Santa Claus Came to Town

                                                                  SANTA CLAUS CAME TO TOWN

         When he was ten years old Alex Cramer slept in a loft bedroom.  His bed faced a window where he could look out at a  full moon on clear nights or at the stars when the moon was new.  During storms he could  see rain skidding down the glass  and, in winter, he could see the occasional snow storm.
         It was Christmas Eve and his father  had read the poem “The Night Before Christmas.”  Alex didn't know what a sugar plum was, but he hoped he would find out someday.  It was snowing and he could see the big fluffy flakes outside his window swirling down like the feathers of snow geese.  He felt warm and happy in his bed and he worried a little that Santa Claus might have problems traveling  because of the snow.  He still believed in Santa Claus, even though he knew many of his friends did not.
         He talked to his father about Santa Claus.
         “My friends say Santa Claus isn't real,” Alex said.  “They said he's something made up by our parents.”
         “Do you think he's real?” his father asked.
         “I don't know,” Alex said.  “I hope so.”
         “You know, around the turn of the 19th century there was a little girl named Virginia who wondered about Santa Claus too,” his father said.  “She wrote the newspaper and a nice man at the newspaper wrote something about Santa Claus.  Would you like to hear it?”
         “Okay,” Alex said.
         Then his father read the famous editorial from The New York Sun by Francis P. Church.  The most famous sentence said, “Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.”
         “So, Alex,” his father said, “if you believe in someone or something strongly enough, it might  come true.”
         He still wasn't certain if he had fallen asleep, but some time during that night there was a flash of light outside his window and he heard sleigh bells.  Then he felt himself floating on a cushion of air.  He gently floated outside and he felt the sting of snowflakes against his face.
         “Hello, Alex,” a big man in a red suit told him.  Alex  floated into a sleigh and he was surrounded by the scents of cinnamon and peppermint and chocolate.  It was warm inside the sleigh and the man offered him a cup of rich hot chocolate.
         As he sipped the hot chocolate, the man called out a command and reindeer lifted the sleigh rapidly, but gently, and he felt himself rising and rising high above the city.  The lights of the city receded quickly below and the sleigh rose higher and higher.  Packages would suddenly materialize in the man's hands and then he dropped the packages over the side, where they were quickly swallowed by the darkness.
         Alex looked more closely at the falling packages and he noticed little bursts of light like stars.  “There's another happy little boy,” the man told him.  Or, “Little Amy is getting the doll she has wanted all year.”
         When he thought about it Alex realized the man didn't  “tell” him what was happening; he felt the man's thoughts.
         The reindeer pulled the sleigh so high that Alex saw the curvature of the earth.  The earth was like a big blue and white marble and the stars were like blue-burning  Christmas candles lighting the way.
         He didn't know how long they were gone.  In the morning he was back in his own bed and the world outside his window glowed white with new snow.  He raced down the stairs and gifts were piled under the tree.  But everything felt different now.  He was convinced that Santa Claus had not been  just a dream.
         Alex met his friend Norm when they started high school.  Norm liked the same things as Alex.  They were both shy, they both loved science fiction, and they both had  lost their fathers when they were teenagers.  Norm's father died in an automobile accident and Alex's father died of cancer.  The Christmas from his tenth year was memorable, not only for Santa Claus, but because his father was still alive and vibrant.  It was like a snapshot in his mind.
         Alex briefly attended a community college and finally settled into a clerical career.  Norm finished his degree at a community college and worked as an insurance adjuster, which he described as being like a member of the living dead.
         When  he was a sophomore in high school Alex discovered he liked to paint.  He looked at old copies of magazines like Fantasy and Science Fiction  or Astounding  Stories and he imitated the art.  He wanted to go to art school and specialize in science fiction and fantasy.
         Norm liked to write.  He was working on a series of stories about a planet he called Moklar.  When Alex told Norm about that memorable Christmas Eve Norm speculated that Santa Claus was really from another planet, maybe even a world like Moklar.
         “I'm not even sure it was real,” Alex said.  “I probably fell asleep and dreamed it.  What makes you think Santa Claus is an extraterrestrial?”
         “Think about it,” Norm said.  He munched on a carrot stick and looked thoughtful.  “There's no physical way someone could deliver gifts all around the world in a single night.  You couldn't even transport that many gifts.  But what if an advanced civilization with incredible technology did it?”
         “What kind of technology?” Alex asked.  He knew he shouldn't get Norm started on a tangent, but he couldn't resist.
         “Take the sleigh, for instance,” Norm bit down on the carrot stick with a sharp snap.  “Maybe the sleigh is really a space vehicle.  If you traveled at incredible speed you could easily traverse the globe.  Nothing to it.”  He bit down on the last of the carrot stick.  Snap.
         “Come on,” Alex smiled.  “You know that parents give their kids Christmas gifts. There's no Santa Claus.”          
         “Maybe not the way we've been told,” Norm's eyes lit up.  “But who's to say that there isn't some form of Santa Claus delivering gifts?”
         “I'd like to believe it,” Alex admitted. 
         “What gift would you ask for?” Norm said.
         “Time,” Alex sighed.  “I'd like to go  back  in time.”
         His father died when Alex was thirteen years old. 
         When he first started painting he did sketches of his father.  He started with photos from an album his mother kept and then began doing portraits from his memory.  He read books about life after death and about parallel dimensions and about time travel and he believed that his father was living somewhere else in a different universe.  Maybe that was what heaven really was.
         Now Alex was twenty-five and found himself thinking like an old man.  He remembered when he was young and wished he could go back.  He couldn't physically go back in time, but he started to recreate that Christmas from fifteen years before.  He got a loft apartment.  He decorated his Christmas tree the way his parents had decorated the tree back then.  He read the poem “The Night before Christmas.”  He even bought some sugar plums.
         There were differences too.  He had a computer and he used the Internet.  He researched extraterrestrials, especially anything related to Santa Claus.  He posted his experience from when he was ten years old to an E. T. website.
         He was surprised when some other posters said they had experiences with Santa Claus too.  He knew some of them had to be kooks, but one or two sounded rational.  He asked them about their backgrounds.
         The similarities were striking.  They had  been ten years old.  They had  heard “The Night Before Christmas” on Christmas Eve.  They lost their fathers within two years.
         He told Norm about his new friends.  “You're still on the Santa Claus kick?  It's probably just coincidence. You're trying to make a dream real.”
         “So you're saying these  guys had identical dreams and identical circumstances?” Alex pressed.
         “Well,” Norm said, suddenly remembering his own father, “why didn't I get a sleigh ride?”
         “Maybe it takes a combination of things,” Alex said.
         “There's a formula for seeing Santa Claus,” Norm huffed.  “Sure.”
         “Why not?” Alex said.  “There are formulas for everything.  Pythagoras had a formula.  Classic Coke had a formula.”
         “You're getting carried away,” Norm said.  “But I see your point.”
         Alex wasn't totally sure he believed it himself.  It sounded too much like a witch's incantation.  And did “Santa Claus” somehow know in advance  Alex's father would die?  Why was Alex singled out?
         Don't get carried away, he told himself.  This is a hard time of the year and it's easy to get carried away.  Losing his father had created a giant hole in his life and he didn't  know how to handle it.  Maybe things weren't as good back then as I remember, he thought then, but I'd like the chance to find out.
         He lived in an older section of the city and he liked to put on a pot of coffee to brew and to take a walk while the coffee brewed.  The buildings in this neighborhood were mostly from the 1930's and 1940's.  Small coffee shops, book stores,  specialty shops, and restaurants were squeezed into some of the old buildings and the rest of the buildings were apartments.
         He slipped on his leather jacket and stepped outside.  The night was clear and he could see the stars.  There was a light breeze and he heard the limbs  on the trees rattling  together from the breeze.  Some of the stores had necklaces of red and green and blue Christmas lights.  He could smell fresh rolls baking in a bake shop and chocolate and coffee from a candy store. 
         I wonder what Dad would think about me now, he thought.  Would he be disappointed I'm into art?  Would he think it's strange that I'm still single?  Would he be devastated that I really don't want kids?  I have enough trouble managing my own life, for God's sake.  Dad, what would you think?
         The stars looked like ice crystals.  He thought about what astronomers called “Lookback Time.” You were seeing stars the way they were billions of years ago.  Time wasn't really linear. It was like a circle, he thought.  Somewhere on the circle his father still lived.          
         He got back to the apartment and the scent of fresh-brewed coffee filled the room.  He was starting to pour the coffee when he heard the knock at the door.  It was Norm, who had brought croissants and butter.
         “Have a seat, my man,” Norm gestured grandly.  “And I'll show you the serving skills that have made me famous.”
         Norm had worked as a waiter and was reportedly good at it.  He spread out plates, napkins, knives, forks, butter, and the croissants in a wicker basket.  He poured coffee for Alex and for himself.
         Alex took one of the rolls, broke it open, and spread butter on the fluffy inside of the roll.  Then he said, “I'm starting Project Santa Claus.”
         “What's that?” Norm asked.
         “I want to get another visit from Santa Claus,” Alex said.  “I want him to take me back in time.”
         Norm sat across from him and visibly restrained himself from a sigh.  He buttered his own croissant and sipped from his coffee cup.
         “Look, Alex, I know this is a tough time of year for you.  It's tough for me too.  I miss my old man something awful.  But you have to live in the now.  There's no way you're going back in time to see your father.”
         “Some of the great things in history have been things people weren't supposed to do,” Alex said.  “People weren't supposed to fly, but they did.  When Jules Verne wrote about submarines they didn't exist yet.  You're a science fiction writer, Norm.  You're supposed to dream the big dreams.”
         Norm was quiet.  He nibbled at his croissant and stood and walked to the window.  “Look,” he said.  “It's snowing.”
         Alex walked to the window and stood next to Norm.  The snow was coming down in straight columns and carpeting the trees, street, and cars below.  If everything could be as orderly and beautiful and serene as snow, he thought. 
         “You're right,” Norm said.  “If your Christmas wish is to go back in time, then you should go if it's possible.  Just come back and tell me about it.”
         Alex asked for some time off from work and immersed himself in Christmas.  He watched Christmas movies, listened to Christmas music, read “The Night Before Christmas,” and read Christmas stories by Dickens.  He wondered sometimes if Dickens had been visited by time travelers.  Maybe the Christmas Ghosts were really extraterrestrial visitors, he thought.
         When he woke on Christmas Eve he was serene.  The scene outside had  a Currier and Ives look.  New snow had painted the world white.  When he stood at the window and closed his eyes he could imagine a scene right out of “A Christmas Carol.”  He called relatives, made some hot chocolate, and even set out a box of sugar plums.  He would save the sugar plums for Christmas morning, he thought.
         He took out pictures of that Christmas from fifteen years ago and closed his eyes.  He wanted to remember everything from that day.  Everyone was happy, he remembered.  He remembered the  warm  and earthy harvest scents of pumpkin pie and apple pie and roast turkey.  He could still taste his mother's buttery  mashed potatoes and gravy.  He could smell the  resiny scent of the Christmas tree  and see the light from the fireplace dancing on the dangling red and green Christmas tree ornaments.
         He lay on his bed and watched the snow fluttering  outside his window.  He felt a mixture of fear and elation when he saw the same bright light from years before and heard the sleigh bells softly chiming.
         When he felt himself being lifted he didn't resist. It felt the way he imagined it would be riding on a cloud.  Then he passed effortlessly through the wall and outside.  The snow had stopped, but the air was raw and cold, and he was glad to be suddenly inside the cocoon of the  warm sleigh. 
         The man in the red suit had the same long white beard he remembered and he felt the man's thoughts:  "Welcome, Alex.  It's been a long time."
         "Yes," Alex thought.  "Where are you taking me?"
         "To Christmas," the thought reached him.
         Then they were flying.  The city lights were pinpricks of yellow down below and then they were up above the clouds and headed into the bright silver face of the moon.
         Alex wasn't conscious of movement as much as  of music. He heard a melody that sounded like all the best compositions by the best composers the world had ever known.  As the sleigh moved into the upper atmosphere and into space the music grew more beautiful.
         "We are approaching light speed," the man told him verbally.  "In a few moments we will travel back into time."
         "Will I remember any of this?" Alex said.
         "No," the man shook his head sadly.  "But you will find peace."
         Find peace, Alex thought.  Was that what this was all about?  The question "what if" had been part of his life since his father's death.  What if his father had lived?  How would things have been different? 
         Then he was in his living room from fifteen years before.  He had the body of a ten year old, but the experience and memory of a twenty-five year old man.  He was sitting in front of the crackling fire and his father was reading "The Night before Christmas."
         Then he heard his father's voice, almost subliminally.  "I'm proud of you, Alex.  Remember what I said that Christmas Eve.  If you believe strongly enough, you can achieve your dreams.  Be the artist you want to be.  Don't do it to please me, but for your own happiness.  I love you, Alex." 
         Then his father from fifteen years before finished reading "The Night Before Christmas" and Alex was back in the sleigh. He and the man in the red suit were descending back through the earth's atmosphere.  It was the last image he remembered.
         When he woke he had memories of Santa Claus, but he knew it was just a dream.  It had to be just a dream.  He found the message light on his answering machine blinking. 
         The first message was from Norm.  "Merry Christmas, buddy.  You won't believe this, but I think I saw Santa Claus last night.  I was outside and looked up at the moon.  The clouds broke and I swear I saw a sleigh and reindeer.  How crazy is that?"
         The other message was from his mother.  "Hi, honey, and Merry Christmas.  I thought you'd like to know I found an old journal by your dad.  I didn't even know he started a journal.  But this was from that Christmas Eve when you were ten.  He said something about how proud he was of you and how you'd go far.  Call me."
         Alex felt happier than he had felt for many Christmas days.  He would call his mother, but first he wanted a sugar plum.