Snow Job

continued...

Thanks to the customary cold snap that followed the weekend's blizzard, Jonathan made it all the way through to the next Saturday almost entirely intact, albeit with a new face and a couple of extra features volunteered by some less-than-well-meaning souls. First, the neighborhood critters had made short work of his original face, eating it in a matter of hours. (Jimmy had awakened that next morning to the sight of a squirrel eating one of Jonathan's eyes right out of the socket – prompting horrified tears and sending him into a three-day funk.) David had quickly replaced the lost items with two tennis balls and a string of plastic blocks from a discarded Duplo set he had discovered in the old toy box. Jonathan had not gone unnoticed by the neighborhood residents, either. While most of the adults on the block considered him nothing more than a comical anomaly (only old Mrs. Lonas took the backside of the snowman as an affront), Jonathan was universally acclaimed by the neighborhood kids as "gay" – in just about every sense of the word. A few took matters into their own hands. One morning Jonathan had gained a sizeable ass crack and two rounded cheeks in his bottom rung. A few days later he was sporting some impressive morning wood in the form of a broomstick.

Nevertheless, Jonathan survived, although he had to sweat it out during the next Saturday afternoon, when the temperature poked above freezing and into the mid-30s. As the world around him dripped, ran and receded, Jonathan held steady with the help of the boys, who bolstered him all day with fresh applications of snow, even while the once-treasured fort fell into serious disrepair. Temperatures were expected to plummet again on Sunday, so sunset for once came as a welcome sight. Their hard work had paid off again: Jonathan would continue to smile his plastic smile and keep his place in the increasingly slush-grayed Courier & Ives print framed by the Dewell's picture window.

The boys expected to follow up the afternoon's success with an exciting evening, as well: they were getting a babysitter for the second straight week. It would be Sela this time – not Jill, their favorite – but it would all work out the same. Whereas Jill would play along with them, making costumes and coming up with her own story lines, Sela essentially ignored them in favor of the phone, leaving David to prowl their 56 cable channels in search of the kind of violence and adult situations that didn't get edited out of movies on basic cable. Bedtime would be a mere suggestion, and it would be open season on the bags of semi-sweet chocolate chips Mom had bought for baking the Christmas cookies.

The evening got underway promptly at 6:30 with the ring of the doorbell. Dad shot down to the garage to retrieve the bowling balls while Mom let Sela in and laid down the usual laws: Bedtime at 8:00 for Jimmy, 9:30 for David. No violent movies or Fantasy Island for the boys, no friends over for her. Phone calls were fine, but nothing long distance. They'd be back around midnight. Any emergencies, call Grandma, or the bowling alley. See you later.

For her part, Sela was more peppy than usual. She was asking the boys heaps of questions, giggling and bouncing around the house. This annoyed David, as it was inconsistent with how he had envisioned the evening. Maybe it was because her boobs were getting bigger, thought David. She was certainly showing them off: tight white top tucked into tight tapered ice-washed jeans. Even Mrs. Dewell had noticed, thinking that she was dressed more for a date than a night minding her misfit boys. But the thought was chased by the insistent sound of the car horn, courtesy of Mr. Dewell, who was already revving the engine out in the driveway (he hated to be late).

Now Sela was filling the house with her boobs and her pointless energy. "Are you guys excited about Christmas? What did you ask for? Did you write a letter to Santa? Did he write back?" She fired these questions off so quickly that neither of the boys could answer before the next one was on its way – all except for the last, which she seemed to emphasize. The boys were put on their heels a little, but finally Jimmy answered, "Santa doesn't write back. He just comes."

"That's right," Sela replied with relish. The trap had been sprung. "Well, tonight he might just come by here!" The news ignited Jimmy, sending him jumping and screeching wildly. David was markedly less excited. Although he had not yet renounced Santa, he had certainly reached the point where he could call out a fake. He knew that Santa just didn't hang out every weekend at Orland Square Mall, or the in the bank lobby, or out in front of the grocery store ringing a bell, and occasionally, smoking a cigarette. If there was a Santa (and David's imagination had enabled him to formulate a number of scenarios in which this could still be true), then there was only Santa, and he came out only on Christmas Eve. Everything else was an imposter, which made David uncomfortable, especially when the pseudo Santa sensed David's skepticism and bucked harder for his buy in. David was not looking forward to the special visitor, but at least it explained Sela's behavior. Maybe after this sideshow was over, the evening would follow a more typical course.

"OK. OK. OK. Settle down," Sela pleaded with Jimmy. "Here's the deal: he's only going to come on two conditions. One: that both of you act like good little boys for the entire night, including going to bed at the right time. And two: that you don't tell ANYONE that he was here. Not even your parents. Or he will never come back. EVER."

The boys absorbed these caveats and pondered them deeply, though from decidedly different angles. After a few moments, Sela broke the silence. "So, what do you guys think?"

"Yeah!" squealed Jimmy.

Do you promise?"

"Yeah!"

"Do you promise hope to die?"

"Yeah!"

"Do you double promise hope to die?"

"Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!"

It was settled. Santa was coming. Simultaneously, Sela broke for the phone and David for the remote, while Jimmy spun in circles on his toes.

For over an hour, these three worlds did not enmesh. David whizzed up and down the channels, looking for anything even vaguely prohibited, while Jimmy, draped in a black brassiere pilfered from the laundry room, had arranged a battery of David's old GI Joes into a New Kids on the Block dance revue. Sela had just pried the phone from her ear only 15 minutes before, and now sat at the end of the couch, alternating nervous glances between the glow of the television, the clock, and the dark window outside. Every third or fourth time, she would be startled by the figure of Jonathan, faintly glowing outside by the pale flickering light of the television. Other times, when the channel on which David had momentarily parked was dark, the snowman would appear missing, frightening her anew. All in all, Jonathan's presence was entirely unsettling, and Sela began to despise him.

"Why did you guys build that snowman facing the wrong way?" she finally asked neither of the boys in particular. Neither answered. "It's creepy," she concluded with annoyance and disgust.

Finally, at about eight thirty, Sela checked the clock for what appeared to be one last time, then rose from her spot on the sofa with a loud "humph."

"OK Jimmy, time for you to go to bed," she announced, as matter of factly as she could.

Jimmy protested lightly, but not nearly enough, given a certain promise that had been made, but had not been kept. David recognized this immediately and decided not to help.

What about Santa?" David asked with feigned innocence. "Does this mean he's not coming tonight?"

Sela shot David an icy glare, but had to turn her attention almost immediately back to Jimmy, who had skipped all intermediate steps and proceeded directly to all-out bawling.

"Noooo, I wanna stay up!" was barely comprehensible, and only so because of its repetition. Jimmy writhed in Sela's arms as she tried to corral him and bring him up the stairs to his bed. Meanwhile, David sat on the floor amused and relieved, trying to keep from smiling. After all, he still had an hour left on the docket with the sitter he had just sold out. Despite his efforts, the slightest grin began to tug at the corners of his mouth. It was erased by the ring of the doorbell.

Suddenly, only silence reigned, at least for a moment, before the incidental disco of the Love Boat faded back into the room. Sela was shot with a look that was equal parts exhilaration and dread. Jimmy used the paralysis to wrench free and bolt to the bay window.

"Santa! Santa! Santa!" he shouted, pointing out the window.

Sela clasped her hands together in a giddy fashion and swooned. She could barely contain her smile. She squirmed as she looked at the door, and took a hesitant step back, as if she were standing on the edge of a high dive and had just looked down. Her smile belied her intention to jump, but for the moment, she had no breath.

David didn't move. He had no desire to meet this sham Santa, whoever he was. Though not yet able to put the feeling exactly into these words, he wondered how he, as the fourth grader, had been put in the position of doing the humoring. But he knew that there was no avoiding it now, and he didn't want to ruin it for Jimmy by being difficult. So when Jimmy began to shout wildly for his company at the window, he obliged. Sela took her cue from him, and the three of them were soon looking through the glass at Santa.

Well, sort of. The top half sure said Santa, with a red and white cap, flowing white beard and bulky red coat. But the bottom half reeked of Forest Oaks High School: blue ice-washed jeans with a gash of frayed denim cutting across one leg and some kind of diagram drawn with a black permanent marker on the other. Both legs tapered down into two untied, beat-up white and blue Pony hightops. And his arm was slung lovingly around Jonathan.

"Oh. My. God." The words plummeted from Sela's mouth. Squinting at the jeans, David thought he was able to make out the word "SLAYER." Jimmy was unfazed.

Santa stood waving to the trio at the window in broad, robotic strokes. He then curtsied dramatically, reached behind Jonathan, and pulled out a long aluminum softball bat garnished with a red bow that closely resembled the one that had graced the Wilstrungs' gas lamp earlier that afternoon.

"A present! A present!" Jimmy shouted with glee.

Sela let out a short, uncomfortable laugh.

Once certain that he had everyone's attention, Santa let the bat head drop down nonchalantly to his feet, where he tapped each of his shoes, as if to knock the dirt off of his imaginary cleats. He then turned his hips toward the window and assumed a batting stance. After a few deliberate half swings to warm up, Santa turned his hips, cocked his back elbow, and sent the head of the bat exploding through Jonathan's smiling face.

Clumps of snow pelted the window, along with one of the tennis balls, causing David and Sela to flinch. After looking briefly at his audience, Santa wound up and delivered two additional roundhouse blows to Jonathan's midsection before clubbing him to an amorphous pile with a series of gleeful downward chops. He then turned away from the window, curtsied again, and then sprinted laughing across the yard. Seconds later, the low rumble of a car engine and the impatient peeling of tires on the damp pavement were barely audible above Jimmy's wail.