The paint on his wall was chipping, exposing the dingy gray plaster below. Another item to add to his long list of repairs for his quickly decomposing apartment. As he sat at the kitchen table, a mug of steaming Instant Coffee before him, his eyes scanned over the liquor cabinet. How easy would it be to add a couple of drops of Svedka into his coffee, a boost to get him through another lonely day. No, today was his first official day at the new job, he shouldn’t begin a habit that had only led to trouble in the past. He would wait until he was home when the agony was truly unbearable. The apartment was nearly pitch black, the sun still hours away from rising along with the rest of the city. The single lightbulb hanging over the kitchen counter was the only source of light, casting sinister shadows over the bare studio apartment. 

He stood up to leave, his bones aching. He shivered in his threadbare flannel, heating had become a luxury reserved only for the chilliest of nights. He walked to the door, grabbing his keys that lay on the shelf. He indulged in thirty seconds to stare at the small framed photograph of him and Nancy. Thirty seconds was all he could afford, or else the all-encompassing monster of grief that he managed to keep in hibernation most of the time would rise from its slumber, and he would succumb to the pain that often prevented him from leaving his bed for days on end. As he opened the door, he caught sight of his reflection in the dusty circular mirror. How old he looked, his blue eyes sunken in flaps of aged skin. An intricate pattern of wrinkles adorned his worn face, the workings of age and gravity sagging his lips, amounting to a permanent frown. It was hard to believe there was still a body that enclosed his tormented soul, it appeared unrecognizable to him now. 

He put on his coat and made his way out of the apartment building and into the subway. He observed the faces of the earliest commuters, eyes still crusted with sleep, limp heads falling into their chests as they gave in to their exhaustion. He tried to smile at some of them, but they just stared back, most likely pitying the old man who still had to go to work this early in the morning. The sun had partially risen when he exited the 34th street station, and there was the dull hum of a bustling city coming to life. He felt invisible as he made his way over, businessman rushing by him with urgency, never stopping to give him a second glance, pedestrians immersed with their devices, heads turned down. He arrived at the side entrance of Macy’s and walked into the elevator, arriving on the eighth floor where he made his way to the dressing room. 

A special cabinet was awaiting him when he entered the room, his neatly ironed costume hanging from a hook. He stared at it for a moment, suppressing the urge to maniacally laugh at the ridiculous nature of the task before him. He put on the red pants first, barely fitting over his protruding stomach, and then the top part of the suit. Next came the hat, then the last part of the transformation was the white beard, which he slipped on carefully. 

He made his way over to the mirror hanging on the door and was shocked to catch his reflection. In front of him stood Santa, a marvelous fantasy come to life. He turned from side to side, consumed with disbelief. 

“Ho, ho, ho,” he chucked to himself as he stroked his beard. It was hard to believe that moments ago he had been just another old man with a sagging face. 

He made his way out of the dressing room, trodding confidently down the hall in his costume to the back entrance of the infamous Macys Santaland. He could hear the shrieks of anticipating children on the other side, the low grumbles of grumpy adults who had been dragged here early on a Saturday morning. He took a deep breath and made his way in. 

On the other side of the door, the deafening screams of “Santa!” arrived instantaneously. The beaming faces of dozens of children met his own, his arrival bringing them sheer jubilation. Even the parents released reluctant smiles at his presence. 

“Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas everyone! Welcome to Santaland” he boomed, to the enthusiasm of everyone in the ornately decorated, Christmas-themed room. He made his way over to the chair designated for him and took a seat, beckoning for the first child in line to come. 

One by one the children approached their little bodies nesting in the warmth of his stomach. Some were shy, unable to meet his eyes. Others spoke to him confidently and clearly. They rubbed the velvety texture of his suit and twirled their little fingers through the curls of his beard as they whispered their wishes into his ear, their eyelashes tickling his face. Parents engaged him with knowing smiles, often winking as if they were conspirators in a little secret. Endless photos were taken, and the thought of his face being hung up on fridges all over the city, or in hundreds of dusty photo albums that would one day be shown to children and later grandchildren filled his chest with bursting joy. He was amazed at the disappointment that settled over him as the last child reluctantly slipped off his lap and exited with his grandmother, waving goodbye on the way out. 

As he got undressed in the dressing room after everyone had gone, he made his way back to the mirror. It was hard to look at himself returned to his original state, the old man with the permanent frown who would go home and drink his sorrows away. But there was a sparkle in his blue eyes that made his face shine, and as he rode the elevator down he smiled to himself, feeling light in his heart.