Emerald's Santa

Emerald Bittrel did not die yesterday. Or the morning before when the sun was low and dense clouds scattered across the musty blue sky. Emerald was sure her heart was beating soundly and her lungs were functioning smoothly. Emerald Bittrel was the epitome of living at the bare minimum. A clean heart, and an active body that took her from work and home and then to her worn-out, chipped, desk once more. The banality of her life was never forgotten and Emerald Bittrel never experienced the flavourful moments of living that one ought to have. At forty years old, Emerald lived alone, unmarried all this time, worked a job only because one had to work, never ventured anywhere but between two points in a loop, and simply lived in silent misery all on her own—especially on Christmas. And so Emerald hated Christmas and barely lived on the twenty-fifth of December; even more so than on any other day. She sat and watched the first few scenes of A Christmas Carol to hear her beloved Ebenezer Scrooge call Christmas ‘bah humbug!’ And then the day would go downhill from there with a fever and a cough. The two symptoms arrived at Emerald’s doorstep in the first hour of Christmas day and left by the next morning, like filtered clockwork. 

While her mind mulled over the simple Christmas symptom cocktail, on cue, an itch crawled into Emerald’s throat and a muffled cough escaped her lips. The scratch, the excruciating pain to swallow was enough to let her know it was the first hour of the twenty-fifth of the twelfth month.

The room felt like an ice cube as Emerald pushed herself off her single bed and clung to her duvet as one would have to a husband or a mother in the middle of an inclement night. All Emerald had was her clinically warm blanket as she stepped into the living room for a glass of scalding ginger and honey tea. When Emerald opened her bedroom door, the hinges creaked, as usual, but what startled her were the yellow lights, fully ablaze. The entire room was lit up while Emerald religiously turned every bulb off before bed. What was even more strange was the colour of the lights—which were normally white. 

Wide-eyed, Emerald Bittrel slowly turned into the living room to find a man facing the window with his hands clasped behind his back.

He had slick brown hair and wore fuzzy white garbs. The man slowly turned around and took a few steps forward. Emerald Bittrel took a few steps back.

“Who are you?” She whispered.

“Santa,” the man replied as his blue eyes glistened under the yellow lights. 

Ludicrous, Emerald thought to herself and her laughter was like a roar permeating through the jungle. She slapped her thigh and her widening mouth caused Santa’s eyes to bulge slightly. This man must have been here to take all her possessions and possibly her life, but all Emerald did was laugh till her face turned bright red. “Is that a joke?” She asked. 

“No, I really am Santa.”

“That is ridiculous. You just look like an ordinary man. Albeit much more handsome than most, but ordinary. I am quite sure you are a burglar, so just get on with what you came here to do.” Emerald was certain. 

“Nonsense!” Santa bellowed. “Look closer, Emerald.”

Emerald Bittrel’s chest beat like a hollow drum and she wondered if Santa could hear the noise her empty heart made from across the room. 

She took meager steps closer to see the seemingly ordinary Santa, but something caught her eye. Santa had a glowing aura around his body and his feet hovered slightly above the ground. 

“Oh, so you are not an ordinary man.” All of Emerald’s certainty evaporated in that moment and something inside her knew this man was not an ordinary Christmas day burglar. Emerald brought a hand to her mouth while her duvet slipped off her shoulders and crumbled into a heap on the ground. 

“No, I am Santa. As I stood by the window, I wondered one particular thing,” the glowing man said. 

“What was that?”  

“Where is your Christmas tree?” 

This enticed another rambunctious cackle from Emerald Bittrel and her previous shock faded away. Once she settled on the sofa, feeling at ease with the strange aura in her room, she said, “I do not like Christmas.”

“Do you not celebrate Christmas?” Santa asked as he stood in his beautiful white clothing by the window. 

“Not anymore.”

“But you used to?” 

There was a pause lingering uncomfortably in the air as Emerald tilted her head upwards and sensed tears crawling towards the brim of her eyes. For a very long time, Emerald pushed away the merry days of Christmas she once had as a girl. Red stockings by the warm fireplace, a tree decorated with shiny ornaments, her parents slow dancing by the grand piano as her sister and she would watch the Grinch learn to love Christmas again. 

On one particular Christmas, Emerald saw her father’s heart stop. From the grief, so did her mother’s. Many years later, her sister, with the auburn hair and full lips, married and lived happily ever after in Emerald Bittrel’s eyes. And so, very soon, Emerald believed she was not meant to be anything but alone; all celebrations, especially Christmas, ceased in her eyes. “Yes, I used to. A very long time ago,” Emerald said with a wavering voice.

“Do you want to celebrate once more?”

Emerald smirked, but the boisterous laugh that echoed through her house moments ago no longer escaped her lips. 

“Come with me.” Santa stretched his soft palm towards the shrunken figure of Emerald Bittrel on the couch.

“Why should I come with you into the bitterly cold winter night?”

“To see what you have missed all this time.”

***

Emerald was not whisked away to the past, flying through a magical snowy city, like Ebenezer Scoorge in her beloved tale. All Santa did was take Emerald for a walk down the streets of New York City as she shivered along the way.

“Can you do something about the cold, Santa? It is excruciating and my teeth might grind to dust from this chattering,” Emerald said as she clutched on her warm coat. 

“Just a few more minutes,” Santa smiled; unhindered by the chilling night air and flecks of watery snow placing themselves on the pavement beneath their feet. 

When Santa stopped, the building before them barely stood on its bones, much like Emerald Bittrel. Inside the broken window of the ground floor, Emerald saw a face she loathed; anger decided to course her veins.

“Why did you bring me here?” Emerald said through clenched teeth. 

“To let you hear this.” Santa put both his hands around Emerald’s ears and just before she could writhe herself out of his firm grasp, she heard the conversation that transpired through the window—the one between Sally O’Connolly and her husband. 

“I wanted to invite her to our Christmas dinner this year,” Sally said.

“You always say that, but you never do. Every year, the story repeats itself.” Randy sipped on his glass of red wine. 

“I know! It is just, that I asked her once for coffee at work, but she could not come. Since then, I feared she would say no every time.”

“Maybe you should give up your fear and try again.”

Emerald listened to the conversation, her mind befuddled and distraught. “Did you bring me here to see how alone I am? How my loneliness surpasses the trivial problems of my colleague.” Emerald snapped at Santa. 

“Shhh, listen and hear what she is about to say.” And so Emerald listened attentively. 

“I really like Emerald. She seems genuine. I just do not know how to approach her.” Sally sat down next to her husband.

“You will figure it out.” Randy kissed his wife tenderly on the cheek with his wine-tainted lips and soon dragged his lethargic feet up the stairs. 

“Santa, she was talking about me?” Emerald looked up at his glowing face.

“Yes, she was.” Santa’s voice soothed Emerald’s anger into a mellow tone.

“But Sally O’Connolly despises me. She barely looks at me in the office and never once have I received any form of affection from that arrogant woman.”

“There is a lot you do not know and your mind has construed.” Santa continued walking down the street.  

***

To the silent night clung the sounds of Christmas Carols and the smell of warm eggnog as Santa took Emerald Bittrel to the next stop; a stroll down the dimly lit street at a ghostly hour of the night. Emerald followed Santa’s glowing aura and eyed the soft white clothing that clung to his elegant frame. She felt the urge to bundle herself up in the very same warm and fuzzy white garments. 

“Where is your hat?” Emerald asked. 

“Which hat are you asking about?” Santa turned around and paused abruptly. 

“Santa wears a hat. He has a beard and many reindeer. He says ho ho ho. You are nothing like that.”

“Those are stories, Emerald. Made to define me in a certain way. I am Santa on Christmas. I am the tooth fairy. I am a miracle you cannot explain. I am anything you want me to be.” Santa turned around and for an infinitesimal moment, Emerald wondered if this was all a lucid dream; that she might wake up moments from now, never knowing the end of it all. 

Much like her thoughts in that instant, the street was closed off at the end and Emerald pondered where they might go next. 

Before contemplating further, Emerald’s eyes met the ground and what she saw then nearly made her produce a horrid scream. Below her lay a man, with a ghastly still face, in a pile of worn-out fabric and mesh. A stench wafted through the air, but the shock left Emerald taking more breaths than intended. 

“Why did you bring me here? To see the dead on Christmas day!” Emerald looked at Santa with wide eyes. 

“Not to see the dead, to see a man, so satisfied in his sleep, he lies warm and cosy on the hard cement during a frosty winter’s night.”

“So, what? Am I supposed to end up like him?”

“No Emerald. Look closer upon the man and tell me what you see.”

Emerald timidly looked at his face and a moment of realization dawned on her. “I know this man.”

“Yes you do,” Santa said. “Yes, you do.” He repeated with a gentle force. “This is the very man you gave a hundred-dollar bill yesterday. The hundred dollars in one day is more than he has ever seen in a long time. It gave him the chance to have a warm meal, warmer clothes, and a small treat which left a smile on his face. He will always remember your kindness.”

“So, Santa?” Emerald blinked away a few tears.

“This kindness is rare to find. You have it in you, hold on to it. People remember you for this, even if you may not know.” Santa pivoted on his foot and headed forward.

“Santa, that’s a dead end.” Emerald trotted on behind him.

“Only if you want it to be.” He walked through the wall. Emerald gasped and placed her hand against the solid brick wall. She slammed his hands and called on Santa, but something inside her changed as the silence that clung to the air, drifted closer to the ground. 

***

“I see you made it through the wall,” Santa said as he sat by the bar, with his hands clasped between one another. 

“I did.” Emerald was flustered but tried hard to hide the thrill lurching inside her. “Are you going to get something?” 

“I would like to, but no one can see us here.”

“What do you mean?” Just then an arm went straight through Emerald to grasp a glass of red wine.

“We are invisible here.”

“Yes, I got it.” Emerald tried to brush off the shock—a hand just went straight through her body. “You brought me to a busy bar in the middle of the night only to make me invisible and unable to order anything?” Emerald wondered what could be learned at an establishment where the main goal was to lose one's inhibitions. 

“I brought you here to see a man. Do you recognize this place?” Santa asked. 

“I have been here a few times, but that is all.” Emerald scanned the room. 

“Why did you stop?” 

“I prefer my time at home. Where being alone pinches a little bit less.” Emerald tried to pick up a glass in front of her, but the task rendered her with the frustration she had as a child while trying to hold the slippery snake toy. 

“Look, over there behind the bar.” Santa pointed his glowing finger into the distance and she looked to see who was her next encounter. 

He was a stranger; a very chiseled one for sure. 

“Who is that?” Emerald asked, intrigued. 

“He served you a drink here many moons ago and continues to wonder where you went.”

“Why, did I forget to tip him?” Emerald smirked.

“No, he wanted the chance to introduce himself, but you never returned.”

“Do you mean he liked me?” Emerald’s heart raced as Santa nodded languidly. In all her forty years, not once had Emerald experienced the thrill of someone’s eyes left only for her. It was a feeling that made her a teenage girl once again. Emerald looked out into the distance and said the very words she had not said in a long time. “Thank you, Santa.” 

As Emerald thanked Santa for his grace, the world began to turn shades of pink and yellow; slowly every glass, chair, light bulb, and person in the room evaporated into a blank nothingness. Emerald Bittrel was the last one to go. 

***

The all too familiar sound of Christmas Carols trickled into the room and Emerald found herself lying in her bed, wondering if last night was true in any capacity at all. As she walked into the living room, absent of her usual Christmas morning symptoms, there was a charming tree in the corner— with shiny ornaments. Underneath the tree was a beautiful box inside which lay a beautiful necklace with two words inscribed: kindness and love. Emerald clasped the necklace behind her neck and thought about the night before—the very night that should have been a dream, but Emerald knew it was real in an inexplicable way. 

***

As the years went by, Emerald spent many hours with her closest friend, Sally O’Connolly. The homeless man found a stable job where Emerald worked and Emerald Bittrel married the man behind the bar who saw her many moons ago. 

Along with the gifts Emerald cherished, every midnight of Christmas Day, she stood by the frosty window to thank Santa for kindness and love and nothing more.