Tough Sledding

In all his years of endlessly visiting with extended relatives at family christmas parties, through the many bottles of warm Coronas that his father would always bring, but never think to put in the fridge, the dollar store champagne served up on New Year’s Eve, the overcooked turkey, and the played out christmas movies that were screened in the name of tradition. Through all of it, Sam Coleman never expected to end up here on Christmas Eve. Opapiskaw, Manitoba, an isolated lakeside town in the woodlands of the Canadian prairies. Somewhat of a summertime camping destination for young families, the tiny community had now hunkered in for the winter. The lake, in the warm summer months which would teem with the hum of outboard motors, now only held three rickety ice-fishing shacks on it’s frozen surface, which, as Sam observed, if it weren’t for the dancing beam of a flashlight working its way across the ice after sunset, seemed completely abandoned. Sam worked hard to fight off the depression and loneliness every day. But it would be impossible for anyone to not feel lonely here, he thought. He could stand on the street corner all day outside his place in the only apartment block in town, and not see a single other soul, besides Mr. Fitzpatrick in his snow plow pickup, who would cruise by dutifully and on time after any fresh snowfall. It had been just over two months since the RCMP had sent Sam to Opapiskaw, and he was starting to get used to the slower pace of life. However the circumstances that put him here, beat him down incessantly and without mercy. After just three years of marriage and the birth of a daughter Carly, Sam’s wife, Becca came to him with divorce papers. It was nothing that he did, she had told him, she just didn’t love him anymore. There was no explanation worse than that, he thought, it left nothing but space to think of where things went wrong, what oversights he had made, the small things that he had done that maybe Becca didn’t even notice, that made her fall out of love with him. He was in purgatory. A feeling made ever more real by his current living situation, a town that felt like purgatory realised. Sitting in his small living room on the couch staring into the white gusting squalls outside, Sam’s phone rings next to him. No caller ID. It’s his day off, but he picks up anyways. “Coleman,” he says. “Mr. Coleman, yes hello, I don’t think we’ve met yet but my name is Justice Farley, I live over on Highland street and I need your help.” “Is this police business or a personal matter? I’m not in today.” This is a question that Sam had consistently had to ask almost every time somebody called him, as in Opapiskaw, events which were a real police matter were few and far between. “Police matter, absolutely, I have trespassers.” “Really?” “Damn kids, won’t leave my backyard.” Sam found himself feeling contempt for the man interrupting his wallowing on his day off, but was careful not to convey his indifference over the phone. The only thing worse than a cop, he had been told once, was a lazy cop. “I’ll be right there.” “1152 Highland Street,” then Farley hung up the phone. 

Upon arriving at the Farley residence, Sam was struck by the size and beauty of the property, surely if not a mansion by definition, certainly one in comparison to what essentially were little more than trailer homes that made up the rest of the town. Getting out of his cruiser and walking up to the front door, he could hear children laughing in the backyard. Instead of ringing the doorbell, Sam follows a small shoveled out path that leads around the east corner of the house. When he gets to the backyard he sees that the house is backed up into a hill, and at the top stands a group of kids silhouetted against the clear, cloudless sky. One of them backs up to take a running start and belly flops onto a sled which sends him hurtling down the hill in a fit of laughter. When his sled gets to the bottom the boy recognizes the uniform, he keeps sliding all the way up to Sam’s feet and quickly stands up. “Merry Christmas son.” “Merry Christmas,” the kid manages to mumble out. “Is this your house?” “No sir.” “Who’s house is it?” “Mr. Farley’s.” “Ah, so you must be the one he called me about.” At the top of the hill, the other boys run over the back out of sight, abandoning their friend. “Some friends of yours.” “Am I in trouble?” “I’m not going to arrest you if that’s what you mean.” A puff of vapour streams from the boy's mouth as he exhales in relief. “What’s your name?” “Trent.” “Trent what?” “Trent Holloway.” “Do you live in town Trent?” “Yeah.” “Do you live with your parents?” “Just my dad.” “Is he home?” “No he’s on the road.” “On Christmas?” Trent nods. “What does he do?” “Drives a truck.” “What would your dad say if he found out the police had to make you leave Mr. Farley’s backyard?” Trent looks down at his boots shuffling in the snow. He says nothing. “That’s fine. I won’t tell him.” Trent looks up and exhales again. “Thank you sir.” “You know Trent, I think sledding with your friends is a great way to spend Christmas Eve. I bet this is the best hill in town, would you say so?” “It’s the only hill in town,” Trent chimes in. “Not a great place for Mr. Farley to build this big old house is it?” Trent laughs. “No, terrible place.” Just then the back door of the house swings open and an enraged, small bearded man comes storming out in plaid slippers and a house-coat. “Officer Coleman, thank you for coming, these ne'er do wells have been trespassing on my property all morning.” “Yes, I see that.” “Well, what are you going to do about it, don’t just stand there. I have the evidence.” Farley holds up a camera in his right hand. “Mr. Farley I suggest you don’t take any more pictures of minors, and you should dispose of those copies immediately.” Farley’s face goes red, and Sam pauses for a moment. “Mr. Farley, did you know it’s Christmas Eve?” “Yes of course,” Farley blurts out impatiently. “Hm, did you also know that this is the only hill in town?” “What?” “Don’t worry this young man was just leaving.” Sam takes the sled from Trent and begins walking back up the hill, Trent follows. Sam leans in to whisper to Trent. “How about one more run kid?” Trent laughs, but Sam shushes him, not wanting to give away his plan to Farley. Once at the top of the hill Sam cups his hands to his mouth, “Merry Christmas Mr. Farley!” Sam sits down on the beat up sled and turns around to Trent. “Hold on kid, we’re gonna pick up some serious speed here.” Trent can’t contain his laughter as he sits down behind him and wraps his hands around Sam’s waist. Mr. Farley can only look on in rage as Sam and Trent come hurtling down the hill, the cold air biting into their faces as they attempt to break the sound barrier. The sled has so much speed that upon reaching the bottom of the hill, Sam’s hat comes flying off his head. The sled speeds past the back porch, past the side of the house and skids to a stop on the gravel driveway, just in front of Sam’s cruiser. Sam and Trent are laughing so hard they can hardly stand up. Trent just rolls around in the snow giggling and holding his stomach, as Farley comes waddling around the side of the house, his face red as a tree ornament, waving his camera in the air. “I’ll be sending these to the RCMP, and when they hear from me your career is over! Do you have any idea who I am?” “No Mr. Farley, but I look forward to getting to know you.” Trent manages to get up and run away, still laughing as he waves at Sam, his heavy winter boots thumping on the gravel road. “Problem solved, wouldn't you say Justice? Sam then slips into his cruiser, and pulls away. 

Three weeks later a rolled newspaper arrives on Sam’s welcome mat. Confused as he did not yet receive any local papers, he picks it up and brings it inside. Taking the burlap tie off of it and unrolling it, it was a copy of the Winnipeg Free Press. Farley had kept his promise, he had sent the pictures to the RCMP, because plastered on the frontpage was a black and white photograph of Sam and Trent, grinning ear to ear on the sled, Sam’s hat in mid air after being blasted off of his head. He had to give it to Farley, he wasn’t a bad photographer. The caption to the photo read, RCMP Officer Sam Coleman and local boy sledding in Opapiskaw, MB on Christmas Eve. And for the first time in about a year, Sam Coleman recognized a feeling of joy in himself. An though three weeks late, it was the only Christmas present he ever really needed.