Dashing Through The Snow

Chapter One - Nick

Chapter One

Nick

"Nick."

How was I going to do this? How could he just leave me like that? Well, it had been eighteen years, but I still thought about him and how he left. This was too much for me. How was I going to handle all of this? I had no training. Did I need training? Now I'm getting really confused. How does anyone do this job, if you can even call it that?

"Nick!" my mother snapped, waving her hand in front of my face.

"What?"

She sighed and took the cup of hot chocolate from my grasp. "Try to pay attention. Christmas is in three weeks. We need to start making preparations. We can do this."

"Why not just call Uncle Dan like we have for the past seventeen years?" I questioned.

She sighed again, patting her red dress, which looked very familiar to me although she had never worn it before.

"Because you need to learn."

"This," I said, moving my arms back and forth, "is too much for an eighteen year old boy, Mom. Uncle Dan is much more experienced."

"Fine," she barked, taking me back. "We'll have him come in and teach you. You have to learn how to do this yourself. Your father can't do it anymore."

"Not that he cares about me," I mumbled, grabbing my sweater from the arm of my chair.

"Nick," Mom started.

"No," I said, cutting her off, "it's fine. He wanted nothing to do with me. He wanted to leave. This was too much even for him. I understand. Stop trying to make it any different."

"Nick, you don't know the whole story," she told me.

"And I don't want to," I snapped, opening the door and walking toward the small fountain in the middle of the little village we lived in. Snowflakes drifted soundlessly to the layer of white that was already covering the ground.

Taking a deep breath, I stared at the fountain. It had a circular base, made out of marble, with a statue of my father, looking extremely sad, and his pet reindeer, Rudolph. A small plate reading Come Home was drilled at their feet.

"Why?" I whispered to him as elves walked around happily, enjoying their break.

"Nick!" a voice called. "Nick!"

Craning my head, I saw my elf friend, Finwë, coming toward me, panting from running. He wore dark green tights, green shirt with red around the cuffs and a green with white hat that covered his light brown hair. I slightly smiled and then turned back to the fountain as the green water slowly became murkier. Fresh water hadn't come out of it since they left was how the story goes. I wouldn't know; I was barely three months old when he left.

"Ni...ck," he panted, hands on his knees for support.

"You okay, Finwë?" I asked, never letting my gaze waver from the statue, blue eyes burning holes into my 'father.'

"Just...terrific." He coughed. "Why...would...you...think...something… was...wrong?"

"You can barely breathe," I observed, giving his back a pat, bending my knees slightly since he was only four feet tall.

He coughed again and hit his chest, color slowly returning to his face. Finwë didn't exercise very often, but he did eat a lot of cookies, yet he wasn't fat.

"I'm not a runner." He shrugged, coughing one last time.

"I can see that," I teased, rubbing the cold marble.