Holiday Stories and Poems

An Elf Named Mary Bell

Santa's elf forgets to file a flight plan with the National Dept. of Security.

An Elf Named Mary Bells

It was my fault. I was supposed to have filed the flight plan with the Secretary of National Security, and I completely forgot. I’d done it for years and years. Never had a miss. And then comes this year, and it flew plum out of my mind.

You see, Mary Bells arrived at the North Pole in early November, and she smells like candy canes. Now, all female elves have sweet aromas – some are scented with gingerbread spice, others with cinnamon or hot cocoa. There are lady elves perfumed with fudge and those who walk by you and draw your nose and eyes and lips and thoughts, and I don’t even know what they smell like…. But Mary Bells, it’s pure and simple --- candy canes.

And, that’s not all. She has this darned, saucy nose and the tiniest of elf toes that have bells on them, so she jingles fetchingly each time she moves. And her figure – well, let’s just say, she looks nothing like Mrs. Claus. Mary Bells is in the crescendo of life, and she oozes desire.

Now, I know, I’ve been watching her since November, long enough to get her out of my system, but I just can’t. She’s infectious. The more I’m around her, the more my tongue dangles (figuratively, of course.)

That’s why time slid by, and I lifted up with Santa, and we did our thing over Europe, Asia, and Africa, circled down over all those many islands from New Zealand to the Galapagos, and up South America and Central America. Then we headed in through Texas and ran into BIG TROUBLE.

Three fighter planes demanded identification. I fingered in the codes, the ones they’d given me the year before, but that did no good. One of the jets buzzed us, doing a fly-over that spooked the reindeer. Poor Santa had his hands full. The reins got all tousled and mixed-up. Rudolph kicked Dasher, and Vixen turned around and bit Prancer.

Meanwhile those fighter planes were zooming about, leaving white paths of moisture that made both Santa and me sneeze. We were going down, just about to crash when Santa, experienced driver that he is, made a rough landing up on Bush’s housetop.

Secret Agents came rushing out of the building, some in their underwear. Guns were pointed, and a helicopter blazed its lights.

I had to get out of the sleigh and hand over my credentials. Then I tried to explain the situation. Meanwhile, the President of the United States and his sweet wife, who is almost as pretty as Mary Bells, came outside in their bathrobes, yawning and shivering.

“What’s going on?” yelled Barbara Bush, who pushed everyone aside and climbed up on the roof.

“You idiots,” she screamed at the secret service. “Can’t you see? This is just Santa Claus. Get that helicopter out of here and pocket those guns. Why I’ve never seen such a ruckus over nothing.”

“Now, Barbara, you let our little son handle this. It’s his ballgame now,” said the senior Bush, standing on one leg as he scratched the other.

I peeked over the rim of the house. Down below, the president and his wife were talking on cell phones as overhead the helicopter circled, still spotlighting the whole ranch and making everyone clutch their robes as it circled each time.

“Did you hear me?” Barbara Bush yelled up at the copter. “Go away now. Go round up some enemies of the state or something.”

“Would you like a cup of coffee, Santa?” the first lady called up, having finished her call.

"No, thank you," Santa and I said at the same time wondering how long we'd be grounded by red tape.

The reindeer stamped nervously. I finished untangling their reins, but Santa, stewed. “We’re so far behind now. We’ll never make Cleveland at this rate, and little Bobby Cluesy gets up so very, very early.”

Santa called down to the president’s wife. “Ah, I do sincerely thank you, Mrs. Bush, both Mrs. Bushes, but I’m awful late. I really have to be going. If you could just ask your jets to give us free passage ----?”

The president was still on the phone talking, but he waved his hand, nodded, and said, “Carry on, Santa. That's all been taken care of now. We can’t be messing around with the Santa flights,” he said, as he threw his arm around his wife because her teeth were chattering and she was turning slightly blue. Still laughing and talking on the phone, President Bush, his wife, and the secret service men waved to us then headed back inside.

“Well, if you don’t need me anymore, I’ll mosey down and cook up some breakfast,” Barbara told us.

Santa and I thanked her, dropped a few items down the chimney, and flew off. It was calm the rest of the night, and we even made it to Bobby’s house before he got up to check his stocking. Then we soared through Canada, visited the Eskimos, and dropped off some mail for the Canadian Geese who'd forgotten to migrate with their cousins.

We arrived back home just as the polar bears were scrambling out of their ice nests.

“So you forgot to file a flight plan, did you?” Santa laughed.

I’d been hoping he’d forgotten. I should have remembered that Santa never forgets anything.

I had no choice then, but to explain how I’d been mooning over Mary Bells.

“Ho! Ho! Ho! Just ask her out,” Santa said. “It’s as simple as that. Put one foot on the ice, and slide it.”

Great advice, but Mary Bells would never go out with somebody like me. I explained to Santa that I was just an average elf and she was a hot fudge sundae. I didn't mention my oversized ears and my slightly lime-green complexion, but I was thinking it.

“Average?” Santa roared. “You just spent an hour up on the president’s roof. How’s that for average?”

I hung my head. That wasn’t something of which I was proud. I'd messed up big time.

We landed then, and Santa left to go kiss his wife and have a little breakfast before taking a nap. I stayed in the barn to unhook harnesses and put the reindeer to bed.

“Clarence,” called out a voice as beautiful as a Christmas carol. “Oh, Clarence, I’m so glad you’re back," she said looking at me with eyes like star shine. "I worried about you,” Mary Bells told me, jingling enticingly as she walked toward me.

My face flamed. I hid behind Comet. Mary Bells darted around the reindeer and smiled at me. The scent of candy canes flooded my senses.

"You're not hiding from me, are you?" she exclaimed, her eyes suddenly bubbling up with tears.

"No! I was just -- I was just -- I mean, I was --- Would you go to the Christmas party with me?” I blurted out, having practiced saying it the whole trip.

“Oh, yes!” Mary Bells said, smiling so pretty my heart raced. Then she kissed me, right on the cheek.

I suddenly heard a hundred-member choir singing the Hallelujah Chorus as I breathed in the wonderful scent of candy canes. Then, despite my overly large ears and the slightly peculiar hue of my skin, I kissed Mary Bells back, right on the lips.

The reindeer bellowed, laughing at me. Vixen nibbled at a shoestring and untied the knot. Prancer dribbled straw down my back, while Comet nudged my ribs, but I didn't care because Christmas had just arrived.

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