Why Me?

part 5

"Fact and fiction are two separate yet same ideas. That's all they are, right? Ideas. So who is one to tell what fact is? Children believe in the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy, but once they reach a certain age, they start to stop believing in us. They go from defending us at school to telling other kids that we do not exist. Adults tell them that.

"What are we to do other than sit and wait for another child to come and replace the one that stopped believing? We cannot show ourselves. If we do, then we are not only disappointing the children that grow up when they stop receiving gifts, we are disturbing the cycle.

"So I go back to my original point. Who is to say what fact and fiction are? Believing is the concept that ties the two together. You can believe that I exist, just as you can believe that you are alive. If you don't believe in anything, then you start to mix reality with dreams. You no longer know what is real and what is not. You start to wonder why you do not believe in anything. That is no life for anyone. No wonder, no imagination, no real thoughts, no hope. I do not wish that way of living on anyone." We were in Santa's sleigh, and he was just finishing up his lecture. I found it interesting, and now that the adrenaline was gone I found that the pain was much more than I had thought. Although I could hardly think straight, I found it easy to follow his story. It was interesting enough, although I disagreed with most of it.

"How are you feeling, Emma?"

I couldn't lie to him. I just couldn't. "Worse. How long until we get to the Pole?"

"We're here!" I should have looked over the edge of the sleigh and enjoyed the sure-to-be-beautiful sight, but instead I just sat there, thanking God, or the Moon, or whoever, that Santa could finally help me. We landed with a loud crash and a painstakingly rough landing. I felt my "tough-girl" act disintegrate in to a thousand pieces. I gasped, and Santa looked at me as if I was his daughter that just got surgery.

"I'm fine. Just scared me, that's all." I stood up, very slowly. Santa and one of his fluffy carpets (?) flinched at me, like they were scared. When I started to wobble, Santa came and caught me. I could hardly feel the touch of his meaty arms against my burning body.

Santa raced me around his workshop, and I closed my eyes. I wanted to save the sights for when I could walk on my own. I heard a door open, and it slam close behind me. I felt myself being placed onto a soft fabric. When I opened my eyes, I was in a place that looked so boring it was interesting. Santa was staring down at me, examining me.

I heard a female voice. It sounded ancient and misplaced in this world of wonder. "Hello, what is your name?"

"Emma. Emma Frost." Santa answered for me.

"Let her reply."  This woman came into my vision, and from the look in Santa's eyes, she was married to him. Yet she did not look so tough. Mrs. Claus looked frail, almost too old to touch. She had wrinkles completely covering her, and her dress was a delicate mix of red and green patterns. She wore glasses, and had a little brief case on the side of her. "So, Emma, obviously you don't feel good. So, I'm going to ask you questions while I am examining you. I want you to tell me when it hurts."

I glanced over at Mr. Claus while Mrs. Claus is taking off my shirt.

"Mhhm?" Santa turned and walked out of the room.

Mrs. Claus tore off my dress (why was I in a dress?). I tried to hold it in, but my spasm of pain caused a tiny squeak. When she got it off, she laid me back down.

"Okay, now let me know if where I touch hurts." She started to feel around.

"There!" As Mrs. Claus reached under my left arm, I sucked in air, the word barely audible. Turning away, Mrs. Claus turned and opened her briefcase. She took out some gauze and some other types of miscellaneous medical items. When Mrs. Claus turned back around, she carried these things with her.

"Sit up." She had a firm but nice voice. I sat up, quite slowly. Mrs. Claus started to push on my side. I screamed and fought back. When she pushed harder, I gave up and fell to my other side. "Sit up." This woman was so utterly patient. She had me push against her as hard as I could, and POP! I yelled and found that I could breathe properly again. Gauze was wrapped around my middle, and she handed me a new set of clothes. They consisted of a pair of blue jeans and a white t-shirt. On top, there was a purple hoodie. 

Little did I know, these would be the clothes I would wear for the next few years of my life.