I Don’t Want a Pony

I Don’t Want a Pony

written by: Diane Polte

 

Matilda was 12 years old and, because she still had magic in her heart, believed in Santa. So, when she learned that he would be appearing in the village square, she begged her parents to take her. Because she was a very good girl, they happily agreed. They arrived late on Saturday afternoon when the square was filled with laughing, squealing, frenzied children running around the brightly lit fir trees that grew in the courthouse yard. The street lamps were hung with blinking lights, and every store had a wreath with a big red bow hanging in the window. The bank had piped Christmas music for everyone’s listening pleasure, and in front of the church was a creche with live people and animals, except for baby Jesus, who was a plastic doll. For some reason, nobody wanted to donate their baby to the display. In the middle of all this was Santa, sitting in his big red chair mounted on a platform covered with a white cottony substance that looked remarkably like snow. He was surrounded by elves, newly arrived from the North Pole, and dressed in red and green striped outfits and wearing caps with bells attached.

As she stood in the long line awaiting her turn, Matilda had plenty of time to watch Santa in action. There was something vaguely familiar about him that she couldn’t quite identify. Was it his nose? Maybe his voice? Before she could figure it out, she was lifted up onto his knee.

“Merry Christmas, Matilda,” Santa said.

Her eyes grew wide in amazement, and she managed to squeak out, “Santa! You know my name!”

“Of course! And I know you’ve been a very good girl.” Santa replied, looking over Matilda’s head at her father, who was Santa’s next-door neighbor and best friend.

“So, what do you want for Christmas?” Santa asked.

Without hesitation, Matilda replied, “I want a dragon!”

Taken aback and trying to figure out how he was going to get out of this one, Santa replied, “Well, Matilda, that is a very big ask. Dragons are not easy to care for.”

“I know.” Matilda asserted. “I can take care of it! I will feed it every day. I promise. I know I can do it. I’ve thought about it a lot!”

I’ll bet you have, Santa thought.

“Tell you what. If your parents write to me and say it is OK for you to have a dragon, I’ll see what I can do.” He glanced over Matilda’s head and saw her father mouthing the words ‘thanks a lot, pal.’

Because she knew her parents loved her, Matilda was sure that they would be glad to write the letter. She happily jumped down off Santa’s knee, and as an elf handed her a candy cane, she heard Santa shout “HoHoHo!”

The ride home in the car was unusually quiet as everyone was planning their strategy. When they were properly settled, Matilda spoke up with the opening gambit.

“Dad, did you hear what I asked Santa to bring me for Christmas?”

Attempting a deflection, he said, “Yes, but I remember you and all your friends wanted a unicorn.”

“Unicorns are so last year! This year I want a dragon!”

“Well, dragons are not easy to care for, and they have very big appetites.”

Her mother, picking up the challenge, said, “Yes, dear, I don’t think we have that many sheep. They can be very expensive to buy.”

Matilda, accepting the challenge, countered. “I’ll get a job after school and give you all my money!”

Parrying, her father said, “But if you are working and going to school, when will you have time to ride? “

Matilda hadn’t considered this argument and was briefly stymied. She paused long enough for her parents to believe they had won, then piped up. “I will get up extra early and ride him every morning before I have to go to school!”

Hastening to give aid to her husband, her mother said. “Darling, I worry about your safety. Dragons can be very dangerous. All that fire!”

But Matilda had carefully considered this argument. “You could get me a young dragon. Not a baby, but one that is not old enough yet to throw fire. When he is, I will have him trained how to use it properly.”

Knowing that they were beaten, Father tried his last challenge. “Wouldn’t you rather have a pony?”

“No!” Matilda shouted. “I want a dragon! Will you please write to Santa?”

Wanting to rescue her husband from being the bad guy, mom decided to take the hit. “No, dear. We are just not able to have a dragon this year. I’m sorry.”

“But I’ve been a good girl!” Matilda shouted.

“Yes, you have,” dad said. “But even good girls don’t always get what they want.”

“Then what’s the use!” Matilda shouted as she stomped down the hall. She slammed the bedroom door behind her, threw herself across her bed, and sobbed with all the gusto that only a 12-year-old girl can produce.

Eventually, mom knocked on her door and said, “Honey, dinner is ready.”

“I’m not hungry!” Matilda shouted, even though she was. Crying is hard work.

She was still awake later that night when her mother tiptoed into her room, pulled the blanket up over her, kissed her on the forehead, and whispered, “Good night, sweetheart. We love you.” But she pretended to be asleep.

The next several days were tense. Matilda was quiet and withdrawn. Pouting. Her parents walked on eggshells, not wanting to set off another tantrum. At last, Christmas Eve came, and Mom fixed the family’s traditional dinner: roast goose, oven potatoes, brussels sprouts (Matilda’s favorite), and rhubarb pie with vanilla ice cream. Matilda decided this would not be a good time to pout and ate all her dinner. As her parents were in the kitchen cleaning up, Matilda entered the darkened living room and sat on the floor in front of their Christmas tree. Matilda always felt calmer sitting in the quiet room with only the twinkling lights before her. She began to think and realized she had one last Hail Mary approach. She found a pen, tore a blank page out of her notebook, and began to write.

Dear Santa,
I have tried very hard to be a very good girl this year, but I think I haven’t been so good this past week. Please don’t hold that against me. I will apologize to my parents and promise to try to be jolly. I did as you suggested. I asked them to write to you. They said they wouldn’t, but I think maybe they did. They like to play tricks sometimes and think they are fooling me. I hope you got their letter, but in case it got lost, what they said (I think) is that it would be fine if you brought me a dragon. Merry Christmas, Santa.
Your friend, Matilda.

After she had reread the letter and was sure that there were no misspellings, she folded it into four squares. On the top one, she drew a big heart and wrote ‘To Santa’ in the middle.

She tucked the note into her pocket, crossed her fingers, and made a wish. Eventually, her parents came in. Dad lit a fire in the fireplace, and mom turned on the radio that played 24 hours of Christmas music.

“Merry Christmas!” Matilda said in her sweetest voice.

Mom and Dad glanced at each other in relief. “Merry Christmas to you, Matilda. Would you like to come and sit by me while I read a story?” Dad asked.

She cuddled up next to her father, and together they read all about the first Christmas.

Soon, the man on the radio said, “We have a special bulletin! We just got word from Santa Claus that he is ready to leave the North Pole. So, all you boys and girls, don’t forget to leave your plate of cookies under the tree. May you all have sweet dreams and a very merry Christmas.”

Dutifully, Matilda changed into her pajamas, brushed her teeth, washed her face, and climbed into bed. Mom came in with a glass of warm milk with just a drop of Benadryl, and when Matilda finished, she kissed her goodnight. Before drifting off to sleep, Matilda placed her note under the pillow, and because she believed in magic and was sure that Santa would get it, she easily went to asleep.

Christmas morning dawned cold and clear, with just a hint of snow in the air. She was surprised to see her parents, fully dressed, sitting in the living room waiting for her. Before she could glance at her presents, her mother said, “Matilda, before you do anything else, go back to your room and get dressed.” Dutifully, Matilda pulled on her jeans, cowboy boots, and favorite hoodie. The one with the dragon on the back. When she returned to the living room, she saw beneath the tree a saddle with silver studs on the stirrups and a bedazzled helmet with her name written across the top.

‘Looks like I got a pony,’ she sadly thought, but tried to put a bright face on it.

“Let’s go out to the barn,” Dad said. “I want to see if you can saddle up on your own.” Her parents waited outside as she carried the saddle into the barn. Soon, the doors opened, and Matilda emerged fully mounted and ready to ride.

If some day you get up very early in the morning, before the first light of day has peeped over the horizon and, at just the right time, glance up, you might see a young girl, her red hair flowing out behind her, mounted on her dragon, wings spread, gliding across the face of the moon. But only if you still believe in magic.