Story Notes:

            Rating: G

            Length: 2400 words

 

 

The Tale of a Rented Santa

A Christmas interlude in The Burden of Power series

 

Some people don’t believe in miracles.  They jeer at the idea of angels or divine intervention.  I was one of those people.

 

The name’s Brad.  You don’t know me.  There’s nothing special to know.  I’m just your average guy.  A wife, two kids, decent job.  Every December, I hire myself out as Santa Claus at children’s Christmas parties.  I started the Santa Claus jig while I was in high school.  Nothing noble or anything.  I’d just bought my first car, so I needed the money.  But I found myself enjoying it.  I like the wonder I see on kids’ faces, their delighted laughs at my “ho-ho-ho” and the way I can make my belly jiggle, their shy smiles as they tell me their wishes.  It makes me feel close to heaven.  So I’ve kept it up.

 

That’s how I meet Daniel.

 

Cute kid.  Six years old, so I’m told, but he must be on the short side of the scale because he doesn’t look much older than my five-year-old.  And bright.  Beyond a doubt, the brightest kid I’ve ever seen.

 

Daniel also has the weirdest family situation you can imagine.  He’s an orphan, apparently, who’s been adopted by this older guy.  A military colonel, probably washed up and sitting a desk somewhere.  There’s also this blonde woman.  Not the mom, just someone who works for the colonel guy and ended up as Daniel’s unofficial aunt.  The creepiest one, though, is this big, black dude named T-Murray.  I swear, that’s his name, although sometimes they drop the T and just call him Murray.  I don’t know how he fits into the family.  He’s like the butler or the bodyguard or something.  He watches Daniel like a hawk and calls everybody by their full name.  He wears a Santa hat all night long, but if he’s trying for Christmas spirit, it doesn’t work because he never cracks a smile.

 

The Christmas party at the orphanage is all Daniel’s idea.  He’d planned the whole thing: bonus checks for the adults who work there, new shoes and a toy for each kid, a turkey dinner with all the trimmings and a tree loaded with decorations, and me, your rented Santa Claus.  Apparently, he’s paying for it all too.  I overhear him ask the colonel if they should buy a present for the cooks who prepared the meal, and the colonel tells him, “Up to you, Danny.  It’s your money.”  Kid must have fallen into the family fortune when his folks died.

 

Homeless shelters, orphanages, and hospitals are not my favorite places for Santa Claus appearances.  It’s pretty hard to “ho-ho-ho” around kids who’ve forgotten how to hope, much less laugh.  It’s tough to listen to Christmas wishes like “I want to stop being sick” or “I want a mommy and daddy.”  You see why I had trouble believing in miracles?

 

But this party is a grand success.  I’ve never had so much fun.  Daniel’s the perfect little host.  Joy radiates from him like sunbeams, and it’s contagious.  When he talks to people, they light up.

 

When the kids get in line to visit with “Santa Claus,” the blonde woman urges Daniel forward as well.  Daniel makes sure the other kids go first, and after I’ve talked to them all, he still hangs back.  For the first time, he looks uncertain.  He glances around, gnawing on his lower lip.  The colonel detaches himself from a group of kids he’s been entertaining with juggling tricks, kneels to Daniel’s eye level, and speaks quietly to him.

 

In the end, they come up together.  The colonel stays behind Daniel, a hand on the kid’s shoulder gently propelling him closer.

 

Now, there’s a knack to being Santa Claus.  You gotta adjust yourself to each kid.  You gotta be the Santa Claus he or she imagines you to be.  It takes a little time and a lot of intuition.  It doesn’t work so well at those shindigs they have at the big-city malls, but this party is pretty laidback.  I figure I can take the time for Daniel.  He seems like a special kid, you know.  Worth the effort.

 

“Hello there, Daniel.”  I gentle my voice because he looks a little skittish, like he might bolt if I do anything sudden.

 

“Hi,” he whispers back.

 

“Do you believe in Santa Claus, Daniel?”  Six to eight is that teeter-totter age.  Sometimes they believe, sometimes they don’t.  And without that spark of belief, anything I say is meaningless.

 

He shrugs a shoulder.  “I don’t know.  I never met a Santa Claus before.”

 

Okay, that’s weird.  Maybe his dead folks were those ultra-reality people who thought their kid should be told the truth about everything, including the identity of Santa Claus.  But then again, Daniel hasn’t said that he doesn’t believe.  I guess he’s more of a fence-sitter.

 

“I heard lots of stories, though,” Daniel says, starting to look less overwhelmed and warming to the subject.  “Sam left out cookies for you when she was a little girl, and Mister General said you gived him a bike once ’cept I don’t know how you got it down the chiminy, and Janet’s house don’t have a chiminy so how did Cassie get her presents?  And how come you--”

 

The colonel’s hand squeezes gently.  “Let’s not talk the man’s ear off, Daniel.”

 

“Okay.  But I wanna know about the chiminies, Jack.”

 

The colonel sighs, and I peg Daniel as particularly stubborn when it comes to wanting to know something.

 

“Let’s see if I can explain the chimneys,” I offer.  “Do you believe in magic?”

 

Daniel considers that, tilting his head and studying me carefully.  After a moment, he says slowly, “I believe things can look like magic.”

 

“But everything has an explanation?”

 

Daniel nods.  “Prob’ly.  But sometimes it’s hard to ’splain things that look like magic, and people don’t always believe anyway.”

 

“That’s right.  What I do with the chimneys is the same way.  It looks like magic.  It’s not, really, but the explanation is pretty complicated, so I just tell people it’s magic.”

 

He seems satisfied with that.

 

I pat my knee.  “How about you come up here and tell me what you want for Christmas?”

 

He climbs up, and I can barely feel his weight.  Kid’s as light as air.  Then he stares at me.  It makes me uncomfortable, the way he seems to gaze all the way into my soul, but I let him look his fill.  Maybe he’s one of those kids who needs time to adjust to new situations.

 

“I heard what you told Julie,” he says after a while.  He points to the girl with the lisp.  She’s latched onto the big, black dude, who’s surprisingly gentle with her.  I remember Julie’s wish with a pang.  She’d asked for a family.  “You said extra-special wishes like hers were so beautiful that it sometimes takes you longer to get them right.”

 

“Do you have a wish like that?”

 

Daniel shakes his head.  “I already have everything I want.”

 

He swivels a bit on my knee so he can look up at the colonel with a brilliant smile.  The colonel gives a crooked smile in return and ruffles the kid’s hair.  When Daniel turns his attention back to me, I notice the colonel swiping moisture from his eyes.  I wonder at their history and how long they’ve been together.  Daniel seems pretty happy for a kid who’s lost his folks.

 

“I liked how you helped Julie,” Daniel continues so seriously that even his voice sounds older.  “You didn’t destroy her hope.  You were good with all the children.  I want to give you a present.”

 

“That’s not--”  But I stop in mid-protest because he’s clambering to his knees and I have to hold still so he doesn’t overbalance.   Once he’s on his knees, his blue eyes are level with mine.  He puts one hand on my shoulder to keep himself in position.

 

“Daniel…” the colonel says warningly.

 

“It’s important, Jack, and he’s never gonna see us again.”

 

I’m only half-aware of their conversation.  I’m stuck in Daniel’s eyes.  The blue turns luminous.  It’s like his eyes are made of light.  The light expands and encircles us, and everything around us becomes a shadow.

 

I think I should panic.  Then Daniel lifts a hand.  His fingertips brush my forehead.  The thought flitters away.  I’m calm.

 

Daniel starts to speak, his voice distant.  “It will be snowing when you go home tonight.  Amy will be scared.  She’s worried about Melinda.”

 

I wonder how he knows the names of my wife and teenage daughter, but again, the thought dissipates before it can take hold.

 

“Melinda will be late.  She’s banged up the car in an accident.  You find out that she’s been partying with the boyfriend you’ve told her not to see, and she’s been drinking.  She’ll come in acting like it’s no big deal, but underneath she’s very afraid.  Amy starts yelling.  Melinda’s fear starts turning into anger.  Then they look at you.”

 

It’s like a movie inside my head.  As Daniel describes it, the images play out in my mind.

 

“This is a crossroad choice,” he whispers.  “The point of two distinct paths where your choice determines the path.  Watch.”

 

This time, the images come without the guidance of his words.  I yell at Melinda, swearing at her for her disobedience and for worrying her mother, and I watch the knot of anger grow and harden.  She storms off to her room.  When Amy goes to check on her an hour later after our own anger has cooled, she’s gone.

 

“She went back to the boyfriend,” Daniel says, his voice incredibly sad, “and they overdosed on drugs.  They died.”

 

I stare at him in horror.  Melinda dies?

 

“That’s up to you.”  For the first time, I realize that Daniel’s lips aren’t moving, but somehow I’m still hearing him.  “It starts with your choice.  Watch.”

 

The scene restarts.  Amy and Melinda look at me, awaiting my entrance into their fight.  This time, I engulf Melinda in a hug.  I tell her how much I love her, even when she’s done things I don’t like, and how I will always love her and how glad I am that she’s home safe.  The knot of fear and anger melts.  Melinda begins to sob, clinging to me in a way she hasn’t for years.  Amy comes forward and puts her arms around both of us.

 

The images fade.  I’m staring into Daniel’s eyes.  Against the backdrop of deep blue, I see a galaxy of stars.  Then those, too, fade, and there is only Daniel, a cute six-year-old kid grinning at me.

 

I swallow a couple times, trying to work moisture into my dry throat.  “What did you do to me?  And how?”           

 

Daniel laughs.  “It’s like chiminies.  I just tell people it’s magic.”

 

He jumps off his perch on my leg.  When he makes it to the floor, he sways alarmingly.  His face drains of color.  The colonel grabs his arm.  Daniel stands very still as he closes his eyes and breathes in great gulps of air.

 

“I’m okay,” he says after a minute.  He opens his eyes and smiles shakily toward the colonel.  “That’s not as easy with people I don’t know.  I need more pie.”

 

“Turkey first.”

 

“Jaaaack!”

 

“Janet’s orders, buddy.  You overextend the hocus-pocus stunt, you eat protein first thing.  You can have pie after.”

 

Daniel mutters something.  It sounds like a bunch of incomprehensible syllables, but at this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s simply another language.  Daniel appears to be a kid of many talents.

 

“Okay, fine.  Turkey, then pie.”  He starts to stomp off toward the food, with the colonel hovering anxiously nearby, and then pauses.  He turns back to me and waves.  “Merry Christmas, Mister Santa Claus!”

 

It all happens the way Daniel showed me.  Melinda comes home, her clothes disheveled and reeking of alcohol.  My wife starts to yell.  Then they both look at me.  I stand there, frozen in a moment of time.  I see the two paths stretching out before me, and I swear I can hear Daniel whispering gently, “It’s your choice.”  I’m suddenly very sure that if Daniel hadn’t warned me, the choice I made would have led to Melinda’s death.  Instead, the calm I felt when Daniel touched me descends, and love wells up within me.  I reach for my daughter and embrace her.

 

Days later, with Melinda safe and apparently turning over a new leaf, I try to track down Daniel.  I figure I can at least send him a thank-you note for his Christmas present.  But the orphanage has chalked the whole thing up to an anonymous donor.  The rental agency that schedules my Santa appearances is equally at loss.  Somehow, they’ve lost the contact information, and the only thing the secretary remembers of the phone number is the prefix code for Colorado Springs, almost three hours away and much larger than our town.

 

I search the Internet next, blessing T-Murray’s habit of using everyone’s full name.  “Daniel Jackson” brings up several articles by an archaeologist, and several more by other archaeologists debunking Jackson’s radical theories.  I find nothing about a wife or relatives, and it appears Jackson went into obscurity years ago.  If he’s the dead father, there’s nothing to connect him with his son.

 

Obsessed with the need to thank Daniel, I brainstorm other ways to find him.  I’m about to start a hunt for the two military names, Major Sam Carter and Colonel Jack O’Neill, when a card arrives in the mail.  It’s from Daniel and has one short sentence:  “Say hi to Melinda for me.”

 

It’s like he’s reaching out from wherever he is and telling me, “You’re welcome.  Now pay attention to your daughter.”

 

There’s no return address.  I suddenly remember Daniel’s words to the colonel, “He’s never gonna see us again,” and I realize I’m wasting my time.

 

So, yeah, I believe in miracles now.  I think there are things that can’t be explained, at least not in a way everyone will believe, and those things often look like magic. 

 

And I believe in angels.