My “Buddy” Santa

The sound of Michael Bublé on repeat almost hid the low electronic buzz. Almost.

Santa Clause was in a three-month long Bublé mood for reasons unbeknownst to anyone but a singular elf.

Those weren’t the only sounds, though. Eccentric whizzes of spinning machine arms, the cranks of levers, cogs turning. Most importantly, quiet chatter and occasional grumbles. 

Rows upon rows of green and red-clad elves sat and packed toys into boxes. They did their ribbon-adorned origami quickly enough to catch up to the toy-making machines. At one end of the aquatic centre-sized room was a row of desks with elves dressed in gold and silver filling in paperwork. The workload had doubled in the past month due to a certain upcoming holiday.

A bright-faced, chubby, tall elf with curly hair as rosy as her cheeks walked down an aisle. Her gold and silver dress swayed back and forth as she moved, shimmying when she tapped a short elf on the shoulder.

‘Passing on a message from Mr Claus. Your new present is in your room, Bellomir.’

Laughter flanked the Bellomir on both sides. He groaned and sank into his seat, his scowl visible from the South Pole. He instinctively twirled the black curl sticking out of his pointy hat.

A stocky elf with a buzz cut nudged him in his ribs. “What do ya bet you got this time? A Rolex? A convertible?’

A waifish elf with long, flowing locks in a low ponytail grabbed Bellomir’s hat and rubbed it over his head until it mussed his hair, musical giggles playing from her mouth.

‘Maybe he finally went crazy and gave you the deed to a platinum mine!’ she added.

The red on Bellomir’s shirt was a dead ringer for the colour in his cheeks. He gave both his coworkers a death glare before looking up at the speakers on the roof. Throughout all of this, the three elves were still packing just as efficiently as before.

‘You guys have been listening to this song too much.’

‘Well, I guess Mr Claus plays what he wants,’ Mistlebo the stocky elf said with a shrug.

 ‘I think I’ve heard this song at least five times today. Did any of the other Bublé songs repeat this much?’

Snowren the waifish elf stroked her chin. ‘I think I heard ‘It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas’ a few times.’

‘But not five,’ Bellomir retorted with a sigh.

The messenger elf returned. ‘Passing on a message from Mr Claus. Meet Mr Claus at 7:16 tonight. Bring the hot chocolate and the present to open upon arrival.’

The laughter returned as well. ‘Looks like Mr Claus thinks you’re his best buddy,’ Mistlebo remarked.

Bellomir’s mouth contorted into half a smile and half a frown. ‘Yeah, Santa’s my buddy, alright.’

Two hours and one more ‘Santa Baby’ later, Bellomir hung up his hat and clocked out of work. He rushed to his room and picked up the present and hot chocolate. It was a modest one-bedroom apartment sandwiched between a hundred or so identical ones. The only difference in his room was the mountain of various gifts in the corner, torn wrapping paper sticking out at every angle like branches on a Christmas tree.

After eating a microwave dinner, he looked at his watch. ‘Jingleberries,’ he muttered under his breath. He put on his black coat and ran out of his room. He went up the stairs to the top floor, passing by the public dining hall and the toy research facility.

A red door with an emerald green wreath stood on the top floor. Bellomir knocked it six times, playing ‘Jingle Bells’ in his head.

A friendly old voice rumbled through the door. ‘Come in, come in!’

Bellomir closed his eyes, took a deep breath and opened the door. The dark air cracked with frequent little bursts of orange as the fireplace blazed. Some instrumental jazz music played from a forties-style radio. Above the gold-trimmed marble mantle hung a framed photograph of Mr and Mrs Claus. 

A tall crimson velvet chair stood beside a little wooden table by the fire. The fireplace hid the man sitting there in silhouette, though the light captured the curves of his protruding cheeks. A glimmering teardrop ran down his face as he hummed the melody on the radio.

Santa Claus still maintained his round shape but had lost a noticeable amount of weight over the past few months. His coat hung from his body like it was on a coat rack, and his eyes were sunken in to an almost skeletal degree. His kitchen was untouched and had been that way since the incident, at least as far as Bellomir could tell. He had only started visiting after that event transpired. A couple of takeout boxes littered the floor, though not enough to match Santa’s pre-incident eating habits.

The jolly old man turned his head and showed Bellomir a smile one could roast chestnuts on. ‘Come closer, my dear boy.’

Bellomir frowned at that. Did he look young enough to earn that title? He was an elf.  Still, he obliged, placing the can of hot chocolate atop the kitchen bench as he waddled over to the man.

He sat on Santa’s lap and looked up at his face, now illuminated by the flames before them. Santa’s eyes egged him on. Bellomir sighed and tore open the package. 

Inside was a sweater the shade of pine leaves, a deer and the words ‘Merry Christmas’ stitched in with white wool. Bellomir couldn’t help but match Santa’s grin.

The man wrapped his arms around Bellomir’s waist and held him to his solid chest. Despite his sturdy hold, he dropped his chin onto the elf’s shoulder with the insecurity of a child looking for their parents’ approval.

‘Did you like the gift?’

‘If it’s from you, why wouldn’t I-’

‘Don’t beat around the bush, Bello. The truth, boy. Out with it.’

‘I like it.’

‘Good, good.’ Santa kept his arms around Bellomir but lifted his head from his shoulder. He looked up at the photograph. ‘She always loved sweaters. She used to knit me one almost every week. I wish she could have taught me more.’ His words caught in his throat, turning his voice raspy. ‘But I’m still proud of this one. I made a few mistakes but I doubt you’ll be able to spot them.’ His belly laugh resounded through Bellomir’s chest.

Santa gently rubbed his thumbs against Bellomir’s arms, and the elf relaxed into his embrace. For the next five minutes, the only sounds were the intermittent crackle of the fireplace and the slow breaths that, after some time, perfectly synchronised. 

Eventually, Bellomir offered an alternative to the silence. ‘Feeling better?’ He asked with the corners of his lips reaching his pink cheeks. Santa nodded, his head stroking Bellomir’s back.

‘You’re always so comforting.’

Bellomir gazed at the photograph, focusing on Mrs Claus’ beaming face. He looked away and clenched his hands into fists, inadvertently scratching his thighs in the process.

‘Do… you have any other elves that do this?’ He asked as he twirled a strand of his hair.

‘Of course not.’

Bellomir cranked his head to an angle and bit his lip before speaking. ‘Why me? I don’t exactly look like her.’ His voice carried more venom than anticipated, but he wasn’t taking it back.

Santa let go and curled his fists. ‘You think I’d just use you as a replacement?’ His voice carried concern, but his words were just a little louder than what he said before.

To match his energy, Bellomir glared up at the once-jolly man. ‘Isn’t that what you’re doing? Isn’t that the whole point of this?’

Santa spluttered nonsense, his brain containing no words to the contrary. Bellomir hopped off his lap, causing the wrapping paper to fall onto the wine-coloured carpet. He looked down at the sweater in his hands and pushed it back onto Santa’s lap.

‘I don’t need this,’ he said before turning his back and walking out the door.

The next day at work contained the same old drudgery of the previous. Mistlebo’s elbow attacks gave Bellomir a crushing sense of deja vu.

‘How were things last night with your new buddy Santa?’

Bellomir sank into his seat again, his growl almost louder than the machines.

‘Didn’t like the gift?’ Snowren asked without looking away from the present before her.

Bellomir hesitated, then gave a small smile as he carefully wrapped his present. ‘The gift was nice. It was heartfelt and sweet. He made it himself and everything.’ Another sigh left his lips. ‘But that’s just it. At the end of the day, it’s another gift.’

Mistlebo scoffed at that. ‘If someone handmade me a gift, I’d be pretty grateful.’ Bellomir bit the inside of his cheek, trying to come up with a retort but finding none.

The messenger elf walked up to him. ‘Passing on a message from Mr Claus-’

‘Tell him I don’t want to see him,’ Bellomir said flatly.

She blinked. ‘Excuse me?’ Several elves in the factory turned their heads.

‘I don’t want to see him…’ He suddenly remembered the warmth of the fireplace threading through the warmth of Santa’s arms like a hand-knit Christmas sweater. ‘…today. Tell him to invite me tomorrow.’

‘V… very well, then. Do you still want me to relay the message?’

Bellomir waved his hand dismissively and went back to work. The elves who had a quick entertainment break rushed to catch up with the machines. Toys began to pile up on the conveyor belts, pushing up against each other and falling off the belts.

While still working on their presents, Mistlebo and Snowren looked at Bellomir out the corner of their concerned eyes. Then they looked back at their gifts as if nothing had happened.

Despite the chill of the night, Bellomir lay atop his quilt on his bed, the crack in his ceiling the only object in his view. He played with a curl in his hair as images flashed through his mind like reels in stereo slide viewer glasses. 

Santa standing in the factory beside the desks like he used to, staring at Bellomir for some reason. The red outlines of his eyes from rubbing them too much. The mugs of hot chocolate on the little table by the fire as Bellomir reached out to hug Santa for the first time. Santa’s first gift, a bottle of cologne with a leathery scent. A messenger elf walking up to Bellomir and making the short elf realise that Santa was no longer in the factory.

Mrs Claus smiling as she handed the elves cookies. Santa giving her a peck on the lips with his arm around her waist. Mrs Claus coughing over and over again. Elves wearing black during the ceremony. A tear sliding down a silhouetted Santa’s face as he looked up at the framed photo.

Bellomir blinked, his nose itching as he finally noticed his own tears. When he started to shiver, he considered pulling the covers over him, but he figured they couldn’t compete with the cosiness of Santa’s arms. 

He turned his head to the gold alarm clock beside his bed, another gift from Old Saint Nick. It was 3 in the morning. Should he? Was he crazy?