Know Not Why: A Novel by Hannah Johnson Page A

show,
but they start filing in at around 12:20, and by one o’clock, we’ve
got ten kids sitting around getting their gingerbread on. It’s an
okay turnout. Plus, once things start to function successfully,
Amber and Mitch get bored and take off. I’m glad to see them go.
There’s something about work plus life that doesn’t add up.
    Arthur surprises me and the girls with his
Santatude. As we’ve got a crowd inside, he commits , and he
is all holly jolly, all the way. Stuff is cool and fun and
gingerbready until one of the little girls gets too enthralled by
the fact that she’s currently surrounded by Santa and his crew.
    “He’s your husband?” she asks Kristy, all
doe-eyed and itty bitty as she looks over at Arthur.
    “Yes, he is!” Kristy coos.
    “You should kiss him!” the girl says
decisively.
    Everybody laughs, and more than one “aww!” is
thrown in there. Kristy goes over to Arthur and plants a big kiss
on his cheek, to the general delight of everybody. Arthur
ho-ho-ho’s his way through it. I almost forget he’s not Santa.
    But the kiss on the cheek isn’t enough to
satisfy this little girl. Now, she turns her attention to Cora.
“You’re his elf?”
    “Yes indeedy dee!” Cora chirps. It’s terrifying
to see her like this, bright and kind and springy. She’s not even
that slutty, elf-wise. Her green shorts are pretty tiny, but
they’re over red-and-white striped tights, and it’s not like she’s
hurling Come Hither looks at the dads in attendance.
    “You should shake hands,” the little girl
instructs Cora. “Because you work together. That’s what you do when
you work together.”
    I sort of want Cora to tell her to fuck off –
I’m nostalgic – but, sure enough, she and Artie share a hearty
handshake. Whatever. ‘Tis the season.
    Honestly, I’ve started to forget that I’m a
reindeer, until the little girl’s eyes land on me.
    I am immediately seized by panic. Somehow, I
just know – know – this isn’t good.
    “Rudolph!” she squeals, looking up at me with
those big eyes.
    “Hey!” I say, forcing as much cheer into the
word as I can, because I genuinely believe for a stupid second or
two that it will be enough to satisfy her.
    Then I start wondering if she’s going to flip
out because I talked. Reindeer can’t talk. She gets that I’m not an actual reindeer , right?? I mean, I have a human face!
    And then she exclaims, sweet and high-voiced,
“He has to ride you!!”
    …
    I stare at her.
    And stare, and stare.
    “You have to ride him!” the girl persists,
whipping her attention over to Arthur. “He’s your reindeer!”
    There’s laughter again, but this time it’s
tittering and naughty, and it’s all the adults. I look over at
Kristy and Cora; Kristy’s hiding her smile behind her hand, and
Cora is flat-out laughing. I do not, do not look at
Arthur.
    And then somehow, accidentally, eyes guided by
the will of Satan (or, you know, something else that sucks), I
do.
    He looks back at me hopelessly. Or at least, I
think he’s hopeless. It’s hard to tell behind the big white
beard.
    “Not right now,” Arthur says at last. He sounds
like Arthur for a couple of words until the jovial Santa voice
kicks back in. “He and the other reindeer have to work hard on
Christmas Eve, so he needs to get his rest until then!”
    “Ohhhh,” the little girl says, nodding her
understanding.
    “How about we sing some Christmas carols?”
Arthur adds, dodging over to the counter and retrieving the guitar.
Hey there, emergency precaution.
    Arthur busts out “Frosty the Snowman,” and I am
forgotten. It’s a glorious relief. I try not to think about things
like sick coincidences and messages from higher powers. From the
mouths of babes comes crazy-ass malarkey . That’s what they
say, right?

    +

    By the time that the gingerbread festival comes
to a close, the atmosphere has gotten pretty mellow. I’m very
carefully and deliberately not thinking about anything.
    Kristy