I ran into Santa earlier in the day when I took my nieces to the Santa Train. He said you might be changing your living situation and might entertain having a roommate."

Marisa stepped back, glancing over her shoulder at Santa, whose eyes gleamed with whimsy and mischief. She turned back to her old boyfriend. She looked at Blake, her husband who betrayed, not just once, but many, many times. She viscerally felt the sting of the trust Blake had broken. She heard the sounds of her children in the kitchen with the sexy elves who seemed to have intimate knowledge of her husband. She looked again at Santa.

"Would you like to see the list of Blake's friends?" he asked. Blake visibly paled, but he made no attempt to defend himself and, more importantly, he didn't beg for Marisa's forgiveness or make promises not to continue on his current path.

"What if I don't want him back after a year?" Marisa asked.

"Ho, ho, ho. You don't know how many times I've been asked that one. I can keep him, if he chooses to stay, or he can come back, and you two can decide together what happens. Either way, it's up to you."

Marisa looked at her handsome ex-boyfriend, her husband, and the jolly, old elf. She looked down at her hands, fingers fluttering as if she were making calculations. Blake looked guilty, not penitent. Griffin's eyes sparkled as his gaze took in Marisa, the first girl he ever loved, and she saw the flame that still burned behind his deep blue eyes.

"Would the children be allowed to visit their father?" she asked while maintaining firm eye contact with Griffin.