Jingle the Hell Out of My Way

"Comfortable?" The shrink in the suit asks me. The couch she has me lying on is old leather, nice and comfortable. I'm unhappy with the festive red coloring of the cushions but decide against sharing that tidbit. I'd rather not be diagnosed in the first few minutes.

"Yes, quite comfortable." I reply awkwardly.

"Relax Samson." She says soothingly. "We're just hear to have a chat."

"Oh yes. Just a chat. A chat that a state attorney has ordered me to have. I'm comfortable, I said I...didn't I say I was comfortable?" Through the window I can see a Christmas tree setup as the centerpiece of the park over the road. Are they testing me?

"Samson" the shrink says sternly, breaking my train of thought and dragging my eyes away from the window and back to her. "Regardless of what has brought you here Sampson, I need you to know that I'm not on anyones side. I want you to close your eyes and take three deep breathes."

I do as she says. To my surprise it helps and I feel my body relax as I readjust myself more comfortably on the couch.

"That's good. Now as you know I've been appointed to discuss with you what happened on Tuesday the fifteenth. We both know the outcome, but I want to know why something like this happened. I'd like to hear your side of the story."

"You want to know if I'm crazy" I retort. I really don't want to be here.

"Crazy isn't a word I use in, or out of the office Samson. Now, can you tell me what you were doing in the lead-up to the events last Tuesday. Not the event itself, but the hours before your visit to the Christmas festival. Before the events at Santa's worksh..."

"Where!?" I shout, standing up with a lurch. Frantically searching the room for signs of one of the filthy creatures. Seeing none, I look back to her, a quizzical and slightly shocked look on her face. "Oh." Shit, I'm jumpy as hell. "Look...shrink...lady. I'll tell you the how and why of last Tuesday after I get a few ground rules out of the way. First off, I'm lying the other way so I can't see that damn tree and second, no sudden references of...of S-Santa."

"Of course. Whatever makes you comfortable Samson. Now please, lie down." She takes the conversation back into her favor with ease and I submit and lie back on the couch.

"OK." I start, pausing to work out in my mind where to begin. "Are you afraid of spiders?" I ask her abruptly.

"Spiders? No. I'm not a fan of rats though."

"Define not a fan. When you see one scurrying through your kitchen, do you find the nearest broom and scoot it on out of there, or do you jump up on the bench, and scream?"

"I guess I would say I'm somewhere in between the two. I'd go for higher ground, but I wouldn't scream." She replies, genuinely thinking about it. "My father though. He has an intense phobia of spiders. What about you Samson? What do you think of spiders?"

"Huh? Oh, spiders are fine. I mean, you know I don't subscribe to their newsletter, but they...they're fine..." I can see that damn Christmas tree through the reflection of the mirror on the wall. I shake my head, sit up and concentrate on the shrink.

"OK. Imagine your dad's intense phobia of spiders and then times it by a million. Imagine that a mere photograph of one set him off, the hairs on his arms go on end, sweat starts oozing out of all his pores and his tongue goes limp, not even allowing him to scream out for help. Well that's me. Only it isn't spiders..." I pause. This is freaking embarrassing. I have to say it. "With me...with me I get like that when I see him. Santa."

"Santa!?" The word bursts from her lips shattering the composure she'd held on to throughout the session so far. But she's quick to recover.

"Yes! And don't say his name again. I can handle it throughout the year, but with all the tree's, the advertisements, the god damned TV specials...Just please. If we're going to continue, lets call him something else. Earl. Yes, we'll call him Earl.

"OK, Earl it is" She replies. I'm looking at her, daring her to call me a fool. But she doesn't. She seems totally recovered from her outburst.

"Samson. This phobia you have of Sant-EARL. I must assume you've had it for a long time. What caused you to act out in such a way as you did last Tuesday? What about this year is special?"

"Who says I haven't lashed out before?" I say defensively, even though my actions had definitely been a first for me.

"You lit a twenty foot tall Christmas tree on fire. You throttled two reindeer and threatened a man dressed up as...Earl with a baseball bat. It made headlines worldwide. I think I would remember if you'd done something similar before."

"They put it right outside my house, in the park! Right in front of me! Do you know how drunk I had to get to build up the courage to do those things?" I blurt the words before thinking. Am I helping my situation or making it worse?

"You're twenty six years of age Samson. What is it about this year that's so special?"

"My parents knew." I say quietly. "Ever since I was five they made sure we were out of the country in the month of December. China, The Middle East, Africa. Earl never visits there!" She's asking things I don't want to talk about. My parents died in a car accident last October. I'd been so distraught, Christmas hadn't even entered my mind.

"Why Earl, Samson? Why not the Easter Bunny?"

"Where!?" I shout, jumping to my feet, frantically searching for my greatest fear of all.

1000 words