Santa’s Little Thief? [FICTION]

I did not give in. I did not invite that little terror to live in my house and torture my kids or me. I did not make more work for me every day leading up to Christmas. I had enough to do with finding and wrapping presents and baking cookies and planning parties and putting up the tree and getting my husband to string up the lights and the garland. You know the lists that await us if we want our children to have the perfect holiday season. No wonder our mothers were so exhausted by the time the new year rolled in.

Yet here I sit, staring at Elvis, the elf on the shelf. Grandma bought him and grandma named him. And he does look a little lonesome tonight, hanging out on his shelf in blue-suede shoes I made myself because why wouldn’t I? But I have a feeling our little friend has been up to more than just sitting on the shelf and not because I am planning to plop him into a giant mug for a faux cocoa bath before the kids get up. Something just isn’t right about his cheerful blue eyes. Is there a hint of mischief? A taint of guilt?

I shake my head. This is ridiculous. No matter what yarns I spin for the children, that elf does not move. He also has nothing to do with my current dilemma. This is the second day in a row that I have opened my wallet to find it is short a twenty dollar bill. What on earth would an elf do with twenty dollars, especially a stuffed one? But it couldn’t be my toddlers. I didn’t take them anywhere to buy anything and my feet are painfully familiar with every toy cluttering up our house, so where did the money go.

I open my wallet again, shuffling through its contents one more time to be sure that it has gone from five twenties down to two in the past three days. “That’s so odd.” I mutter to myself, glancing at Elvis as I set my wallet back down on the counter.

Did his lips just twist into a smirk for a fraction of a second? I shudder and shake my head. I don’t dare ask my husband if he borrowed the money. I don’t want him to think I am losing my mind. Of course, I might be, since my plans this evening involve sneaking downstairs to spy on an inanimate object. For the moment, however, I must return to the task at hand.

I select a giant blue mug shaped like a grinning penguin and gently place Elvis inside. I sprinkle a little cocoa powder around the rim and carefully place a few cotton ball marshmallows in his lap. I pat him on the head.

“Enjoy your bath.”

No response from my tiny friend. “I really am losing it.”

“Yes, you are.” 

I jump. 

“Calm down. It’s just me.” My husband says from behind me as he steps in to kiss me on the top of my head. 

“Sorry. I was just focused on making this perfect.” I assure him.

“I know, honey, but the kids don’t care if it is perfect. You could just put him on a different piece of furniture every day and their imaginations would fill in the rest.”

“Says you.” I turn around to stick my tongue out at him.

“Can we go to bed now?” He asks.

“Of course.” I follow him up the stairs, taking one last peek over my shoulder before Elvis is out of sight. He smiles back at me unflinchingly from his fake cup of cocoa.

I wait until my husband’s even breathing morphs into light snores and slowly slip out of bed. I tiptoe to the top of the stairs and listen. No noises interrupt the evening calm. I tiptoe down the stairs, hugging the wall to avoid any creaky steps giving me away.

A voice in my head nags me the whole way down. “This is ridiculous. You are sneaking up on a toy. You are going to end up in the mental hospital.”

That voice disappears instantly as I reach the bottom of the stairs and peek into the kitchen. On the counter, Elvis sits with his legs dangling over the edge. He has a tiny cell phone pressed to his ear. My face wrinkles in distaste as I give a moment’s thought to where he might have been hiding such a thing. Then a frown takes its place I realize he has tossed his blue suede shoes aside.

I hear soft shushing sound that must be his voice, but I can’t make out any of the words. They stop and he closes the cell phone, hopping lightly down from the counter and taking long hopping strides toward the living room. I fully expect him to disappear up the chimney, but he waves his hands while mumbling something and the cat door flap opens for him. He slips through and out onto the street.

Should I follow him?

More importantly, did anyone think I wouldn’t? I peer out the long skinny window next to the door to see what he is doing. He bops his head up and down.

“Huh?” I clap my hand to my mouth to squash the sound.

Elvis doesn’t notice. He looks up and down the street quickly to reassure himself that all the good boys and girls have retired to their beds. He doesn’t look around again after that first glance. As he passes in front of my neighbors’ house, I open the door as narrowly as I can and still squeeze through. I send up a silent prayer of thanks that I dressed in navy blue jeans and a dark sweater.

While Elvis struts down the sidewalk as if nothing terrible could happen if anyone saw him, I slink through the shadows. I even appreciate the overgrown bushes at the intersection that normally make me fear for my safety since no one can see around them. He never turns around. He never stops bopping to whatever tunes he has chosen for this late night meander.

Eventually, the residential neighborhoods give way to a city street. I stop just under the last row of trees and observe him. He stops dancing and pulls the tiny cell phone out of the little pocket on his plush red coat. He squares his tiny little shoulders and marches boldly into an establishment called Carl’s Karaoke. I cross the street slowly and stand outside the door. 

I let a couple more minutes elapse before I muster up the gumption to open the door and step inside. A fog machine works overtime giving the room a smoky ambiance. As the door closes behind me, I peer into the darkened interior, hoping I haven’t already been spotted. After playing “Where’s Elvis?” for a few minutes, I finally spot him. He stands on a table at the front of the room, peering into an open binder as a portly gentleman in a white t-shirt and sagging khakis turns the pages and points at a line on the page. After a few page turns and brief arguments, they finally agree. The portly gentleman steps to the microphone.

“He’s back again, ladies and gentlemen, the king of karaoke, Elf-is. And he says he has a new Christmas classic for you.” His voice is deep and resonates through the room, waking up a woman who was dozing in the corner.

He leans down to lift Elvis, Elf-is, to his shoulder and raises the microphone to his tiny toy mouth. He motions to a pimply-faced college student hunched over a laptop and the first strains of “Jailhouse Rock” pour out of the speakers. I take a seat in the back and watch mesmerized as Elvis begins to sing in a disturbingly reedy voice.

“Santa threw a party on the workshop floor
The reindeer band was there and they began to wail
The band was jumpin' and the joint began to swing
You should've heard them merry toy makers sing
Let's rock everybody, let's rock
Everybody on the North Pole block
Was dancin' to the Workshop Rock
Elfie Gumdrop played the tenor saxophone
Little Joe was blowin' on the slide trombone
The drummer boy from train-carving went crash, boom, bang
The whole rhythm section was the Candy Cane Gang
Let's rock everybody, let's rock
Everybody on the North Pole block
Was dancin' to the Workshop Rock
Gingersnap said to Cranberry
"You're the cutest little elf I ever did see
I sure would be delighted with your company
Come on and do the Workshop Rock with me"
Let's rock…
Misty Toes was sittin' on a block of stone
Way over in the corner sippin’ cocoa alone
Santa Claus said, "hey, shorty, don't you be no square
If you can't find a partner, whittle one over there"
Let's rock everybody, let's rock
Everybody on the North Pole block
Was dancin' to the Workshop Rock
Fizzle Cake said to Hugs, "For Heaven's sake
No one's lookin' now's our chance to take a shake"
Hugsy turned to Fizzle and he said, "Nix, Nix
I want to stick around a while and get my kicks"
Let's rock everybody, let's rock
Everybody on the North Pole block
Was dancin' to the Workshop Rock
Dancin' to the Workshop Rock
Dancin' to the Workshop Rock
Dancin' to the Workshop Rock
Dancin' to the Workshop Rock
Dancin' to the Workshop Rock”

He finished the song to a smattering of applause and one drunken request for an encore. As he stepped down from the stage, his eyes rested on me and his triumphant smile faded. He slowly turned his head all the way around, sending a shudder up my spine. But he didn’t run. That bold little sack of cloth hopped down from the stage and came to greet me.

“I see you found me out, mom.” He calls out to be heard from the floor.

“Don’t call me that.” I pick him up so we can be face to face.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t resist. “What would you like me to call you?” He grins.

“Um… I don’t know.” I say. “But I do want you to stop stealing from me.”

He sighs and pulls my most recent missing twenty out of his shirt and hands it to me. “It was good while it lasted. At least I have a ride home after this, my final performance.”

I sigh. “Maybe it won’t have to be your final performance.” I offer as I head toward the door. “The kids would love to hear your songs, I’m sure.”

“Leaving without buying an elf a drink?” He asks, turning to gaze longingly at the bar.

“You shouldn’t be drinking.” I turn my head to frown at him.

“But their cocoa is so good…”

“Because they put a shot of something in it?”

“Oh, yes, cream?”

“Do you mean crème de menthe.”

“No. Crème de vache.” Now he is looking at me like I am crazy. “Or as you would call it, milk.”

I am carrying on a conversation with a doll, so he isn’t wrong. “Oh. I can make you that.”

“Would you?”

“To keep you from stealing from me, sure.”

“Great. Let’s go.”

I step out onto the sidewalk and as the door closes, he announces dramatically, “Elf-is has left the building.”

~~This is due on Friday, which is actually Christmas Day. It occurs to me that my dear readers might be buried under piles of cookies and wrapping paper after spending the day doing exciting things, with family even if only virtually. On a side note, I claim no ownership of the fine musical works of the non-Elf Elvis. Feel free to buy an album with the song or movie of the same name that was mentioned within this fun story from a legally licensed seller. If I weren’t worried about copyright law and people suing me for traumatizing them for life, I could make a video of my rendition of this Christmassy version of the song though. Maybe I should stop and wish you a Merry Christmas before you flee this page.~~

Christmas Off the Ward [FICTION]

I look up as the sound of wheels squeaking across the carpet alerts me to an incoming interruption. Moments later, Dale slides into my cubicle, barely stopping before running over my toes.

“Were you coming to see me?” He asks, peering down at my toes with a hint of relief.

“Nope. Just heard the early warning system.”

“Oh. Good. Good.” He nods his head with each word, obviously pondering something else.

“What’s up, Dale?” I ask finally.

“Joel…” he pauses.

“Oh. You called him already this morning?” I ask, turning back toward my computer.

We never look each other in the eyes when we discuss Joel. He has been in the hospital for a week, receiving treatments for cystic fibrosis. He has another week to go and the company Christmas party is tonight. We both know it won’t be nearly as fun without Joel. Last year, he initiated the Noel Limbo contest. The year before, he dumped tiny foam elves into the punch bowl after he realized someone spiked it. It kept the numbers of drunken coworkers down but didn’t deter the more determined revelers. I was looking forward to whatever hijinks we would be getting into this evening and don’t want to be reminded.

“He called me,” Dale says, jerking me from my sad thoughts.

“Oh.” A sad silence stretches between us again, so I add. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s feeling pretty good. Just bummed we are going to have so much fun without him.”

“He knows he brings the fun, right?”

“I told him that. He denied it.”

“So what are we going to do about it?” I ask.

“I was thinking we should go see him before the party.”

“I’ll grab some of those chocolates he likes.”

“I was thinking a little bigger than that.” He grins at me.

“How big?” I can feel my brow furrowing so deep that I must resemble a Klingon.

“A great escape…”

“But he needs to be in the hospital…”

“Okay, we will plan the escape and if he doesn’t think it is a good idea, we will scrap it and just try to smuggle in some cake after visiting hours.”

“How long have you been thinking about this?”

“Since this morning, after he hung up the phone. If you had heard how sad he was…”

“Okay. I’m in.” I jump up from my chair.

“Calm down. We can’t do anything until after work. Just be ready.” He changes the pitch of his voice for the last three words, so he sounds like he has just informed me of an important top secret mission.

“Sir, yes, sir!” I salute and return to entering data.

~~

“I wondered when you two moles would scuttle in.” Joel greets us cheerfully from his hospital bed.

We grin back. Though pale and drawn, he still brings a smile to our faces. He has attired himself in a festive cardigan and pajama pants speckled with tiny candy canes. He motions toward a padded bench on the far side of the room. 

“Have a seat and tell me what the plans for tonight are.”

“Well, how would you feel about hitting the holiday party?”

“I’d love to, guys, but I wouldn’t be much fun…”

“We just need your charm.” Dale steps into the hallway and rolls in an old-fashioned wheelchair. “I found my grandpa’s old wheelchair and we can wheel you wherever we go.”

“And whoever isn’t pushing will be in charge of any gear you need.” My eyes wander around the room, taking in monitors and tubes, and various other items I have no name for.

He pauses, frowning in deep thought before offering us a slow grin. “Where is the holiday party again?”

“The Nature Center.” Dale answers quickly.

“That close, eh?” Joel leans back against his pillow and takes a deep breath.

I step closer to Dale, waiting silently. 

Joel nods his head and reaches for a button on the side of his bed, “Let me just ask the nurse a few questions. When she gets here, could you step out.” His cheeks flush as he makes his request.

“Of course.” I say, wondering what he doesn’t want to discuss in front of us, since he is always willing to educate us about his condition. 

Dale nods his head. A few minutes later we are waiting in the hall. I don’t know what to say and Dale is always most content to stand in silence, so we lean against the wall and watch nurses and doctors hurrying past with more important things to do than notice us.

Quicker than I anticipated, the nurse steps into the hallway, pushing the empty wheelchair. “My patient isn’t going anywhere in this rickety museum piece.” She frowns at us.

“Oh.” I try to hide my disappointment. “I guess we better get going?”

“Not so fast. I am going to loan you one of the hospital wheelchairs, but no monkey business or I will make you volunteer your veins for aspiring phlebotomists to practice on.” She grins in a way that leaves no question that she is serious.

Soon we are on our way to the holiday party. Due to a little sneaky texting by Dale, our coworkers greet Joel with all the aplomb due to the jolly red-suited man himself. He stands briefly to make a dramatic bow then spends an hour being wheeled around and catered to before we sneak him back into the hospital where a new nurse frowns at us as she helps him out of the wheelchair. She puts a stethoscope to his chest and back and then shoos us after she has reassured herself and us that we have not returned him in worse condition than we found him.

“Thanks, guys, can’t wait to see you at work again.” He calls out, adding a slightly breathless “Ho! Ho! Ho!”

The nurse pulls the curtain closed with the harsh sound of metal running along metal. That sound haunts me as we return to catch the tail end of the party. We left the Christmas spirit back in his hospital bed, fighting for his life day after day and somehow enjoying every minute of it.

~~I think I have Cystic Fibrosis on my mind because I recently listened to a podcast about two sisters living with it. . Of course, my quick research to write this piece didn’t make me feel competent to describe all that goes into caring for yourself when your lungs aren’t working with you, but if you want to help, you can always donate and/or educate yourself. 

And now I am really wishing I had the forethought to get this posted for giving Tuesday. I actually remembered to donate a little to the cause on Giving Tuesday, but it is never a bad time to show love and support to those who are struggling, so think about it, will you?~~

Not A Christmas Story

“And the worst job ever is…”

“Having to trim the holly.” My sister finishes for me as she hands me the shears handle first.

I take them gingerly, frowning at her. “You act like you are giving me a gift by letting me do your chores.”

“Carol, if you didn’t want to do my chores, you would get a job.”

“I had a job…” I protest as I step out onto the porch, peering at the prickly leaves of the holly bush warily.

“And you decided going for a sleigh ride with your boyfriend was more important.” She scoffs.

“It wasn’t a sleigh. It was the middle of summer. We went jet skiing.”

My sister shudders. I love how the thought of anything that moves with great speed terrifies her so much. It actually makes me feel a little merry. She always notices when joy enters my heart and tries to squash it. Her hand slides into her pocket to make her lucky coins jingle. Her thin lips pull back from her teeth.

“I don’t care if a reindeer starts singing you a song, you don’t leave your workplace when you agreed to be at work.”

“What song?” I decide to poke the bear.

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, if the reindeer was singing ‘Snowman' by the Clarks, I would have to leave. Otherwise, they would probably fire me for singing along.”

She rolls her eyes. “Just trim the holly and then come help me make lunch.”

“Cheer up, sis. I’ve got this.” 

“Good.” She slams the screen door and disappears back into the house.

I go to work. I make it halfway through carefully removing offending branches without incident. Then I let my mind wander for a second to that fabulous trip to go jet skiing. The next thing I know, a drop of blood wells up to ornament my fingertip with its painful crimson reminder to pay attention to what I am doing. I mutter under my breath and carry on.

That first injury leads to more. By the time I finish up, my hand throbs uncontrollably. Deep down, I wanted to give up, but I knew my sister wouldn’t accept anything short of me passing out from blood loss as an excuse for failing to finish this task. I step through the door to find her on her knees before the coffee table. Shoes are strewed out on its surface. She has one in her hand, peering at it like an elf whose one true love is cobbling shoes. The glare she offers me somehow intensifies the impression. I stifle a giggle and show her my hands.

“I finished,” I declare proudly on my way to the kitchen.

“You are a bigger mess than Chevy Chase.” My sister informs me as she stands up and joins me.

“Who?” I ask, gently massaging the soap into my skin to get the blood off.

“You know. That actor who was in all those movies where ridiculous things happened to him and his family.”

I shrug. “You know I never got into mom’s movies.”

“You really are hopeless, aren’t you?”

“Yep.” I smile as I dry my hands. “I left all the hope for you…”

She rolls her eyes and returns to her shoes. I don’t bother to ask as I take my aching hands upstairs to ponder where to get my sister a lump of coal. I should always have one on hand for her when he holidays come around.

~~I know you were expecting the title to be a lie, but this really wasn’t a story about Christmas until I tacked that last bit onto the end because even a Grinch like me has to get into the holiday spirit eventually. Hope you have found some joy and cheer already in these questionable times. I am hoping to awaken mine more fully with some holiday baking with my tiny humans tomorrow. Anyone who knows me realizes this a dangerous proposition. I am probably going to end up using some green garland as a lasso to get the little clones down from the ceiling…~~

Chance Meetings [FICTION]

 “Buffet style pizza? Really? Do you ever grow up?” I roll my eyes at my brother as I step out of his car and survey his new favorite eating establishment.

“You know how Mark and Jim are. This way everyone gets what they want and it just keeps coming.”

“What about Sally?” I reference our health fanatic of a sister.

“They have a salad bar, so she can eat like a rabbit.” He wrinkles up his nose and nibbles delicately at the air.

We both giggle. I turn toward the door, looking for my sister and brothers. My eyes light on a familiar face. I pause trying to place it. 

“Hey, Eli.” My brother makes a salute at the newcomer as he steps closer to me and puts a bracing hand on my shoulder.

I shake him off and picture dark curls spilling over the now bald pate of the man before me. He offers me a slow grin and opens his mouth. Before he can offer whatever insult or back-handed threat is about to cross his lips I step forward and unload emotions that have been pent up for the past couple of years following graduation.

“Eli Smith, I can’t believe you are still around. Shouldn’t you be in prison somewhere? Or at least hiding from the law and other decent folks. But since you are, I think you owe me about a thousand dollars after inflation…” I finish lamely, feeling my cheeks flush as the anger dissipates and I question the wisdom of verbally attacking a hulking man who used to torture me when we were children so he could steal my lunch money.

“Oh, Ellen, I knew I’d see you again someday.” He grins and leans down to wrap his arms around my waist and lift me easily from the ground.

I squeal and begin batting his broad shoulders with my clenched fists as he swings me around like an over-sized rag doll. “Put me down. What do you think you’re doing?”

He laughs. “I want to apologize for how I treated you as a kid, but I didn’t think you’d stand still for it, so here we are.”

I stop squirming, lifting a questioning eyebrow. “Apologize?”

“Of course. I don’t have a thousand dollars on me though.”

“We can revisit that after the apology…” I stretch out the last word as he gently lowers me to the ground.

He raises his hand up to anxiously brush his shiny dome. He sees my eyes trace the movement and grins again, lowering his eyes to the ground as he begins to speak. “Maybe nature is punishing me a little for a what a turd I was when we were kids.”

I open my mouth to make a comment but my brother grabs my elbow and pulls me back a step, so Eli’s words flow uninterrupted, “I really am sorry for how I treated you, Ellen. I tried to get your phone number, but no one would give it to me.” He raises his hand as I open my mouth again, “And I completely agree with their decision not to. I mean, I really was horrible to you.”

“I agree.”

“And though I can’t go back in time and be a better person, I hope that if you ever need anything, you know that I owe you and I’d be honored to pay off that debt.”

My heart softens as I notice tears welling in his eyes. “At least a thousand dollars.” I allow my lips to quirk upward in an awkward smile.

“If that is what you need,” he opens his wallet and starts counting the bills inside, “I can make a down payment.”

“How about if you just be a good person from now on?” I say.

“That’s the goal.” He grins at me. “Would you like to join me for worship services tonight?”

I blink and look at my brother who shrugs, so I say, “Maybe next time. Let’s take this slow.”

He blushes. “Sorry. I just wanted you to see how I have changed.”

“I believe you. It’s just…”

“Sudden. Yeah. Got that.” He holds up his hands appeasingly as he backs away from me. “I better just grab my pizza and head home. Nice to see you, Ellen. John.” He nods to my brother. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Will do.” John says as he takes my arm and leans in to whisper in my ear. “While you process, let’s find a table, alright?”

I nod numbly, watching my nemesis walk away.

~Isn’t this the perfect season to forget old grudges. I doubt many of us will get an apology from people who hurt us. Honestly, they probably didn’t realize how their choices or jokes or even malicious actions hurt us. But isn’t it better to forgive and move on than to let them keep dragging you through the mud. Who needs mud when you could have hot cocoa?~