I Talk to Santa

One day, I spilled my guts to Santa.

I knew Santa only cares about if you're bad or good, and if you're good, he gives you stuff.

Santa can't make Crystal stop taking me to church. He can't fix the bad smell that comes out of Nanny Alice after dinner. And he can't do anything about that old windbag preacher man.

He just rewards being good with stuff.

But I felt so sad, and alone, I had to talk to somebody.

I went into Santa's room on the third floor. I turned on the bubble lights and plugged Santa in. He smiled and nodded and waved, just like he always does. The lights filled the room with a warm glow. Santa's elves and helpers were there, too. So was Rudolph and two other reindeer - I forget their names. They don't move, but they do light up when you plug them in.

I sat in front of Santa on my little mat, with my legs crossed. I chatted away. I told Santa all about Crystal, and how mean she had been to me. As I was talking, I realized Crystal wouldn't get anything good from Santa. In fact, she would get coal and ashes. I didn't know what that meant, exactly, but it sure didn't sound good.

I asked Santa for somebody to talk to. I wanted a real, live person, not just motorized plastic. I knew it was silly even as the words came out of my mouth, but I asked anyway. I figured if I asked and got nothing, so what? It's worth a try.