A letter to Santa Claus (only chapter)
Old Santa unrolled the letter with a yawn. It was just dawn, but at this time of year, the workday always started early. He adjusted his fogged glasses. The print was too small. Or perhaps he'd have to get a new prescription again.
His back ached; he was hungry and shivering with cold. The fire in the fireplace was out, and the elves still hadn't brought the firewood he'd asked for. With a touch of annoyance, he tried to remind himself why he was still in this job. He was old enough to retire. A long vacation on a warm beach, sipping delicious cocktails, not that heavy milk and cocoa smoothie and those extra-sweet chocolate cookies that, while exquisite, meant they had to enlarge his pants a size every year.
With a resigned sigh, she readjusted her glasses and read the letter in her hands. From the sender alone, she knew it was special. She almost never received letters from that place. She read it in one sitting, and when she finished, her eyes were moist, a great emotion filling her chest; she no longer felt hunger or cold. A warm sensation coursing through her body gently reminded her why she continued doing this work.
The letter read:
Dear Santa:
My name is Saman, and as you know, this is the first time I've written to you. I didn't believe in you before. I'll tell you later why I do now. But since I know you must be very busy, I'll get straight to the point. This is what I want to ask you for this Christmas, for my brothers and sisters at the Chiang Rai Orphanage:
For Nang Non—you know her, the little girl who's always braiding her hair and spends hours painting her nails with imaginary polish—I'm asking for a headband, one of those that glows in the dark. Nang Non wants it to glow in the dark because she says she'll look prettier that way, and it's more likely that a family will want to adopt her. But I know it's because she's afraid of the dark, since there's no electricity at night.
For Tham Luang, a notebook, one with many pages, where he can write down those wonderful stories he often tells on stormy nights, when almost no one can sleep because of the thunder, the cold, and the leaky roof. I know that now he remembers every detail of every story he invents. But I think it would be nice if he had them written down for when he's old. I imagine him sitting by a fireplace, surrounded by his grandchildren, reading them the same stories I heard him recite so many times.
For the team, which we've called the Wild Boars, I'm asking for a ball. Because the one we made ages ago out of old socks never gets dry, it doesn't bounce, and it leaves our feet covered in bruises. Only Chanin enjoys playing with that ball because he's the only one with sneakers. They're a little big on him, but we gave them to him when they were donated because he's the smallest of our brothers, the thinnest, and the one who gets sick the fastest when the winter cold arrives. I could ask for sneakers for everyone, but they'd probably be intercepted before they even arrived and sold, like they do with almost everything else. We were all happy when they changed the headmistress, but this new one is just as much of a witch as the last one. (I think I should delete this last part. I know I have to be a good boy. Santa, please don't send my brothers coal because of me!)
And lastly, if you have any room left on the sleigh, give Moo Pa some chocolates. He's the newest and has never had any. We have, because I used to steal them from the old headmistress who always kept them at the bottom of a drawer in her desk and thought no one knew. (I should probably delete this part of the letter too…)
Anyway, I know you'll find a way to get these presents to my brothers. You always do, sending a messenger in disguise, as usual. Goodbye, and best wishes to Mrs. Claus and the elves.
With all my love,
Saman Kunan.
P.S. I haven't asked for anything for myself because here where I am, I have what I always wanted: a family. And I have all the toys I ever dreamed of. I almost forgot to tell you why I now know you truly exist: since I've been here in Heaven, I've discovered that you are real.
Merry Christmas!
