Trust the Beard

Posted: August 21, 2013 by writingsprint in Drama
Tags: , , , , ,

Santa

Ho, ho, pffft

Erin and Paul hustled Gerry into their crafting room. Christmas gifts lined the walls. Stacks of them teetered in the corners. The room was a monument to crass commercialization and the American free enterprise system. Gerry realized they were up to something when Paul closed the door behind them. He asked, “Paul said you needed help building something?”

Erin said, “Yes I do. We’re building Christmas memories.” She pulled a Santa Claus outfit out of the closet.

His best friend had a big heart and lousy taste in character actors. “I am the last person you want as Santa Claus,” Gerry said.

Paul pat him on the shoulder. “That’s why it’s you, buddy. You need some Christmas cheer.”

“Oh, these kids like sarcasm? The Denis Leary sense of humor?” Gerry asked.

Erin lowered her chin and looked at him from under her eyebrows. “If you say one cross word I will stick this beard so far up your ass—”

“I don’t want to hear the rest.” Gerry snatched the suit from her. He handed it to Paul. “You’re the guy. You’ve got the build for it.” Paul folded his arms. “I suppose you couldn’t get anybody else to do it?”

“You were our first thought. Put it on.”

“No.”

“Are you going to be the one who spoiled the kids’ Christmas?”

Gerry grumbled as he put on the coat, pants and boots. At 5’10”, 160 lbs., the suit hung on him like a red velvet trash bag. “I look like the ‘after’ picture for when Santa joined Weight Watchers,” Gerry said.

“You’ve got a pillow.” Erin stuffed it under his shirt. It was embarrassing. It felt like having his mother dress him. She finished it a limp hat and a fake beard that looked like a misshapen wad of cotton. “You look perfect!”

“A blind man could tell I’m not Santa.”

“Trust the beard. These are three-year-olds. They won’t know the difference.”

Gerry shook his head. He didn’t like the shopping and hassle around Christmas. Now he had to play a convincing Santa, or one of his nieces or nephews was going to wind up crying tonight. His stomach tied into knots. He tried to blank out the real world, and imagine that he came here from a land of snow-covered cottages that never heard of the dollar bill.

“Is there a gift bag?”

“We’ll hand them to you. No sweat.”

Gerry made punches in the air like a prize fighter. He jumped up and down a few times. “All right. Let’s do this.”

Today’s post is brought to you by the prompt “trust the beard” from Inspiration Monday at Be Kind Rewrite.

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Comments
  1. Stephanie says:

    Haha, this is cute. Good characterization. Love his air-punching. Really adds the perfect touch.

    Like

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