Lies the Cap
J. D. Casnig
Santa gives Jaywalker a boost.
In the unglamorous course of
cleaning the office before putting together our December issue, the Jaywalker
crew found a small crumpled note wedged between radiator and wall. The message,
on thick, old parchment read: S.C. home:
83° 15' 33" N; 74° 26' 12" W.
It soon became apparent that these
were directions of latitude and longitude, which, by a striking coincidence fell
conveniently within a few metres of where my car had later broken down and
wouldn't start. So, since I was in need of booster cables, I decided to drop by
the remote location, where I discovered a homely hovel housed among the rock and
I pulled the knotty hemp rope of
the doorbell. Then, after a long pause made chillingly longer by whistling
arctic winds, gentle, deliberate footsteps drew nearer, slowly creaking wooden
floorboards. The door opened ever so gently, stopping after each fragment of a
squeak. A sample of a man's face emerged, backlit dramatically with the changing
hues of a colour TV.
"Sorry about the wait...Oprah
was on, and it was about obesity, food addiction and guilt." he said, with
sideglance and whisper, "If anyone here knew I watched this stuff, I'd
never hear the end of it!" He
clapped his hands, turning on the porch light - illuminating me inside and
There he was! Santa,
I mean. I stood there agape, and he akimbo; his besooted red coat, white beard
and gleaming skidoo boots standing out from the twilight of the long winter
night. The northern lights danced above as if choreographed into the moment.
"I know him..." I thought, "...everyone knows
"Unless you're planning on
chopping some more firewood, I suggest you get your tail in here!" he
bellowed, with signature glinted eyes and hairy, rosen cheeks "I've been
spending far too much time on the StairMaster lately, so I'm getting a little
"You work out...?
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