Reindeer Park
written by: R.D. Henry
Vibrant waves of Aurora Borealis lights glimmer across the slate glass ice at Reindeer Park. It’s a chilly Christmas Eve. The clicks and swooshes of my skate blades create a melodic tune to dance to on the frozen surface. But the rink’s mystical power fails to quiet my 200 billion brain cells or repair my tormented soul. So, I float adrift on sharp silver metal.
Gram, a psychic therapist for fifteen-year-old-granddaughters, suggested I visit the pond. “Lilly, your fractured fairytale life needs mending.” Warm hands clasp mine. “Meditate on skates, dear, find a cure for your wounds. Hour max, though, I’m makin’ Christmas strudel.”
I loop the serene pond in a mindless trance until distant huff sounds and pockets of white vapor stroke my anxieties. Is someone watching me? I shift into backward glides beside the rink’s banks and scan the shadowy outer-park. It’s a moonless night, yet Borealis streaks unveil a murky presence by white-washed trees.
Forward again, I coast past two lone skaters on the deserted rink and point to the phantom figure. The skater’s hollow eyes glare at me, oblivious to life beyond themselves. Concern absent, I dismiss mine and study loopy blade cuts in the ice. “Venn Diagrams,” I mutter to visions of Gram, “The interloped circles prove avoidance fails to erase our connectivity to each other.”
My hour’s up… it’s late… 9:00. A text arrives from Dad. “Grandma burnt strudel. House on fire. Comin’?” I roll my eyes, type, “Yup.”
Skates swapped for boots; my feet drag on the trek home across the frostbite park. I tug my Gram-knit pink wool hat lower and reimagine Codey, my AI robotic dog science project. Cody’s software will detect wickedness and lies in real-time.
Deeper into the park, I spot the mysterious presence again. The snowpack crunches like icicles, so I step gingerly to within two yards of the figure. Gawk, awestruck. A reindeer? Okay, maybe on the Canadian border, but never Reindeer Park…Whatever…this beast is mammoth. On shaky legs, I duck behind a leafless tree.
A deep husky voice says, “You know, I can see you.”
Right. Reindeers talk? Certain questionable Northerners—Paul-Bunyan-lived and Elvis-still-lives types—might accept such realities. Hogwash to me. The bull pivots his gigantic antlers my direction. I sneak a retreat, heart pounding. “Where’d you come from, big guy?”
“Takin’ a bio break. Too many cookies.” Long vapors from his lips hang in the frigid air. His bushy eyebrows rise. “How you doin’?”
I swallow my tonsils.
While he’s gruff and mighty fearsome, something about his gentle, enchanting aura weakens my defenses. Voice squeaky, I say, “Ah…Sir Reindeer… skating transports my loser self from Earth. Been a haunting two weeks. A vile incident never qualified me for accident amnesia despite the viciousness of the attack.”
I backup. Pathetic. I’m blabbing total secrets. And to a reindeer.
Dark, tender eyes gaze long into mine. “Heard about it, Lilly. Dreadful. Been there.”
Thrown off kilter, I snicker. “Wait, reindeers have social media?”
“Nope. I just hear stuff.” His voice deepens. “Once a few reindeer switched my hay. Told me it was an alfalfa delicacy. Lost my coat, my hoofs cracked, and I upchucked for days.”
“Why?” I stroke his powerful, musty-scented neck, lost in the moment’s zaniness.
Massive antlers lean sideways. “The other reindeer, they’re perfect. I’m not.”
“Hum-mm.” I say with a soft, wondrous tone, “How did you recover?”
“Skunks and cookies.” He snorts, quite dignified. “Pit a tiny skunk against a huge predator, well, the skunk’s lethal scent wins. I have skunk-smelling farts.”
My hand swipes my suddenly runny nose. “You also have smelly cookie farts?”
“Oh, no, cookie breaths. One smell empties the stables, the other fills it.” His eyes glisten, and a goofy look illuminates his giant mug.
Out of respect, I stifle a giggle. “So, fart and eat cookies.” I beam. “I’ve a better plan. Codey, my robotic dog. He’ll prevent dreadful things from happening to me. Ever.”
“Phooey, Lilly. No way will electronics cure hoof fungus.”
“You saying I have hoof fungus?” With a cockeyed-grin, I kick snow clumps. “I love my family, I do. But they finagled me into a pitiful social exercise with, ‘Step into the light, Lilly…forget the science books.’ I did. Five despicable girls traumatized my body functions until I turn fifty.”
Stomach knots throb, and cold dread opens my memory floodgates for an instant replay. “Cool girls never invite gals like me to parties: brainy, science club, lunchbox carrying types.” I fidget with my scarf, half-heartedly. “Upon arrival, the leader offered food. Her buds, all four, wore crocodile smiles. My gut sensed, ‘something’s amuck, leave.’ But desperate to belong, I accept the plate with a bun oozing tomato-hamburger gook and a peculiar, unappetizing odor. Sure thing, I dismissed it as teen cookery and faked a generous smile.”
My voice raises. “All five girls circled and stared.”
Reindeer listens with tender eyes while his immense muscular body puffs white vapors.
“I forced one bite, then another. The girls encircled tighter.” Heartbeats wild, I cry, “Witches. All of them.”
The strange deer’s warm, musty scent wraps me like a comforter. Regardless, my hand white-knuckle his harness.
“The food moved! A reddish-brown object squiggled out of the bun. I screamed, the plate slipped from my grip. With a loud splat, dish and goop spattered across the floor. More elongated slimes slithered from the blood-red goo. Monster worms. Nightcrawler worms.”
My jaw quivers. Just a little. “The sight of the worms brought tremors and heaving. With that, the witches celebrated; dancing, chanting, ‘Such a loser…loser…Lill-y…'”
A strange calm relaxes my grip on his harness. Will confiding in this silly, sensitive reindeer change me? Reduce the attack’s power over me?
“Ya know,” Reindeer says, “joy shared is joy doubled. Sorrow shared is sorrow halved.”
I give a dumbstruck nod. “Well, that night, grit and courage abandoned me. I stumbled home. I told no one. Except a doctor the next day. Ashamed, I said I ate worms by accident. Gram and Dad, suspicious, confronted Principal Jack. He agreed the girls had a bullying history. Of course, they denied knowing about the worms.”
I breathe deep. “For days, I had a fever, vomited. Lost hair, too… much like you.”
Hoof-sounds crack in the hushed vastness of the empty park.
I straighten. My lips curve in a gracious smile. “I’ve kept you, Sir Reindeer?”
“No, Lilly. You are why I’m here. To tell you, they lost more than you gained.”
“You speak in riddles.” I shake my head. “If you mean I gained the Parvovirus…Worms can carry it, you know. The antibodies I’ll have them forever.”
He snorts. “In time, you’ll understand humans are a collective of connections. You changed the girls’ lives as they changed yours.”
“Well, Principal Jack separated them into different classes.” I snicker. “They hate it.”
Mind weary, I stare at his harness’s letters. “Rudolf?” I screech, a star-struck five-year-old again. “You’re Santa’s lead reindeer with that magnificent nose.”
Instant bright red light cocoons us. “A fable,” he huffs. “Santa says powerful lights glow inside, not outside, leaders. My trials lit mine, yours will, too.”
I pull my pink hat tighter and gaze at the vibrant night sky. “Where’s your sleigh?”
“Oh, it just returned.” Rudolf sways, bumps a pouch against me. “A gift.”
Mittens off, I collect a silver box. Scrolled in reddish-gold is ‘Lilly.’ Inside, red velvet cushions a snow globe replica of Reindeer Park.
For a brief second, my gaze rests on the globe. “Thank you.” Faint jingling echoes above me. He’s vanished.
“Rudolf,” I holler skyward, “you’re the only one I’ve been able to talk to… this helped my recovery.”
“Lilly, your incredible resilience has,” his voice echoes. “I just listened, added insight.”
I hum, “Silent night…all is well…” Snow globe heavy in my palm, I shake it. Snowflakes cascade, scattering beneath faux Aurora Borealis lights. Beside a substantial-sized reindeer, a lone skater in a pinkish hat, twirls atop the snow frosted pond.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
The theme of our story, connectivity, also helped write it. A husband and wife team, we compromise. Sure, there’s some grumbling, but we know it creates stories impossible alone. We add our critique partners’ expertise, a semi-true event, and voilà.
- Reindeer Park - December 22, 2024
- Mrs. Claus - December 15, 2023
