A Boy Named Simon

BANG!

The car door slammed shut as the man with the messy head of black hair slipped behind the wheel. He started the ignition, twisting the key hard not out of necessity but out of anger. His usual calm demeanor was broken by a sneer as he thought about her words again.

This is all your fault!

Of course it was. Every time it had been. And every time the same verbal assault had begun between the two.

You never wanted her! You never wanted me to have the baby! If you had tried harder we wouldn’t have lost another one!

Well maybe that was true. When she had told him she was pregnant again, he didn’t feel the same bubbling joy as the first two times. With each miscarriage, the joy and anticipation had turned more and more to unimaginable dread.

Get out! Get away from me! I don’t- I don’t want to ever see you again! My baby girl is gone because of you! You have no idea what I have to endure. The emptiness. Like my heart’s been torn out. Don’t pretend like you care! Just go.

He pulled his car in between the two white lines of the parking space and turned it off. He simply sat there for a few moments, alone with his thoughts in the cold and empty parking garage. Outside, the snow had begun falling again, the stark white seeming to emphasize the bleakness of the concrete all around him.

With a sigh, he stepped out of the car and pulled the bag out of the back. He closed the car door, promising himself he wouldn’t go back this time. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of having him to blame. Let her find someone else. Someone else to be the scapegoat. And then when things don’t change, maybe she’ll finally realize who’s really to blame.

“Yeah right.” He said aloud as he walked away from the parked car, up the flight of concrete stairs, and across the plowed street that would soon be covered in busy people. He walked alongside the mammoth building until he found the small green side door. He slipped in his barely used key and the warmth and light inside greeted him.

He walked down a long hallway until he came to the restroom. He stepped into the stall the smelled of bleach and overbearing flowers and set the bag down on the baby changer. He sighed, then slowly unzipped it and pulled out his uniform. He liked calling it his uniform. It gave him some semblance of dignity every time he wore it. But as he pulled the black boots on, and adjusted the overstuffed jacket, he saw the red hat and fake beard, and immediately all hope of dignity drained from his face.

He stepped out and looked at himself in the mirror. With a little reddening on his cheeks he almost looked the part of Jolly Saint Nick, no trace of the mid-twenties young businessman. No trace of the stress from five years of fruitless marriage. No trace of the pain, sorrow, and despair that was his life. No, right now he was Santa Claus and had no troubles and had joy to spare, to hand out to all the children who would be at the busy mall today.

The hours passed, the mall opened, and the people came as expected. He “ho-ho” and laughed and watched as more and more parents and grandparents ushered children to the line stretching far on the cheap red carpet. After a quick lunch it was back in the seat, and he listen as he heard the same request over and over again. A new video game, a new instrument, a new movie, a new doll. At least today there weren’t any criers so far.

As he sat and listen to a serious faced boy explain the deeper meaning and intricacies of his favorite TV character, he found his mind wandering. His psychologist had recommended the job, as a way of connecting with children more. She blamed him too. Yet he found himself answering almost automatically. He knew she didn’t know what she was talking about. He wouldn’t even have taken the job if the business hadn’t taken the dip in profit. So here he sat, dressed as an old man and feeling the part as he contemplated his life.

“Alrighty. Well, if you’ve been a good boy all year long, I’m sure you’ll get at least one of them.” He answered as he helped the little boy down, the boy’s mother giving him a venomous look as she walked away pulling her son along.

“Well then, who do we have next?” He said smiling out of habit not sincerity.

A small boy in a bright lime green shirt walked up and hopped onto his lap. He couldn’t have been more than seven, with his dark brown hair and bright blue eyes. He smiled a large white toothy grin as he looked up into the Santa’s face. The Santa looked past the boy expecting to see some eager mother with camera ready. But there was none. It was odd, but not the first time. Many parents dropped children in line while the quickly snagged a last minute present.

“So little boy, what’s your name?” He asked with his jolly voice.

“Simon.” He said in his small clear voice.

“And what do you want for Christmas, Simon?”

The boy seemed to sit for a few minutes, his face scrunched up as he thought. Then a light seemed to come on in his mind, and his eyes sparkled as he leaned forward and cupped his hands to whisper.

“Santa?”

“Yes.”

“If I’ve been a very, very, very good boy all year long, I get a present, right?” he whispered still.

“Yes.” He answered, not sure what to do with the abnormal actions of the boy.

“So I can wish for anything I want?” His eyes begged for an answer.

“Yes, Simon, you can wish for anything you want.” He said smiling.

Simon smiled that toothy smile again and leaned up to his ear to speak, when suddenly, he sat back, his brow furrowed again in thought. He slowly reached his two small hands up and placed one on each cheek. The boy’s blue eyes locked with his deep brown ones and seemed to be searching his very soul. He suddenly felt exposed, as if everything he had been keeping hidden was slowly being examined by the boy’s eyes.

“Santa? Why are you sad?” He asked in a straight forward way.

“I’m not… I mean… that is… Santa is just having some trouble with Mrs. Claus. That’s all. It’ll be alright.”

“Is it bad?” He said as if knowing full well the truth.

“Not yet. I wish it were better.” Then as if realizing what he had just admitted to he quickly said, “But that’s enough of that. What do you want for Christmas?

“Santa. I know what I want. I want you and Mrs. Claus to be happy. You can have my wish, if it’ll stop you from being so sad.” Said the small boy.

“Well, th-thank you.” He said, feeling tears in his eyes at the small boy’s act of kindness. “But what do you want for Christmas other than that?”

“Simon? Simon! There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!” A large African-American woman dressed in a matching green t-shirt said walking up, “Well, it looks like you already found Santa. Good. But we have to go now. The others are already waiting in the van. Come on.”

Simon jumped down from his perch on Santa’s lap and ran to her, and the two of them were quickly swallowed by the rushing waves of humanity. But in those few steps Simon took in reaching her, the Santa saw the back of his lime green shirt for the first time. He felt emotion grab his throat as he read the simple line:

“St. Simeon’s Home for Orphaned and Abandoned Children”

The last hour of his shift was lost to time and thought. He quickly ran to his car, not caring to take of his red suit, and opened the door with new hope. In a few minutes he was home. In a few hours, and after a couple of explanations, he and his wife were in their car again. And after a two weeks, on Christmas Eve, three Christmas wishes all came true. All because of one small boy named Simon.