by Barbara Spear
It's Christmas Eve. The holiday decorations are all in place. Stockings hang limp by the chimney near cookies and milk on the hearth. I sit down on the rug in front of the bright fire. Comfortably sipping some mulled wine, I'm content that everything is ready for Santa's visit.
Weeks ago, I wrote my letter to Santa asking for a gold necklace with a Stingray pendant, so I could have a Corvette with me wherever I go. My Corvette had a wish of its own, a new coat of silver paint. I added this special request to my list.
Thinking about my letter, I wonder whether Santa has a warm spot in his heart for Corvette lovers like me. I gaze through the frost-laced window into the frozen winter night; an icy gust swirls large wet snowflakes outside. I curl close to the hearth to feel the warmth from the fire. Lazily I watch the twinkling glow of multi-colored Christmas tree lights dancing on the walls around me. As I take another sip of warm holiday wine, I can almost hear the jingle of sleigh bells in the distance. The fire is dying down to the warm red glow of embers. The fresh crisp scent of balsam wafts from the Christmas tree...
Suddenly, there's a noise above me. A gentle pattering followed by a soft whoosh. The fire has gone out and the room is lit only by the glimmer of a thousand tree lights. A moment later, a large pair of shiny black boots descends down the chimney. I wipe my eyes, but the haze from the wine remains.
Santa Claus himself stands before me. His velvet red suit with furry white trim is smudged with soot where his huge round belly brushed the chimney bricks. He raises a finger to his cherry red lips, winks a twinkling eye, then opens his bulging sack. He takes out foil wrapped boxes with bright satin ribbons and quickly places them under the tree. A moment later, he fills the stockings, dropping something gold and glittery into the toe of mine. He turns toward the chimney as if to leave, then hesitates.
Without uttering a word, he slips into the garage. Through the open door, I see his gloved hand gently lift the snuggy on my vette. He turns to me with a sad look in his eyes and shakes his head as he slowly lowers the snuggy. With his back to me, he runs his glove the entire length of my vette. For an instant, a silvery glow radiates from under the snuggy.
In a twinkle, Santa is back by the fireplace he takes a quick glance around the room. Nodding with satisfaction, he turns to me. "Merry Christmas, may all your dreams come true," he whispers. Then he disappears, as quickly and magically as he came.
I come to my senses with a shiver. Black coals are all that remains in the cold fireplace. I take a quick glance at the stockings still hanging limply and notice that the cookies and milk are untouched. Slowly I rise and walk into the garage to turn off the outside Christmas lights.
As I walk by my vette still wrapped securely in its snuggy, I can't resist the urge to peek underneath. With trembling hands, I lift the snuggy. A bright silvery sparkle gleams back at me. In disbelief, I pull the snuggy off the hood. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimmering from inside the car. Peering through the windshield, I see a shimmering gold chain with a Stingray pendant swinging from the rear view mirror. I stand frozen in place staring at the gifts before me. Softly, from somewhere in the distance I hear a whispered voice, "May all your dreams come true. Merry Christmas."
Copyright 1996 Barbara Spear
