Dear Nick,
It’s been a day of snow and night and the hush of steel runners against ice, as I head south through the Arctic. I’ve taken sleigh number four (you don’t use it much) and two of the retired reindeer.
We’ve stopped somewhere near the Cordillera Mountains, and I’m writing by the glow of a campfire. As long as I huddle into the reindeer’s fur and use the sleigh as a shield, I’ll stay warm.
You’d never say it, so I’ll say it for you: I’m a terrible wife for running away. Away from the North Pole. Away from the toy making, present wrapping, reindeer mucking, suit mending, candy baking. Away from eternal cheer. Away from us.
I wish I had a joyful spirit like you. I pretended, but the stars offer more color than that of the Christmas lights. The world is counting on us. I know. But this numbness leaves me useless.
I prefer to see the world from the ground for now.
Carol
***
Carol,
Please don’t do this. I’m telling myself you’ll return. This life of ours, I agree we’ve turned it into a merry-go-round. Each year it’s harder to get off of the darn thing. As granter of wishes I won’t stop you, if yours is to be free. But I can’t imagine how you’ll manage. Where you’ll go. How alone you’ll feel. How alone I’ll feel sitting next to the fireplace without your red-socked feet touching mine.
Nick
***
Dear Nick,
The fields of snow are endless out here. I’ve parked the sleigh and wander in random directions before retracing my moonlit footsteps. The wind beats against my face, and the frost is finding its way into my skin. Night lasts all day, and there’s so much color in the night sky. Wild wishes on falling stars are so much more exciting than those rote ones we’ve made each Christmas.
When you flew overhead tonight, you sounded a lot less jolly than usual. My decision puts your work in jeopardy. For that, I am sorry.
Carol
***
Carol,
The presents are delivered, but the elves tell me there’s something wrong with my laugh. Plus, the house is filled with that cold snow smell, the one we always said we’d keep out of our place. I suppose it’s what drove you away. Joy to the world while my complaining is saved for you. I’m sorry for that. Without you the days are… Well, I’m done unloading.
Out there, you looked strong (and good) in that coat of yours! Focused. Just the way you were before I decided the solution to not having our own kids was to take on the world’s.You should have been included in that decision.
There’s joy in making others happy, though, isn’t there?
Nick
***
Dear Nick,
Don’t give up on the toys. The kids (and adults) count on one day a year to forget that all else is hard. But what about those who don’t have a tree? Or those wandering the street who never had a chance to believe in Santa or a steady parent?
I’m exiting the Christmas mirage, Nick. I took the naughty list. From now, I will be in charge of it. Helping, and not just with sugar and snow globes.
Tomorrow, I leave for Ellesmere Island. I’d like to build a cabin and a new life.
Love,
Carol
P.S. Wouldn’t it be better if the elves worked on their own creative projects instead of admiring you all the time?
***
Carol,
Really, the naughty kids?! Living among people? If you need to be alone, I’ll build you a cabin in the northern snow field. I’ll get a couple of the boys to help. Let me do that for you. We’ll infuse it with gingerbread scent, just how you used to like.
Am I invited to this snow lodge of yours?
Nick
***
Dear Nick,
I’m done pretending. My plan is to fly to where I’m needed. On the coldest of nights, when your heart is done with sugar-sweet joy, if you can find your way into this dark place of mine, I’ll be out here, in a cabin I’ve built with my own hands.
My door is open and there’s a plate set for anyone happening by. Maybe one day that person will be you.
Carol
Joanna Friedman’s fiction and poetry has appeared in a variety of anthologies and on-line publications. She works as a psychologist in the San Francisco Bay area and lives with her husband, twin girls, and the spirit of her pug dog, Blue. Follow her on Twitter @j_grabarek or her website, joannafriedman.wordpress.com.
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