It's Not Insane. It's Christmas.

It took a few moments for his eyes to focus, and when they did he still didn't believe he was seeing that which he saw. The face that looked back at him was round, like that of a cherub, with rosy cheeks and tiny little eyes that blinked rapidly. Its complexion was so nearly perfect he'd have sworn it was artificial. No one he'd ever encountered exhibited such a cheerfully symmetrical smile. It was the ears, however, that drew his attention the most. Small and pointed, they protruded from the sides of the red, velveteen hat that adorned the small creature's head.

"Are you an elf?" he asked. The creature nodded feverishly in the affirmative, but did not speak. "I must have hit my head harder than I thought," he murmured as he moved himself to a seated position on the sidewalk. The elf brushed snow from his shoulders and the breast of his overcoat. Once all was cleared, it stood, its shoulders hunched forward and hands clasped, just smiling away.

"Ok, what is this?" he asked. His head seemed to be clearing but still pounded with the pain that had been inflicted when his temple hit the pavement. All he could remember was that he had been walking and admiring the village's decorative lights as they shimmered in the falling snow. The shops had all closed and he occupied the street with few others at that hour. Though he despised working late, he did so that evening so that he could enjoy an extra day off at Christmas. Not that he had anyone to share it with, mind you. It was more the idea of having a day of quiet solitude that appealed to him. That and the scotch he'd utilize to drink away the depression brought on by another Christmas alone. And then it happened.

The car came around the corner much faster than it should have been traveling for the conditions. The driver lost control and the car slid sideways directly towards him. He would have had no problem simply stepping out of the way, but at the last second he spotted a small child in the careening car's path. Without a thought he leaped forward and scooped the child into his arms. As they fell out of the car's path, he rolled and struck his head violently on the sidewalk.  That was the last thing he remembered before looking up into the elf-like face.

"My dear boy, you have just done a wonderfully selfless thing."

Disbelief filled his eyes again as he looked up to the elder man that had just spoken. He was short and thick, and wore a perfectly tailored black suit that slimmed the otherwise bulbous curvature of his belly. Beneath the suit he wore a shimmering red vest with gold buttons. His white beard covered the collar of his neatly pressed white shirt. Long, white hair cascaded to his shoulders from beneath the red driving cap that adorned his head.

"You've got to be kidding," he remarked with disbelief.

"I assure you, Mr. McMurray, this is no jest," the old man said while offering his hand to help him up.

"How do you know my name?" Finnick asked incredulously. At first he suspected the old man had taken his wallet, but a quick check revealed that it was still buttoned in his back pocket right where it had been.

"I see you when you're sleeping, Finnick. I have since you were born. I should think I know who you are by now," the spry old fellow replied with a wink.

"You really expect me to believe that you're Santa Claus?"

"I don't expect anything, Finnick. I merely wish to thank you."

"For what?" Finnick asked as the old man helped him up with strength that belied both his age and physique.

"You saved Pipper's life." The old man gestured towards the elfish child, who nodded gleefully.

"Wait, what the hell is going on? Is this some kind of joke?"

The old man took a long, deep breath and began to speak. "You, my dear boy, are Finnick McMurray. You were born in Rochester, New York and, after having moved around for a number of years, you are back living in your home town. You believed in me until you were nearly twelve, and despite your self-professed cynicism, you have always held the spirit of Christmas close to your heart. For that reason, I gave to you a winning lottery ticket two years ago, just enough winnings to tide you over until you landed your dream job the following February."

Finnick stumbled back. "How do you know that?"

The old man leaned in and whispered in Finnick's ear. "Finnick, all you have to do is believe." He took a step back and let the notion sink in to Finnick's brain for a moment, until belief brimmed in the younger man's eyes. "That's the optimistic young man I remember!"

"I, I," Finnick stuttered. "I don't understand. Why are you here? What was he doing?" he asked, referring to Pipper, the still smiling elf standing next to his master.

"My boy, there are far many more ways to spread Christmas cheer than simply delivering presents."

"But," Finnick interjected.

"Ho ho ho," the old fellow bellowed, his laugh as deep and joyful as the smile on his face. "No 'buts' Finnick. Just, believe."

Finnick looked down and tried to comprehend the moment. He blamed it on the bump on his head, but to acknowledge the bump on his head meant he had to also acknowledge the elf whose life he saved.

"This, this is insane!"

"No, Finnick. It's not insane. It's Christmas," the jolly old gentleman said. "Look, the time for me to go is at hand. Thank you, on behalf of Pipper, and on behalf of myself. You've done an incredibly selfless thing today. I won't forget that. I hope you don't either. Make your Christmas wish, Finnick, and I'll see what I can do."

The gentleman held out his hand and Finnick shook it firmly. In the instant that Finnick released his grasp and blinked, the old man and his elf were gone. "I must have a concussion," he lamented. Finnick closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind, though the only thought he could muster was the memory of the old man's words.

"Make your Christmas wish, Finnick, and I'll see what I can do."

At first Finnick scoffed. Then he couldn't help himself as he thought of her. "Yeah, if only," he said softly and sadly. Almost as if on cue, the wind picked up and sent a shiver through his bones. He was still three blocks from home and the snow was beginning to fall more heavily. He tucked his scarf snuggly around his neck and pulled the flaps of his pea coat tightly together before beginning the short but blustery walk home. He stopped dead in his tracks when he reached the end of his driveway.

She stood there at the front door, knocking. The black, faux fur-lined boots she wore came nearly up to her knees. Her black leggings were barely visible, as her grey, cable-knit sweater dress came down to just meet the tops of her boots. The black, fur lined vest she held tightly closed with her right hand matched her boots perfectly, and her mittens, scarf and hat were all of the same knit and cream in color.

"Make your Christmas wish, Finnick, and I'll see what I can do."

"This isn't happening. This can't be happening," Finnick whispered to himself. It was at that precise moment that she turned, and saw him. From beneath her knit hat her long, blond hair flowed down in waves, contrasting against the black background of her vest. The pale skin of her cheeks was reddened by the winter's chill, and her blue eyes were as crystalline a blue as he had ever seen them.

"Lorileigh," he said.

The smile that found its way to her lips was born of both elation and guilt. She had been gone too long, and hindsight had reminded her that she should never have left in the first place. Finnick walked towards her until they both stood on the porch and the steam of their warm breath mingled together in the frigid air.

"Hi, Finn," she said simply. That was all she needed to say. Lorileigh wrapped her arms around Finnick's midsection and squeezed him tightly. His arms found their comfortably familiar place, holding her close to him. Her warmth, her mere presence, nearly drove Finnick to tears.

"Thank you," Finn said softly, repeating the words over and over.

At the corner an old man stood and watched with a grin. "And to all a good night," he remarked as he turned and walked away, disappearing into the snow.

© J.J. Goodman 2013. All rights reserved.