So it was two o’clock in the morning in Santa-land, when Mrs. Claus and I were almost knocked out of our bed. I had just gotten to sleep less than an hour before, having finally convinced Meno-claus that she better start putting out or start getting out. Not an easy task at all, mind you. I had to completely guilt her into submission, and even though I finally won out, I don’t know what was more exhausting – the sex, or trying to talk her into it in the first place.
At any rate, I had fallen asleep and was quietly dreaming about the time Rodriguez and I had taken some of the boys to the red-light district in Reykjavik, when the loudest crash I ever heard jarred me awake. I shot a glance at Mrs. Claus who was sitting up on the other side of the bed, thinking she had just ripped one from under the blankets, but that noise was just too loud, even for her, despite the fact that she is more than capable of emptying the toy factory on Christmas Eve lickety-split when she lets one of her bazookas fly. But it wasn’t her, and not only that, she had the unmitigated gaul to look at ME like the noise had been MY fault!
I jumped out of bed, yanked the curtains aside, and confronted the scene just outside the big picture window.
It made no sense to me whatsoever.
Bright, yellow headlights blazed against the window, a place where no headlights had any business being. A big snowmobile sat askew in the middle of the cobblestone driveway, it’s windshield smashed in, the same place where I knew I had parked the sleigh earlier that evening. I watched incredulously as two small, dark figures scrambled from the snowmobile and started running towards the main road. I couldn’t see my elfin’ sleigh anywhere.
“Son-of-a-reindeer!” I screamed.
I grabbed my housecoat and ran out into the cold. My legs pistoned underneath me as I pounded down the ice-covered driveway, racing toward my two adversaries. Jagged sleet pierced the night sky above me and slashed against my face, but I was oblivious to it. I was on a mission; I was about to get geriatric on someone’s ass, and woe be those two little fuckers when I caught up with them.
Suddenly, my legs flew out from under me and I crashed down hard atop a snow bank.
The little shits kept running, and all I could do was scream at them as they quickly disappeared into the shadows.
“Where in the hell do you think you’re going? You’re in the freakin’ North Pole, for cripes sake! How far can you go? IT’S THE ARC-TIC!!”
But my voice trailed off into nothing until all I could hear was my labored breathing and the steady drum of sleet on my head.
I awkwardly stood up, brushing the ice from my butt, and surveyed the wreckage before me. The snowmobile was totaled – I could see that from where I stood. Broken glass and shards of ripped metal were all around me. Then I caught sight of my sleigh and all the wind went out of me. I had to steady myself against the crumpled seat of the snowmobile. Something thin and metallic dropped from behind the seat and rattled against the cobblestone as it fell. Ignoring it, I made my way over to the sleigh.
It lay on its side some twenty feet from the driveway like a defeated bull moose after loosing a battle over a doe. Chunks of snow and ice were jammed up in a huge pile at the foot of the sleigh’s front skis, apparently from when the sleigh had been rammed and the snow was helplessly dragged along underneath its heavy skis.
A solitary tear slid down my cheek. I clenched my fists, ready to scream again.
Angrily, I whipped around and stared at the snowmobile. Then something caught my eye on the ground next to it. I walked over, crouched down, and picked it up.
A license plate!
I slowly brushed the snow away so I could read the numbers.
I stood there for a long moment, holding it in my hands like a lost grail.
Then I smiled.
