Rosity Nick: odbear3204 Word Count: 667 I Believe The picture painted across the winter landscape was breathtaking. Looking at the stark white cleansing snow was curiously warming. All this against an audible track of excited laughter as the children’s voices carried with dragon breath for all to hear. One boy’s figure was out of place against this chocolate box backdrop. A slumped and saddened figure walked purposelessly across the virginal streets, his saltwater trail melting tiny pools of fragile snow. Soon he had arrived home. The twinkling welcome only served to make his heart feel heavier with disappointment. “ Hey now, what’s wrong with this picture?” His father’s enquiry shook Tim from his thoughts. “Dad….” His pause was pregnant with hope, “..some boys at school told me there isn’t a Father Christmas. You believe in him don’t you daddy?” “Well now, let’s get you fed and ready for bed, and I’ll tell you all about it.” As Timmy hurried upstairs to change, Alan had his epiphany. This was the moment he had thought of almost from day one of parenthood. He knew deep down he would have to explain his thoughts one day, but articulating ones own belief might be tricky. The comforting familiarity of his bedroom had at least lightened Tim’s mood, but the nagging doubt still lingered. Alan drew breath and steeled himself — come on now man, you knew this was coming. “Well now, do I believe you asked me. If you mean do I think Father Christmas is a man in a red suit who leaves presents all over the world in one night, then no, I don’t” Timmy opened his mouth but Alan persisted … “Ah-ah … let me finish. I think everyone knows deep down that that is only a fairytale, a fantasy. But, I think it’s based on something very real. Ever since I was … oh, even younger than you, I’ve loved this time of year. Everyone seems livelier and full of hope, optimism even. People have runny noses and sniffles, but everyone says they feel fitter than ever, people seem vital when Christmas is around. It’s true you know, what they say, folks have a genuine spring in their step and a love for everyone they meet. You can see contentment in the lines in faces everywhere you look. Things we would think were plain daft at other times of the year seem to make perfect sense. We make an effort to go outside when there’s precipitation … because it’s fun. We overcrowd our houses with relatives and friends … but no-one minds the discomfort. It’s almost like a game to be enjoyed. We like the hectic running around in the kitchen, not enough pots and pans, how will we get this thing in the oven. Any other time of year we’d be tearing our hair out and the voices would be raised in anger, not giggling and excitement. Now you tell me young man, what makes all that possible if it isn’t Father Christmas then? Eh? You can bet your life I believe … and I hope I always will.” He said a lot more, and he and Timmy talked until long past his bedtime, until inevitably, reassuringly, they collapsed into one dreaming mass on the bed. Amanda had listened outside for some time. She and Alan had spoken of all this before of course. Usually curled up watching some old black and white movie, eyes occasionally cast toward the colder world outdoors. She was mesmerised to find this strong and capable man could be so vulnerable and delicate, ‘my own Father Christmas’ she had called him. She moved gingerly through the room to dim the lamp and rearrange the quilt over both her men, and picked up the book for tonight’s story from the floor. A smile played at the corners of her mouth as she read the title and all she could think was … uh-uh, not tonight you don’t Mr. Grinch. Not tonight … and not ever … I believe.