Friday, December 30, 2016

The Mrs. By Polly Alice McCann

This is supposed to be the day seven post on the Renegade Shorts Winter Holiday Showcase, but I got delayed last night, so this is going up today, and there will be another later today. Mostly people think of Santa as a jolly old soul, and a spirit of kindness, but in today's story we are asked to consider what exactly it would be like to be married to someone that devoted to their work. The answer? It is not pretty. Many thanks to our writer today, Polly Alice McCann!

The Mrs.

By Polly Alice McCann

Dear Nick,

By the time you read this letter Rudolph will have flown me somewhere even you can’t find me. You know you never use him on the Eve? Why? Does everything have to match? Forget I asked that.

You can’t be so blind as to wonder why I’m going. Or maybe you can.  I bet you two candy canes you find this letter in May and don’t know I was missing for five months.

Well if you do notice, I figure I better just out and say it. It’s a time thing. You’re too old for me anymore. I can’t believe you didn’t realize this would happen. I can’t believe you haven’t noticed. You thought if we both ate fireberries we’d live forever. So I make up my batch of fireberry salsa and chips every New Years Day. But we created a problem, Nick. Because every year you stop time for however long you want. And you stop me too. You always seem to forget about me as the day approaches. It’s like I don’t exist. But you see that’s the problem. Every year you spend the Eve out for one night. You stop time for the whole world then you waltz around spinning in and out of houses, eating crap, doing who knows what, messing with your blood sugar and your common sense, I think. You forget that I’m frozen in time. I don’t age a day. You know this, you’ve always known this. It takes you about a year now, to visit every house in the earth. Even with magic, you are aging two years for every one of mine. I know what you’ll say. You say it doesn’t matter. So what if you are 4,000 years old and I’m 2,000 give or take a few years, it really is all the same.

I don’t think so. No, I don’t. And this is not me asking to be taken with you. I spent a few centuries doing that, but I won’t ask any more. I know going out in the sleigh is a man thing. You only take the boy reindeer, too, I notice. Well I’ve had enough. I’m going feminist. You know my white hair? It’s just a wig. The glasses? I don’t even need them. I’m just trying to make things easier between us. To make it seem we are a pair. How can we be a team if you never see me? Most days you are in the workshop. Two weeks every summer you take a holiday without me. You work the New Jersey Turnpike and give change in quarters, saying “Ho, ho, ho.” Who does that? Why not a real holiday? I go to Hawaii if you must know. I take off the white wig and glasses and just enjoy myself. I have a blue bikini. I really do get tired of wearing red. And no I won’t start in again about how your suit is only pajamas I made you for our 500th anniversary. I won’t. You put a belt over them, call them a suit. You’re Santa. Do what you want.

So I am just leaving this to say goodbye. I left you the fireberries. You can make your own salsa or some elf will surely help you. I never understood why they love you so dearly those elves. I guess you make their lives more meaningful. Carving icicles is just a dull job and you gave them a much better one, I’ll grant you that. Don’t come look for me. I’m going to run a gift shop in a small town by the beach that doesn’t care much about Christmas. I’ll finally get to design my own gifts like I always wanted. Or at least put my real name on my ideas, not yours.

I really don’t think you’ll even notice I’m gone. If you do, just bake yourself some cookies you’ll be fine. I’m not even really in the poems and songs am I? Surely, I don’t exist. I’ll send you my new name when I think of one. Makes me think back to my poor father when you brought him that sack of gold to help with my dowry. He was so surprised. Gave you our family clock-- the one that stops time. Honestly, Nick. You can keep it. I really will be happy with just the normal amount of time I have left. Thanks for all the presents; you are so good at that. I left you the best ones and sold some to buy my new shop.

Goodbye, Nick.
The Mrs. 

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