text: Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Old Mr. James shook the snow from his boots and coat with practiced ease. His heavy frown and wrinkled forehead made his actions cartoon-like as he tossed his coat onto the wire coat rack. He hunched his sturdy shoulders as he walked through the department store, glaring at the brightly wrapped presents, decorated trees, and Santa’s elves as they waved from every corner at him. “I don’t know why they have to go to so much trouble. Christmas is just something corporate made up to get their fingers into every American pocketbook and every woman’s purse.” He was so deep into his muttering that he didn’t notice the slim, young girl staring up at him. He plowed right into her, and she gave a startled cry. “Hey!” He jumped back immediately, glancing down at his sparkling Allen Edmonds to make sure they weren’t smudged, and then back up at the girl. “What were you doing in my way, girlie?” Her big, Christmas-red bow on her brown head trembled, but the white little face was set like flint. “I’m very sorry, Mister, but you weren’t watching where you were going.” She rubbed her arm where he ran into her and glared at him. “And you hurt my arm.” Mr. James stammered and stuttered as the little girl frowned. “My mommy says you need to apologize when you hurt someone.” She stood there, just waiting, her little lips pursed in disapproval. Mr. James turned on his heel after a moment and stomped in the other direction. “Humph!” He said, swinging his arms beside him. “Her mother didn’t raise her right, I guess.” He opened the door to his office in the back and sat in his leather chair with a thud. Rolling up to the desk, he flipped open his laptop, and placed in his noise-canceling earbuds. He hated Christmas music, so he listened to classical music at the loudest setting possible. Maybe that’s why his hearing was going - he still wasn’t sure. Time passed so quickly, that when he glanced up, it was nearly the end of the day. He rose and headed back to the end of the hall for his coat. Thrusting his arms into the sleeves, he turned up the collar, and faced the door, ready to head out into the onslaught of a snowy winter. “Mr. Grouchy Man?” He heard the little voice behind him, and he turned his head slightly, not acknowledging the voice. It continued on without missing a beat. “Why aren’t you in the Christmas spirit?” At that, he whirled around and faced the little girl from earlier, her jaunty bow still held in place. Her big blue eyes held only curiosity. He tucked his chin into the collar of his coat and stared down at her. “My name is James Claus. And no, I don’t believe in Santa. Santa isn’t real. The Christmas spirit is just a scam that people who want to make sales made up. There’s no reason for me to be in the Christmas spirit, and I wish everyone would stop asking me why I’m not!” He was shouting, now, and the little girl blinked owlishly at him. “You mean you don’t like candy canes or sledding or snowmen?” “That’s exactly what I mean, little girl. And where is your mother? Surely she didn’t leave you here all alone?” A lady, red burning in her cheeks, matching the wool coat she wore, hurried by the perfume counter. She was scanning the store, her head whipping around, until she caught sight of the little girl. “Emily! Why did you run off again?” Emily glanced from Mr. James to the lady. “Sorry, Mother. I was just asking Mr. Grou--I mean, Mr. Claus why he wasn’t in the Christmas spirit.” The lady stared at him. “Mr. Claus? Is that really your name?” Mr. James grunted. “I prefer to be called Mr. James. And, yes, it’s really my name.” “Do you play Santa Claus?” “No, I do not play Santa Claus.” He said, adamantly. “And I will not be coerced into doing it.” Emily sidled a step closer to him. “Please, Mr. James? We have hot chocolate.” “What do you mean you have hot chocolate?” Emily’s mother smiled. “I am the owner of a company who sets up in the middle of the mall. My Santa just called in sick earlier this morning. If I got you a fake beard and paid you what it was worth, would you be willing to do it for me?” “No.” “But--“ Mr. James crossed his arms. “I said, no. ” The woman’s eyes twinkled. “What about if I let one of my other girls help you out behind the perfume counter while you did it? Your poor sales lady behind the counter could barely keep up. I’m sure you probably lost some sales because of it.” Mr. James cleared his throat. “Sales, did you say?” “And I would even pay my girl so that you don’t have to.” He stared at the lady in front of him incredulously. “You really need a Santa, don’t you?” Her lips formed into a thin line, and she crossed her arms across her chest. “Sir, some of these kids that come in here are very poor. They need whatever Christmas cheer that we can bring them. If you don’t want to do it, I will continue my search, but I will have to cancel tomorrow.” Emily tugged on the sleeve of his coat. “Please?” He sighed, loudly. “Fine. But only until you find someone else.” “Yay!” Emily jumped up and down, clapping her hands. Her bow flopped crazily over her head, and Mr. James almost smiled. Not quite, but almost. The woman, whose name he learned was Susie Clemmonts, hurried him off to the middle of the mall. She rummaged through large, plastic bins until she found a Santa suit. She held it up in front of her, shaking it out, and Mr. James smelled the distinct scent of mothballs. He wrinkled his nose. “Do I have to wear that?” “Unless you have a secret Santa suit that we don’t know about, yes.” Susie handed him the suit, a fake beard, and a floppy red hat and directed him toward the nearest restroom. Moments later, he emerged. Emily and her mother stared at him with wide eyes, not moving a muscle. He stared back at them. “What? Does it not look right?” “It’s perfect, Mr. James!” Emily breathed. “Are you really Santa Claus?” A smile spread across his face - a small smile, but a smile just the same. “Good.” He said, hurrying back to change into his regular clothes. And when no one could hear him, he muttered to just himself. “I’m glad.” The next morning, true to her word, Susie had a bright-eyed girl of seventeen to work the perfume counter. She was a powerhouse, helping customers left and right. The store made more sales that day than they had made all week, but Mr. James wouldn’t tell Susie that, of course. By that afternoon, Mr. James was suited up, an elf on either side of him, and practicing his very rusty, “Ho, Ho, Ho.” Emily giggled every time he tried. “Mr. James, that doesn’t sound normal.” “Then why don’t you do it for me?” She shook her head, curls swinging around her rosy cheeks. “That would be silly! Elves don’t laugh like Santa!” Kids in all shapes and sizes came through the line to see Santa that day. Big eyes stared up at him, asking for all manner of toys and games. His heart began to feel funny after a few hours - softer, somehow. By the end of the day, he was smiling so big his face hurt. Susie appeared at his elbow, placing her hand on the head of a very tired elf named Emily. “We’re about done, Mr. Claus, but I have one more very special child to bring to you.” She nodded at two people standing nervously by the corner. They bent over, and soon Mr. James saw a very small boy being wheeled to him in a wheelchair. The boy’s legs were bent and shriveled, his body twisted and broken. When he saw Mr. James, a great big smile stretched across his face, and he raised skinny arms to his mother. “Santa!” The mother carefully lifted him and placed him on Mr. James’ lap. “This is Benji, Mr. Santa Claus. He’s been waiting patiently all day to see you.” Mr. James smiled down at the boy, but when he spoke, his voice cracked with emotion. “What can I get you for Christmas, Benji?” Benji’s smile lit up the room. “I don’t want any toys or games.” He said, thoughtfully. “I want my mommy to be strong enough to take me Christmas caroling.” Mr. James cocked his head. “Why Christmas caroling, son?” “Because, Santa. I want to tell people about the true meaning of Christmas. All of these toys and gifts don’t matter much to someone who can’t use them.” He thumped his small chest with his left hand. “But I want people to know that Christmas is about so much more.” He paused and looked right into Mr. James’ grizzled face. “Do you know Silent Night, Mr. Santa?” Mr. James nodded his head, a tear dripping down his grizzled cheek and into his fake beard. “I do, son.” “Would you sing it with me?” Mr. James nodded again, and when he spoke, his voice gruff. “Of course I would.” Benji leaned back against Mr. James' arm, his clear young voice beginning the song. And one by one, his parents, Susie, and even Emily the elf, joined in. Their voices blended as they sang about Christmas, and about a peaceful time. The hustle and bustle of the mall faded to silence as the song rang out through the rafters. “Silent night, holy night.” When they finished, Benji gave Mr. James a hug and waved goodbye as his parents wheeled him back the way that he had come. Mr. James dropped his head so no one could see the tears filling his eyes. He felt a small hand steal into his rough one and heard Emily’s small voice beside him. “If Benji can have the Christmas spirit, I think we can, too. Can’t we, Mr. Claus?” Mr. James Clause squeezed Emily’s hand, smiling through his tears. “We can, Emily. And I think me and you and your mom may just help out some certain folks Christmas caroling tonight.” As Mr. James rose to his feet, Emily’s hand still in his, he looked around the mall with a new pair of eyes. The tacky Christmas decorations were the same. The loud, blinking lights still hurt his eyes. This time, though, none of it bothered him. The reason to celebrate was not in the gifts, but now, it was in his heart.