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Fiction Short Story

by Zakgirl

Where's My Bike?

My Dad, a serious hardworking man and tough disciplinarian, softened his tone at Christmas. He kept Santa's real identity from me for many years.

*********

Xmas 1972

I, Cate, age nine, believe Santa comes down the chimney and is more real than Jesus. He is going to bring me a bike this year.

No bike arrived on Christmas morning.

Xmas 1973

The week before Christmas Mum sat on Dad's knee and together they read a letter written by me to Santa. The front of the letter displayed a rough sketch of Santa's sleigh, his kangaroo reindeer, and Judy my dog, with a red nose at the front of the sleigh:

Dear Mr. Santa Claws,

How are you? I good. People say you not real. I know you is and nothing gunna to change the real in Santa. My dog Judy says hello. I want a bike and a swimming pool.

Pease thank you
Cate

Mum mentioned my spelling errors - Santa Claus, she spells out c l a u s. Not claws, c l a w s. That's what cats have!"

Mum did not bother about other errors. She smiled and explained Santa could not bring me a swimming pool because we didn't have enough water to fill one.

No bike arrived on Christmas morning.

Xmas Eve 1974

I had the most important job in the world. I got to place a red-labelled bottle of beer and a piece of fruitcake on the table for Santa. He didn't drink the green-labelled stuff. I wanted to keep Santa happy so I left a saucer of peanuts for him too. I knew Santa loved peanuts, just like my Dad. I also knew Santa was not my Dad dressed in a funny suit because Dad didn't drink beer. But this Christmas Eve Dad drank a pre-Santa-coming-down-the-chimney beer!

Later that night I lie in bed and pretend to be asleep. Mum said the quicker I fell asleep the sooner Santa would come down the chimney and leave presents.

Excitement prevented sleep. I tossed, turned, dozed, and dreamt of Santa sliding down the chimney.

My ears heard bells ring and I woke.

"Must be Santa!"

I realised I was not asleep. Fear took over my body and I froze as my heart pounded. Shadows moved in front of my eyes as I stared around the room. I wondered if Santa could know if I was awake. I slammed my eyes shut. My teeth clenched and my jaw ached. I thought of words from a song:

"He knows when you're awake. He knows when you've been bad or good so be good for goodness sake. Better not? "What?" I asked.

Santa Claus is coming something da da something. My thoughts jumbled and I worried about being a good girl. I thought I had been good. If I could remember the words to that song, I might get a clue of what to do.

I asked, "Am I good? Have I been bad?" A heap of questions and visions of Santa, presents, reindeers, lemonade, toffees and excitement kept me awake.

"What if Santa saw me?" I placed my hands over my eyes. I wondered if Santa knew the sound of sleep. Worried, I searched for a way to pretend to be asleep.

I held my breath. I realised that wouldn't work for long and let my breath out. Seconds seemed like hours. I opened one eye, saw a few shadows, but heard nothing. I opened the other eye. Nothing. I didn't even feel the cool Buffalo breeze that usually wafted into my bedroom window on hot summer nights.

I woke bright-eyed and feisty at the first hint of daylight. I jumped out of bed. Surely, Mum and Dad would be up too. I checked the clock on the lounge wall. Four o'clock in the morning is a good time for opening Christmas presents!

Dare I peek at the presents? I've been a good girl. Maybe a little look, a feel? I picked one wrapped in blue paper covered with white angels and rattled it a little. I carefully placed the present back under the tree. I ran into Mum and Dad's bedroom, jumped on the end of the bed and exclaimed, "Santa's been! Wake up, Santa's been!"

I bounced up and down and woke Mum but not Dad. He didn't stir. Mum rolled over, lifted her head from the pillow and looked at the clock.

"C-ate-eee" she groaned. "It's four in the morning. Go back to bed. It's too early."

"But Mum, Santa's been!"

"Shusssh! You'll wake your Father!"

I glanced at my dad and raced to my bedroom. I climbed into my bed, pulled the sheet over my head and wondered why I had to wait so long to open my presents. "It's not fair!"

I gazed at the shadows on the ceiling. I watched kangaroo reindeers turn into skinny-faced witches. I felt afraid for a moment and reminded myself it was Christmas and the kangaroo reindeers returned.

I leapt out of bed and marched to the clock on the wall in front of the lounge room. The clock had the big hand on the twenty and little hand on the four. My shoulders dropped.

"Drats! Too early!"

I stumbled back to bed, out to the lounge clock, back to bed, and out to the lounge clock for the next half hour.

"What was wrong with four am? It's now five am for sure."

I checked the clock again, nearly five. I crept back into Mum and Dad's bedroom, crawled onto the bed and peeked at Mum's face. I pushed my finger in Mum's eyes to see if she was awake. She didn't move. Dad mumbled something, frightened me and I ran back to my room and waited until six am.

At six on the dot, I rushed into Mum and Dad's bedroom. I needed something to make Mum and Dad happy. I went to the kitchen, made cups of tea and took them into the bedroom. I set the cups on the bed tables and went to the Christmas tree. I gathered a few presents, carried them to the bedroom, and dumped them on the foot of their bed.

"Can I open them now?"

"Oh I suppose so," said Mum, as she yawned and Dad looked grumpy.

I tore the wrapping from the first parcel. Socks, pants, and a tank top. The gift card read love from Mum and Dad.

"Thanks Mum" I faked a smile. "Dad".

I ripped open one present after another. I glanced at pictures in a coloring book and smiled as I stared at a Barbie doll's long blonde hair.

"Her legs and arms bend!" Mum smiled. I looked up and caught a sparkling glimpse outside the sliding glass doors.

"What's that?"

"Mum's eyes widened. " Ewwh! I don't know? You better go take a look."

I ran outside.

"A bike!" I screamed with excitement.

Red, blue and yellow streamers hung down from the handlebars and the card said from Santa.

"My bike! My bike! Santa gave me a bike!"

Dad smiled a wry smile as he sipped his cup of tea and Mum said, "Happy Christmas Cate."


About the Author
Imagine 60's Australia: A cool, early, autumn morning. A mother gives birth to a girl child. This child continues to wake early every morning, talk the leg off an iron pot,* including any animals nearby, entertains herself with her vivid imagination and detest late nights because they interfere with her precious dreamtime.

Nowadays Leanne lives and works on a Stud Murray Grey cattle farm. She considers the Murray Grey breed exceptional and one that will become the most popular breed in the world due to their wonderful temperament and marbling. She shows absolutely no bias of course. Her love of animals will not cease.

The other side of her personality loves to tell tales and until a few years ago she worked in office management. One wild Wednesday she quit her job to pursue a career as a writer. She believes everyone is here for a reason. Everyone has something unique or great about them and others should encourage them to develop their special skills. Leanne likes to use her ability as a writer to help others become all they can, realising there is heaps of good in the world if you seek it in people.

Life is like a large brainteaser to Leanne and she believes in things unseen, unheard of, and sometimes only felt.

If you wish to contact Leanne, you may, at: huonmurraygreys@bigpond.com.

*Common Aussie slang.