1123 Candy Cane Lane (Cherry Falls)

But O’Malley had an appetite. And when the others who adopted a puppy and I had a reunion at the dog park a year later, he was the biggest. He was my best companion and I couldn’t imagine life without him now.

The air was cool, and the sun was just starting to set over Cherry Falls. The sky was pink with an orangish glow around the gray clouds. The winter winds, not terrible, shook the branches of oak trees lining the sidewalks and main street. My hometown, I love this place and could never imagine leaving it. The bright lights of Syn City didn’t call me like they did others in this town. I was good rooted right here where I was. But as much as I love this town, I did not love that I was the man with the beard at this festival.

Such lovely people, about to meet the most pissed off Santa. Fuckin’ Hank had to call off. Bet he didn’t have anything really goin’ on, just didn’t want to miss the game.

Ho ho ho go fuck yourself, Hank. If anyone’s gettin’ a big lump of coal, it’s you.

The night was too perfect to be angry, but that didn’t stop me on my way to the festival. As the sky darkens, the Christmas lights strung over bushes, oak branches, and lining thatched roofs illuminates my path. In the distance, I can hear Christmas music and bells jingling, I was almost there.

And once I get there, that’s when it’ll be a pain in the ass. Or thighs, with all those kids I’m gonna have sitting on my lap.

I shouldn’t think like that, I love my town. And I love these people. But god damn with all these new folks in town I’m gonna be way too sore for the gym tomorrow.

Soon enough I arrive at the fest. The sun has fully set, but silver, gold, and technicolor Christmas lights lit up the night. It seemed brighter than it had during the day. Children lined up at the empty throne. Gold with red velvet seats, at least it’ll be comfortable.

I walk down Candy Cane Lane, sprinkled with cotton candy fake snow since we hadn’t gotten the real stuff yet, and lined with large, plastic candy canes. I took my seat on the throne, and yelled: “HO HO HO! SANTA CLAUS HAS COME TO HEAR YOUR WISHES! HAVE YOU BEEN NAUGHTY OR NICE? TELL SANTA WHAT YOU WANT, AND I’LL CHECK MY LIST!”

The children, who had been shouting at each other, joking and shoving, suddenly were still. Not a creature could be heard, even a mouse. Many were tense and frozen at the sudden explosion of my deep baritone voice through the air.

I adjust myself on my throne as my trusty reindeer O’Malley smiles with his tongue at the crowd. That loosened them up. One of the volunteer elves, a moody teenager who only agreed to work the fest for the volunteer hours she needed for school, turns on a radio and Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town starts playing. The first child walks down Candy Cane Lane and plops down in my lap.

“Ho ho ho, little boy.” I try to be jolly to make up for the scare my voice caused when I first arrived. “Have you been a good boy this year? Tell Santa what you want for Christmas.”

He smiles sheepishly and clears his throat. He was a frail, freckled child wearing glasses held together with tape between the lenses. “Santa,” he whispers, “I want Pokemon cards.”

“Pokemon cards!” I repeat loud enough for the crowd to hear. “Well let me check my list, and if you were nice, then I think my elves will make lots of Pokemon cards,” I reply as I hand him a candy cane. The once nervous boy beams and leaps out of my lap as he snatches it, as if it was confirmation that he was on the right list. Marching back down the aisle, he high-fives a little girl who must’ve been his sister.

The next kid wasn’t so confident about being on the right list. He strides down Candy Cane Lane as if it were a catwalk and he’s Naomi Campbell, seating himself right on my lap and squirming to adjust his position. I wince as he settles in. There was nothing to the last kid, but this one had enough meat for the both of them.

“Ho ho ho, little boy! Have you been good this year? Tell Santa what you want for Christmas!” The color drains from his face. His catwalk confidence clearly gone the instant he had to report what list he thought he was on.

“Uh, uh...” he stammers. “Yeah. Been good! Great, actually. Really great… Great enough for a new XBox.”

I scan the crowd and see a woman in her thirties with a short blonde bob and pursed lips. He might be able to fool Santa, but not his mother.