Santa's Present

I have pretended to be Santa Claus for almost 15 years. The kids love me, because I’m short like them and I have learned how to make my eyes twinkle as they walk up to me. As you might imagine, kids ask for all sorts of stuff, from the latest and greatest toys to pets to a new husband for mommy. I wear the black boots, red pants and red coat with the white fur fringe. I was born with red hair and the fair skin that comes with it. A thumb twist of red makeup on each cheek finishes the costume. I skip the hat.

Today, I was playing the part at a mall in upstate New York, maybe 30 miles from home. I have gained enough reputation that I can work anywhere from Buffalo to Syracuse to Jamestown or even Binghamton. Today  was a 6 hour gig from 2pm - 9pm with two 15 minute “Hot Cocoa” breaks and a 1 hour “Feeding his reindeer” break. 

The day had been going well. I endured only about half a dozen criers and was seating anywhere from 30 to 60 kids an hour. My female elves knew what they were doing and kept the flow of parents moving with smiles and easy encouragement. I always brought my own photographer and best friend, Pete. He could frame up a shot faster than anyone and seemed to be able to snap off smile after smile with few frowns. He was also a master photoshopper, who could add smiles where needed in a few seconds.

I ambled back to the set after my second “Hot Cocoa Break” to find just one family waiting. The father stood a bit taller than me, no surprise, and was squared away. Mom looked awful young. She wore a knee length dress with a couple of stains well faded from lots of cleaning. Their son stood confident with shiny black hair, brown black eyes, a green short sleeve shirt, brown corduroy pants and scuffed white sneakers. 

The elves and Pete had not made it back, yet. I sat and launched into my shtick with a booming “HO, HO, Ho and who have we here?” The kid was maybe three years old, yet he marched right up to sit on my lap. “What’s your name, young man?” I asked cheerfully.

“I know your real name, Mister.” Without letting concern reach my eyes, I studied the boy. Nope, don’t recognize him. 

“Well, aren’t you smart.” I threw back.

“I also know what you need.” He stared straight at me.

I tossed out a Santa chuckle. “Now just a minute young man, I’m hear to listen to you.” I glanced over at the parents. They watched their son with pride. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Where was Pete?

“You need forgiveness for Sarah Jane.” This interview just moved beyond creepy.

“OK, kid, you’re done.” I shooed him off my lap. “Mom, Dad come get your kid.” I barked. As they came to retrieve him, I tried to place them. Nothing. Never seen them in my life that I can remember.

Mom catches my eye. “Did Jay upset you?” She asks. What he said went way beyond ‘upset,’ but I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. 

“No, ma’am. He just doesn’t seem to want anything of Santa today.” They walked off and left me thinking of Sarah Jane. I hadn’t thought about her in years. Couldn’t think about her actually. Forgiveness. How could this kid know? 

I had been Santa so long that I winged through the last couple of hours on autopilot while memory dragged me back to 20 years before. Lucy and I met at drama school. She carried that magic that the movie industry demands. When Lucy walked into a class the talking ran out. When she read a part, you couldn’t help but believe. Out of all the men going for her, she liked me.

We spent hours talking over coffee, running lines together, rewriting each other’s scripts and sharing our lives. About a month into our friendship and it happened. We were running lines for a romantic sketch. At the end of an intense scene we were to kiss. It wasn’t pretend from either of us. As the script pages fell on the floor, we fell into each other’s embrace and didn’t stop until deep into the night. 

The joy of being with Lucy shot us both to the head of the class. We were getting the best parts and killing. By spring, Broadway producers and directors were sitting in the seats for some of my best work. With Lucy, I might head to Hollywood. Then Lucy was getting sick every morning. Her face puffed around the eyes. She was pregnant. Wow, did her eyes flair with joy. Me, I wasn’t near so excited. What would this mean for our acting days?

At first, not much. As the baby grew, Lucy shared more and more energy with the baby. She didn’t have it for the lines. My own worry stretched its fingers throughout my performances. Finally, one of the instructors took me aside. ‘Listen, you need to do something. You two are blowing a great future for a fetus. Lucy is sick half the time. She is tired and you are way out of sync. You need to go to a clinic or something. I have a couple Hollywood directors flying in next week. Get this solved.’

I listened. His speech sounded like he pulled from my thoughts. I sat Lucy down that afternoon. “Lucy, Dr. Lowellyn has a couple of friends coming from Hollywood next week. One of them worked on Bridges of Madison County.”

“Wow, that’s great. Do we want to know the baby’s gender ahead of time, do you think?”

“Lucy, about the baby. We haven’t been ourselves, our best, since the baby came along.  I’m not the only one who thinks so, honey. Dr. Lowellyn is worried about our future.”

Lucy hung her head. “I’ve been thinking about our careers too. Maybe I will need to take a break for a few years. We can support you.”

“Dear, the baby is in our way. We are young with lots of time for babies. We need to focus on making a life for ourselves first.”

“What are you saying?”

“We need to go to the clinic off campus and get it taken care of.”

“You mean I need to abort our baby.”

“I mean you need to support our future.” We talked long into that night and I wore her down. “I will go with you tomorrow, Lucy. We will see this through together.”

It was a horrible mistake. I thought an abortion was like getting a tooth surgically removed or a tummy tucked. She would go to sleep, have careful surgery and wake up feeling fine. As I helped Lucy out of the office she mumbled, “They called her Sarah Jane. Her name was Sarah Jane.” All the female babies were Sarah Jane, named for their founder or main donor or something like that. 

Lucy was wrecked. Her body didn’t unclench for the better part of two days. She fell from divided energy to none. Our relationship was done. She left me and the school two weeks later. I’m a master Santa impersonator, so you can see where my career ended up. 

I finished my performance, thanked the mall people and the elves, then helped Pete take things down. I was still a good enough actor to fool him. Within five minutes he was pacing off to his car with his arms loaded with equipment without a thought for me. Frankly I was grateful to be alone.

“Jimmy? James Carrigan! Over here!” And there she was. Would this night never end? There was Lucy. She stood with a gentleman who could only be her husband. They wore rings. On her left stood a teenage young man who looked like Dad and on her right stood a young lady who looked like the Lucy I remembered. Once she caught my eye, Lucy started into a sprint. With a girly leap she landed in my startled arms hugging me. “I have been thinking about you most of the day, Jimmy.”

Before she could launch into anything, I cut her off. “Lucy before you start, I HAVE to tell you what happened today.” With as much detail as I could pull to mind, I told her about the family, the boy and his mention of Sarah Jane. Lucy’s family had gathered around and was listening intently.

“Jimmy, let’s go sit in the food court where we can talk.” I excused myself to the bathroom, changed into “civilian clothes” and joined Lucy and family in the food court. “Jimmy, I know you tried to find me 20 years ago. I just couldn’t let you. About three weeks after I left, I was out for a walk and not sure I would come back. My insides were still killing me. My heart was broken and my future was gone. As I was walking, a family met me from the opposite direction. The Dad stood a bit taller than you. The Mom looked our age then, maybe younger. The boy wore a green shirt and a precocious look. The Dad, Joseph, asked if they could join me. I shook my head ‘No,’ but they ignored me and crossed the road. Joseph was a carpenter. Mary his young wife and the boy was their only child. None of this meant a thing to me at the time.

As we walked, I relaxed for the first time since the abortion. After several minutes, the boy caught my eye. “Miss Lucy, You need forgiveness.” I stopped breathing. Next I knew Joseph was holding me up.  Mary gave me a drink from her trendy skin cantine and I revived. Just a few more minutes and we entered a small town. The lights were on at a small church. The four of us climbed the two front steps and found a seat in the back pew.

For some reason the pastor was preaching on the Christmas story in May. He told of Joseph the carpenter and Mary his young teen bride. He told of Mary returning home from her cousin Elizabeth’s while 7 months pregnant. Joe was going to divorce her, until God intervened. ‘Why didn’t he intervene for me?’ I wondered. The pastor told of their marriage and trip together to Bethlehem and baby Jesus being born. Such feelings of hate boiled, Jim. I hated Mary for getting to have her baby. I hated you for talking me out of it and I mostly hated me for ever walking into that clinic. I missed most of the rest of the pastor’s message. I guess he told stories from Jesus’ adult life.

I tuned back in when the pastor took us beside mother Mary at the foot of the cross. Mary had watched her son die a torturous death, even as little Sarah Jane must have went through. I still see her little face contorted in pain, Jim. They didn’t get her away before I saw her face. Mary watched Jesus’ extended death. I broke down. All the guilt, pain, fear and sadness just poured forth in great sobs. A little hand wrapped around my pinky finger for a second, as the pastor wrapped up.

‘Mother Mary allowed her son to die for your guilt and mine.’ He proclaimed. ‘No matter what causes your guilt, God is ready to forgive. For though Mary’s son went into the grave a broken body. He arose three days later as the son of God.’ The little boy’s grip tightened. I glanced down and no one was there! I scanned the whole church. The family was gone. ‘I invite you now to come and find peace with God through Jesus.’ I lay on the altar in tears for the better part of an hour. The pastor and his wife counseled and prayed with me and that little hand seemed to cling to my pinky the whole time.

Then God brought other miracles in my life. I never thought I would be able to trust a guy again, until Mark met me. We married with no hope of having children. My Ob/gyn was sure I could never conceive because of the abortion damage.”

“Well there is no way you can deny either of these children,” I answered, “especially you, young lady. You are your mother all over again. So you set that family on me.” I blamed Lucy.

“Not exactly. God has brought you to mind for the last few days and I have been praying that you would find God from the same sort of experience that I had. I had no idea you were even around here, until we turned the corner and saw you in costume.”

Feelings I had buried for over 15 years surged to the surface. I sunk into the table forehead on forearms shaking in tears. In great mercy, Lucy wrapped her arms around my shoulders, while the rest of the family gathered and prayed for me. In the middle of all the talking, prayer and confessing I felt a little boy’s hand wrap around my thumb with love.