Song Selection: Christmas in Hollis—Run DMC

 My little sentimental heart almost can't take it. I don't know why, I'm the bad boy. Nothing is supposed to bother me, not even Santa Claus himself being pissed that I'm hanging with his daughter. But it does, it burns a fire in my soul, how no one will ever want me consorting with their kids because they're scared of...what? That I'll corrupt them, or worse, that I'll hurt them. And that stings more than anything, that Santa can look at me and think I would hurt someone as soft and gentle and, well, good, as Sophie.

I grit my jaw, but Sophie's sweet voice bursts out in front of me. "No, he's okay! Donnor likes him, it's not about that, it's about the sleigh! You're gonna fall, and you won't reach the kids in time! You could get hurt!"

"Nonsense," he says, and at first, I think he's laughing, but the 'ho,ho, hos,' are a little too thick and plegmey, that's when I realize he's coughing. Sophie must be right, the storm must really be getting to him, and he must be really getting up in age. I swallow hard, the liitle reindeer floundering very close in my line of sight. "You're grounded, go home at once!"

"I'm twenty-two, you can't ground me any more, Papa!" I can hear the edge of irritation creeping into her voice. "Let us help you!"

Donnor tosses his head, kicking himself faster and faster into the blizzard. It must take up almost all of his energy, and that's with only me and tiny-tiny Sophie on his back, I can't imagine what Santa's reindeer must be feeling as they haul what must be tons of freight.

"I don't need help," Santa insists, and we're so close I can finally see what kids everywhere wait with baited breath to see on Christmas Eve night. Rosy red cheeks, a big full beard whiter than the snow itself, flakes of white whipping up all around. The sleigh itself, so red it must be redder than the reddest cellphone beacon (best I can think of; we live in the 21st century, what other kind of beacons do we even have?) "I've been doing this for hundreds of years, what makes you think I need any help now?"

"That you haven't stopped at any houses in the time our conversation has taken thus-far," Sophie says, clearing her throat. "According to my calculations---"

"Calculations!" Santa belts his famous laugh. "There's no 'math' in 'magic' sweetie. I told you college isn't the most magical minded. They told you none of this is real, and now you're using that very logic to piece how to use magic? The same kind that told you that me and you and everything around us is all a child's tale?"

Her breath quavers. I've hardly known her for more than a few hours, but I can tell that she might cry.

"Hey!" I shout, suddenly done with it all. I don't care who he is and what good work he's done. All I care about, right now, is Sophie. "Don't say things like that, that's--that's--"

But I don't want to continue, there's no need. I see the whites of the reindeers eyes, that's how wild they are, so different than the calm black void of Donnor's when he looks at us. There is something very, very, wrong.

I survey the littlest one. The harness, red as red can be, shinier than if it had been soaked in gloss and lacquer, makes my heart stand still. It's too big. Just be a smidge, I can make out the hint of a shadow on his shoulder. It wouldn't be a problem if the reindeer were steady, heading straight, the harness would strain against the reindeer's taut muscles and stay put. But the sleigh is tilted, and the gap keeps getting bigger and bigger is the little guy struggles and struggles.

"Santa!" Sophie shouts, her head whipped in the same direction as mine; she's looking at the same reindeer, I know it. She knows what's about to happen, what sort of fall he's about to take.

The harness slips. For a second, the reindeer stays suspended in the air, and then, I hear the horrifying sound that passes through his muzzle, I see his eyes as they focus on mine, begging. 'Help me,' I can almost hear him say, and I wonder if only for a split second if this is how Sophie and Donnor communicate.

I jump.

I don't know why I jump, clean off Donnor's back. But I do, even though the last thing I want to do is throw away my second chance at life. But it needs me, and I trust in, I don't know what? Magic? Christmas? God?

My arms wrap around the warm body, my ears popping once again from the sudden change in pressure as I go, falling, falling. His budding antlers poke into my chin, so small and so young that they feel sort of soft. His eyes meet mine, the animal's fear so palpable that I can't help the wetness that flows from my eyes.

They're tears. I'm tearing. Real, big, fat, man tears. So men cry, so what? You got a probem with that?

And down, down, down we go.