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.”
