There must be a note somewhere. Like the one he left for Cuddles. Maybe there would be some horse-related gifts. A saddle or riding clothes. Santa wouldn’t let me down. Not this year. I’d been so good.
I began opening the gifts. There was a board game, a pair of ice skates, and a new dress I could conveniently wear to Grandma’s for Christmas dinner. I was starting to lose hope when Dad pushed out a large box that was hidden behind the tree.
“Look what I found,” he declared as he read the gift tag. “To: Dorrie. From: Santa.”
This was the saddle! I just knew it! With a note from Santa inside telling me where I could find my new horse. I ripped open the package and looked at the box.
“You know what that is, Dorrie?” my mother explained. “That’s an electric typewriter! Look at that,” she said as she fondled the box. “You’ll need that for school.”
What happened? What did I do wrong? As my parents began cleaning up the gift wrap mess, which seemed to indicate that the gift opening session was over, I looked out the window for my horse.
But nothing.
While Mom was busy with breakfast, I ran out to the backyard in my pajamas, wondering if maybe Fury had strayed into a neighboring yard.
“Fury? Fury!” I called out.
But there was no whinny. No response at all.
As a last, desperate effort, I decided to check the basement. After all, that’s where Cuddles had been.
But there was nothing out of the ordinary in the basement. Nothing that is, except a table covered in rolls of gift wrap, a roll of tape and a pair of scissors. The same gift wrapping Santa had used. On his busiest night of the year, he had time to wrap my gifts in the basement? Didn’t the elves take care of that?
I had a horrible thought.
I immediately ran upstairs and began rummaging thru the torn wrapping paper. There it was. The gift card. “To: Dorrie. From: Santa.”
I couldn’t believe my eyes. I ran quickly to my bedroom, shut the door, and began looking for the one piece of evidence I didn’t want to find.
And there it was.
My birthday card.
“Happy 10th Birthday” it read on the outside.
And inside…
“To Dorrie. Love, Daddy.”
In the exact same handwriting.
Oh my god. Jimmy Trumbo was right. There was no Santa Claus. Why did they deceive me like this? For all those years? All those lies. Those lies! Why did they make me believe? Why? None of the good things I’d done had mattered at all. I would never get a horse. Never ever ever.
I sat on my bed, hugged my stuffed horsey, and cried and cried.
By the time breakfast was ready, I staggered numbly to the kitchen.
“Did you like what Santa brought you, sweetheart?” my father asked as he looked up from his paper.
“Yeah. Thanks, Daddy,” I said and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “And thanks, Mommy,” I said and gave her a kiss, too.
“You’re welcome, sweetie,” she replied with a bit of mist in her eyes.
It was time for me to grow up.
16
With two days left to open, we finally had our ending to the play.
“Oh my god,” Steve said as he read the last three pages. “It’s a happy ending?”
“Yeah. What the hell,” I replied.
“Well, that’s the Christmas Spirit,” Steve replied sarcastically.
“Don’t be a dick.”
Nate really had done wonders in a short period of time. A modern-day George Bailey and his shrink. Two strong characters challenging each other on the most stressful night of the year. Battling their demons, letting go of their fears, and by Christmas morning, rekindling the joy and wonder of all that life has to offer.
I still would have preferred an existentialist twist at the end---they’re both already dead. Da-da-dum!!!
But it was It’s a Wonderful Life. Not Our Town.
The next morning, I was awakened by a knock on the door.
Oh no.
“Hey! It’s Alex!” I heard from the other side of the door. Oddly, Alex being the knocker in question was my best case scenario, so I opened the door. He stood there in what can only be described as a pair of Hugh Hefner pajamas.
“Sorry to wake you, but I wanted to get my stuff. Did she send it over?”
“Yeah. It’s here,” I said as I shuffled thru the apartment in my cotton granny nightgown and fuzzy slippers to retrieve the boxes.
“Wow, Dorrie---ever heard of Victoria’s Secret?” he snarked on my sleepwear.
“No, but I know about Alex’s Secret,” I was pretty quick for just rolling out of bed. “Here you go. Two boxes.”
“Great. Oh---and good news. Celia’s taking me back.”
“No. No!” I started to cry out. “She can’t. She just sent these boxes over. No, no, no…”
“It’s all good. Don’t worry. You can stay here now.”
“No I can’t! You’re little Russian beluga downstairs is threatening to rat me out if you break up with her. I’m going to lose this apartment and Nate is going to lose his job and Celia is going to be stuck with you for the rest of her life…”
“Relax. You won’t lose the apartment. Celia wants me to prove myself or something before I can move back---so I’ll be staying at Tanya’s for a few weeks.”
“You can’t prove yourself while you’re sleeping with Tanya.”
“Well…” he honestly seemed dismayed by this dilemma. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Can’t you get a hotel or something?”
“Look…the financial sector is not what it used to
