Trucker Santa

Santa Trucker

Elias Prost was stuck. The snow soaked through his Oxford slacks as he knelt in the snow. The freezing tire iron bit his bare hand. Elias stood and swayed on his feet before letting out a yell and punching the half of sedan that was not sunk in a snowbank. Elias dropped his tire iron and clutched his hand, howling up at the vast, merciless Alaskan sky. Then, his fury spent, he staggered up the steep grade to the highway. Icy asphalt stretched before him straight to the horizon in both directions. Not a soul was to be seen on the road, just like the last twenty times Elias Checked.

The chattering lawyer turned again at last and slid back down to his car, slipping on slick rock, his pants torn and muddied. At the bottom Elias reached into his pocket reflexively and pulled out his cell phone. He slid his hand over the screen, but all he got in response was the blinking red low power button. Elias resisted the urge to hurtle it away and put it back in his pocket instead, muttering to himself. “Yeah, cell phones, always your best friend for 9.99$ a month. Except for when you don’t charge ‘em and leave your charger back at the hotel. Ah, who am I kidding, probably wouldn’t get service out here anyways.”

The winter sun hung in the sky, cold and distant. That was one comfort, at least it would not get much darker outside, at least not for another two weeks. But it was still as cold as an insurance salesman’s heart. He should know.

Elias had lost feeling in his hands, unless he touched something, sending shocks of pain across his raw skin. He fumbled with his car door, wrenching it open at last and piling inside. He felt tired now, very tired. All that digging away the snow to expose his hood and sliding around the hillside had worn him out. If he hadn’t swerved off of the road to avoid hitting that reindeer he would still be on his way to Fairbanks. Now he was piled at the bottom of a ditch, half buried In snow and frozen mud. Elias pulled the door closed and turned the key in the ignition. The engine whined and sputtered, then died. He pulled his designer jacket close around him and laid down across the seats. He would not rest long. He needed to do something soon, not sure what, something. Elias Prost closed his eyes and laid down to die.

The drawn-out honk of a truck horn dragged Elias to the edge of sleep. He blinked once, then sat bolt upright as his foggy mind quickened The cold had drained all the strength out of his body. His thought were racing a mile a minute but he still seemed to move in slow motion as he reached for the door. One push, but the door didn’t move. Elias tried twice more, breathing hard, his heart pounding in his chest. Then it hit him. The door was frozen shut.

The truck horn sounded again, unbearably loud, the most welcome sound in the world. Elias hit his own horn in reply. The sedan let out an annoying bray in protest. The truck horn was silent. Desperation wrapped it’s icy talons across Elias’s chest. He leaned back and slammed his patent leather shoes into the driver seat window. They slapped against the slick glass. He kicked out again...with no impression. Bitterly he wished that he had not left the tire iron outside. His legs ached with cold. It would be so easy to lay down and give up. Once more the truck horn sounded its call to action. Once more Elias kicked and this time a spider web of cracks spread across the window. Another kick and glass tinkled onto the rocks outside. He had his opening. One push and he was hanging out of his window, glass cutting threads from his jacket. Another push and he flopped out onto the cold hard ground, breath driven from him in a puff of white frost.

Up on the highway a bright red semi-truck blew black smoke into the frigid air. The trailer said X-press. Elias flipped over and began scrambling up the hill. He missed his footing and slid backwards, then looked up to see the truck door opening. Again he pulled himself upwards and at last reached the top of the slope. A large hand reached down into his view and hauled him to his feet. The hand was connected to a heavily muscled arm, which led to a large man with a fluffy white beard. The guy was shorter than Elias, but bristled with an aura of confidence. He wore a thick woolen jacket over a red flannel sweater and denim overalls tucked into his boots.

“You need a lift son.” The trucker said and gestured to the semi cab door. “Hop in and tell me about it on the way, it’s hard to breath out here.” Elias lost no time scrambling into the truck. Inside he slammed the door shut and basked in the heat radiating from the dashboard. His hands began to sting as warmth returned to them.

The trucker hopped into the cab and reached for the thermos of hot chocolate steaming in a cupholder before turning his bright blue eyes on Elias. The lawyer clenched his hands, unable to close them fully. “T-thanks for picking me up.” The trucker chuckled, a deep rumble that seemed to shake his whole body. “No problem. People get stuck on this stretch all the time. Glad I could help.” Elias was silent for a moment, steam rising from his sodden clothes. “And you are?” The trucker threw his vehicle into gear and accelerated onto the highway proper. “I am Santa Claus.” With his strength returned some of Elias’s natural belligerency. He smiled. “What, so the “Ho ho ho, merry Christmas” kind of Santa?” Santa turned and scratched his beard. “That’s right. This is my job, trucking. The giving presents to kids and elves and workshops, that is all kind of my hobby.”  

The CB radio crackled to life. “Hey Reindeer this is Breaker 1 7 what’s your 20?” Santa picked up the mike. “Hey Breaker 1 7 I’m 30 miles south of Fairbanks. Stopped to pick up a Frosty.” The voice came back fuzzy. “Another one? That black ice is sure doing a number on them. Gotta swing man, I just hit the Elk Ridge rest-stop. Breaker 1 7 over and out.”

Elias glanced out at the highway slipping by. Steam still rose from his soggy pants but he had stopped shivering. Now a great weariness settled over him. His head nodded once, then slid against the window, the heater ruffling his damp hair.

Elias Prost was free. The honk of a truck horn jerked him out of deep sleep and he looked around, blinking before remembering where he was. The trucker with the white beard handed him his wallet, which had been drying on the dashboard. Outside snow was falling slowly on the roofs of Fairfield. Elias hopped out of the truck into the cutting breeze. He turned in time to catch a thick wool overcoat the trucker tossed after him. He looked up at the trucker. “Thanks a lot for everything, um, Santa.” Elias opened his wallet. “Here, let me give you...” Santa scratched his beard. “No thanks pal, its just what I do.” Santa fired up his truck and shifted into gear and pulled away. “Hey Elias, thanks for not turning Comet into roadkill. I’ll need him in a couple months. Merry Christmas.”