Santa Hunk
The most unbelievable Christmas Story you’ve ever read. And it’s absolutely true.
By Kirsten Mortensen
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, or to any actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright 2014 by Kirsten Mortensen
Savannah
First of all: forget everything you ever heard about him being a fat old guy who’s never seen a razor.
I mean, think about it. Santa’s an immortal. He’s immortal. A god, basically. And I’m telling you, he looks like a god.
The guy is gorgeous.
Those things you’ve seen about the goofy red suit and the big jiggly belly? Most of it comes from a poem a guy wrote for his kids. “’Twas the night before Christmas.” You know the poem I mean. And it’s a nice poem. It’s a timeless classic.
But the guy who wrote that poem? He’d never seen Santa.
He made it all up.
Me? I have seen Santa.
Don’t get me wrong, though. I saw him—but I’m not the one who found him.
Clare found him.
She found him—then she nearly lost him again.
SAVANNAH
The whole thing was really hard on Clare. So at one point, when she was at a very low place, I suggested she write everything down.
I was trying to help her get through it all. Journaling seemed like a logical thing to do.
Most of this little book is Clare’s journal.
I had to tweak a few things. Clare’s an awful speller, for one thing, so I had to fix her spelling. Second, I added some notes. I wrote a little bit about Clare at the beginning, and there are times when I added my observations to make the story clearer.
Third, I broke it into chapters. I put my name—I’m Savannah—on my chapters and Clare’s name on the chapters taken from her journal.
So with that introduction, I’ll tell you a little bit about Clare.
My best friend: Clare.
SAVANNAH
We’ve been friends ever since the fifth grade, when we sat next to each other in Miss Salito’s math class.
It started out a partnership of convenience. Fifth grade was the year that homework became more challenging, and we found out that we complemented each other beautifully. Clare helped me with Language Arts. I helped her with Math.
As we got older, we started to become truly close. We discovered that we are both fascinated by people and why they behave as they do. We’d talk for hours about our friends and our friends’ parents and topics like “sibling order and its effect on personality.”
By junior high, everybody started thinking of us as best friends.
It felt good. I’m a logical person, but when it came to Clare, I got that same kind of achy happiness about being best friends that I’d feel later when I started to get crushes on boys.
Being friends also helped us both cope with puberty and all the crazy social stuff that happens during high school. Clare was my sounding board for everything. I was her sounding board for everything.
It made things so much safer.
Speaking of boys: we each dated a little here and there, but we both agreed that there was really only one boy in the entire school who was worthy of our love.
Josh Martin.
I guess every school has a Josh Martin. He was suave beyond his years and had an adorable smile. He got good grades, but wasn’t the least bit nerdy. He was an excellent athlete, but never acted cocky about it.
He was perfect.
There’s not a girl in our class who would have turned down a chance to date Josh Martin.
Clare and I talked about him endlessly. He was the universal measuring stick for every other boy we ever discussed: the closer any boy came to being exactly like Josh Martin, the more perfect he was.
Of course, we both knew that Josh Martin would never ask either of us on a date. We were both late bloomers. I still had my baby fat until midway through college. As for Clare, back in high school she had the habit of ducking her head whenever anyone looked at her. Don’t misunderstand: she was already beautiful by high school … although, in retrospect, her looks were a bit too exotic for high school boys. She had high cheekbones, and thick glossy hair, and enormous eyes. She looked almost like an anime character, with those eyes.
You get the picture. Both Clare and I were waaaay down the list of prospective girl friends for Josh Martin.
That didn’t stop us from pretending. Sure, we both liked other boys from time to time. But our girl talks would always go like this.
“You won’t believe this! [Fill in the blank] was staring at me all through physics lab!”
“Oh my gawd. He is SO going to ask you out!”
“And he is SO cute!”
“Why don’t you ask him out?”
“I just might! Unless Josh Martin asks me out first.”
And then we’d start laughing uncontrollably.
That line always made us laugh.
You know what else is funny? How the habits you make during high school stick with you afterwards. Of course, the whole “Josh Martin is all that” thing evolved as we got older. It no longer gave us the giggles, but it was still our inside joke. We both attended SUNY Geneseo, and even there, if a guy asked one of us out, we’d smile at each other and say, “He’s not bad. But he’s no Josh Martin!”
We also sometimes talked about whether our standards were too high.
Had our Josh Martin standard morphed into a fantasy lover scenario that no real guy would ever be able to match?
Follow up question: is that why when we graduated college we were both still single … still waiting for the magical entrance of our One True Loves?
SAVANNAH
The month we finished college we had our first real argument.
Clare wanted to move out west.
I didn’t.
In fact, she almost moved—and thank goodness I argued her out of it.
What happened was this: there was this guy, Trevor Huntsman, who we knew because he was also getting his elementary education certification. We were in a lot of the same classes. He was pretty cute and he had a crush on Clare, and I think she was starting to like him back. But I didn’t trust the guy.
One night we ran into him at a frat party and he said he was moving to Arizona. He said there were more teaching jobs in Arizona than in New York State. He also said that he had a friend who had offered him a place to stay.
“You should come too,” Trevor said to us—but mostly to Clare. “I need someone to share the driving.”
I saw Clare’s eyes light up. The idea excited her.
But the more Trevor talked about it, the more it started to sound dicey to me. I asked him several good questions. How had he met this friend he planned to live with? How did he know that there were more jobs out there? Were our New York State teaching certificates transferrable?
Good questions, don’t you think?
Trevor’s answers were all very vague.
But Clare didn’t seem to care about any of those things. When we talked about it afterward, all that seemed to matter was that it would be an adventure. “Don’t you want to see other parts of the country before you settle down?” she said.
“Not really,” I told her.
She looked so shocked.
I reconsidered my answer.
“Well,” I said, “sure, I’d like to visit. But let’s be practical about it. Let’s save our money and take a trip, and research the job market ourselves while we’re there.”
“But what if we never end up actually doing that?”
“I promise we will,” I said. “And Clare, it will be so much safer. I mean, you don’t even really know this guy.”
We reached a compromise. We’d do what I suggested—save our money—then take a trip together the following summer.
And then: guess what. We never made the trip, and do you know why?
Because Trevor got murdered. Yep. Right outside that friend’s apartment.
And it could have been Clare.
I didn’t say as much to her. But she knew it.
She knew that by stopping her, I’d maybe saved her life.
SAVANNAH
Instead of the hare-brained move-to-Arizona idea, we ended up back in Rochester.
We both had a few interviews for teaching jobs that summer, but we were competing against hundreds of other applicants. So to pay the bills, Clare took a job at Abercrombie in Eastview Mall and I began waiting on tables at The Outback in Henrietta.
It paid the rent.
It was a nice summer, really.
Then the leaves turned color, and then fell off, and the weather turned cold, and it was December.
We agreed we’d exchange Christmas presents. But we would only give each other one thing, and we’d spend no more than $10 on it. After all, money was tight and we both had student loans to pay off.
But I ended up getting her a second present—the best present ever.
I got her a date with Josh Martin.
But I’ll let Clare start that story …
CLARE: December 8
Dear Journal.
Is that how I should start this?
I don’t know where to start.
Hang on, I’m going to text Savannah.
CLARE: December 8, con’t
Okay. I texted her.
She said start with Josh.
So. Josh.
Here’s what happened.
This was a little over a month ago, early November. Savannah told me that she’d run into this guy Josh Martin that we’d both crushed on in high school. He was living in Rochester, it turned out. And he thought I was hot.
I thought she was joking, I really did.
Josh Martin, really?
But she wasn’t joking. We met up with him the next night for Happy Hour at Jeremiah’s and sure enough, it was him. The Josh Martin. And he was nice enough to Savannah. But I was the one he was checking out.
No doubt about it.
I guess it’s one of those things. You’re in high school, you’re kind of awkward, you lack confidence. Then you go to college, you grow up, you start to feel more comfortable in your own skin. I mean, that’s it, right? I was the same person I’d always been. But now Josh was noticing me.
It was the most exciting thing that had happened to me in a long time! Because, you know how some people are born misfits? Not me and Savannah. We were never misfits!
We were fits.
Know what I mean? We fit in. Always did well in school, never got into any trouble. Always played it safe.
But I was curious about misfits. I tried to hang out with them in college sometimes. I went to meetings of environmental people and socialist people and libertarian people and people who meditate for world peace. I had beers with girls my age who had sleeve tattoos and with boys my age who had stretchers making big holes in their ear lobes.
Savannah didn’t like it very much, but she put up with it because I told her I was interested in understanding people and college might be our last chance to hang out with people who are really different than us.
But I wasn’t being entirely honest.
The fact was, I was worried.
I was worried that my life might end up being way, way too boring.
And then we were out of college and instead of going anywhere or doing anything exciting we were back in the town where we’d grown up. And it looked like that might be it. My world might never be any bigger than good ol’ Rochester, New York.
So you can see why having Josh interested in me was such a big deal.
That first night, when we were leaving, he asked me for my phone number, and after we got back to the apartment Savannah and I sat up for hours, we were so excited.
She was calling me Mrs. Josh Martin, and I was picking out names for our kids—the whole thing.
And it was like, okay, it all makes sense now. This is why I am here in Rochester instead of off exploring the world …
SAVANNAH
A quick note to tell you how it happened:
It was an hour or so before I had to be to work.
I was ordering a mocha latte at the Starbucks on Monroe Avenue.
The guy in front of me paid for his coffee and turned around.
And it was him. Josh.
I am sure I blushed.
But I pretended I was all cool. I said, “Josh Martin? Savannah Ackerman. We went to high school together.”
And he remembered me!
We ended up sitting at one of the little bistro tables and chatting. He told me he’d gotten a degree in business administration and was back in town working at his father’s insurance company.
That made my heart just melt. Josh Martin. The Josh Martin—the perfect Josh Martin—and he had a real job. He hadn’t gone off to be a movie star or—I don’t know, something even more exotic and exciting, like the world’s first Olympic base jumper gold medalist.
Nope. Instead, he’d come back home. He’d done something so sensible it gave my stomach flip flops.
And guess what else?
He didn’t have a ring on his finger!
Of course I told him I was rooming with Clare.
At first he couldn’t remember her, but then I showed him a pic of her on my phone and his eyes got all wide.
“Wow,” he said. “Now I remember. She was real shy, right? Wow. She is hot!” He laughed and said he hoped that wasn’t offensive or anything. I said of course not—and then one thing led to another and we made plans to get together—me, him and Clare—for a cocktail.
To be honest, I felt a tiny twinge of jealousy. But it was only a tiny twinge. Clare and I were best friends. If Josh Martin asked her out, it would be almost as good as dating him myself.
I didn’t even wait to get back to the apartment to tell her.
I texted her as soon as Josh finished his coffee and left.
u r never going to believe what just happened merry christmas merry christmas clareclareclareclareclare!!!!
CLARE December 8 con’t
I thought of something else I should mention, because it might matter.
I love Christmas.
It’s my favorite holiday by far.
I have, like, five enormous boxes of Christmas decorations.
Every year, starting around Thanksgiving, I start putting them all out.
Savannah kinda rolls her eyes.
But she knows how I am about it.
When you decorate your place for Christmas, you change it into a completely different world. The lights and ornaments and ribbons and statues turn even the most dark and boring room into a fantasy world.
And this year, I outdid myself.
I made Savannah go with me and we got this enormous tree. And then every minute I had when I wasn’t at work I spent putting up my decorations. I strung lights around all of our windows and doorways. I put fake tree boughs on our bookshelves and glittery pillar candles on our table. I grouped my stuffed reindeer collection in the corner by the television and replaced our towels with the red and green Christmas towels.
When I was done, it didn’t look like the same apartment.
Savannah noticed I’d bought more lights, too.
“In a month, it’s gonna be the shortest day of the year,” I said to her. “More light is good.”
And she had to agree with me.
SAVANNAH
Okay, I just want to stick in another note
right here to tell you: I started to worry that Clare was maybe one of those people who starts to get depressed from not getting enough sunlight.
She just seemed so aware that the days were getting shorter. “Have you noticed how early it’s getting dark now?” she’d say. She must have said it about ten times a day.
After she put up all those lights in the apartment our electric bill doubled.
The place was blazing.
Nah, I shouldn’t say that. I’m exaggerating.
But it was a mass of twinkles, that’s for sure.
I’m not complaining. I liked the decorations just fine.
But I was a bit worried.
I was glad when it finally got cold enough to snow. December can be pretty dreary when there’s no snow.
But the snow finally came, and Clare’s mood seemed to pick up again, after that.
CLARE: December 9
I also love the snow.
Thinking about it, snow does for the outside what Christmas decorations do for the inside.
You take that dark, wet, lifeless outdoors and you blanket it with pure white.
It’s irresistible, to me anyways.
Which is why I went downtown last week.
Was it last week?
Yeah—it was December 1, as a matter of fact. The first day of December.
Eight days … it seems like so long ago …
I had the day off, and I decided to go out and walk in the snow.
Well, I didn’t really decide.
I saw the snow through the window and I was like, get me out of here I need to be out in the snow!
I thought I’d go up into the city and look at the Christmas decorations and see if they’d put up the lights, yet, on the Liberty Pole.
Our apartment is in the South Wedge, so it’s a bit of a walk but I had all day.
The walk starts out not very nice. The southern bits of Clinton Ave. are okay, but when you get toward the city it gets a bit skeevy. You go by the parole office. Then under the expressway. It was all filthy old snow and soggy litter.
But then I got into the city and it got a little better and started looking Christmassy.
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