Song Selection: Santa Claus is Coming to Town—Sugarcult

My arms are locked around her tiny waist, my breath caught like a bubble in the back of my throat. The air is too thin to breathe, it has to be, I can't tell you how high up we are, high enough that the houses and roads below look like the Mickey Mouse City rug my nephew plays cars on. But I breathe the chilly air in easily. She throws back her head, bumping her neck into my forehead. "He really likes you!"

All I should hear is the scream of the winds. Both my eardrums have all ready popped; to all of you who have ridden in an airplane before, you can understand that it isn't a fun experience.

But I can understand every word she says. I'm tired of pointing out that "things don't add up," when I'm on a reindeer's back, flying, not dead, when the hellcat spun out on the ice. I've decided a) I'm in a coma or b) these are my last neurons firing into some weird Christmas-themed pattern. Either way, I clutch her tighter, because no matter how real this is, I'm not pushing my luck.

"So." I clear my throat. "He fell?"

She turns her head, to look at me, I'm sure, but I just get an even bigger mouth full of hair. "My dad's the magic-est of all the magical. The reindeer love it."

"Uh huh." My knuckles are white.

"I'm just not magic enough," she continues, "which, I guess makes sense. I guess. He's hundreds and hundreds and hundred. It's natural, for him to be better at it." Her sigh is warm. "But he likes you. Why? You work with animals?"
"No. I cut vegetables for one job and deliver packages for the other, and then on the side..." I let my mouth curl up into the tiniest smirk. "I have this very legal UV light far—"

"That's it! You deliver packages! You basically give people gifts for a living."

"Oh," I said, and for some reason, it makes me a little sad. It's my fantasy, can't I just be the chosen one? Can't the magical reindeer see something special in me that no one else can see? But no, it's because I do back-breaking labor to pay for my apartment with the thin walls but the beautiful view.

"Or maybe that's more than that," she adds, her voice a whisper.

My teeth chatter. "Uh-huh."

"Or maybe not," she says, snorting.

"Right, so what's this about?"

"Dad says Donnor is getting older, and hes right, but he still can fly! He says its time to replace him, but his replacement isn't ready yet! He's gonna get lost in all the snow." And that's enough, but I still know there's more than that, I know people too well. They always have a complex set of mechanics guiding their decisions, no different than a video game or a board of chess. So I push gently.

"There's more, isn't there?"

"Well....can In trust you?" she asks, her voice so soft its barely audible above the wind. And no, I can't trust her. I woke up to her staring at me in the middle of the woods, she slapped me, and if you would like to be technical, is in the process of kidnapping me.

But despite that, I say, "Yeah."

"I want to do his job. I know I can! He's getting tired, he's forgetting gifts."

"So," I clear my throat. "You want to be Santa."

She turns to me, her eyes gleaming, and belts the most musical laugh I've ever heard. "Ho ho ho!"