I’ve composed letters to Santa Claus from a few familiar holiday characters. It’s never too late to believe. You are loved. Merry Christmas!
Dear Santa,
It’s me. Jenny. This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.
Do you remember when I wrote the paper and the man at the Sun wrote back and it was this huge rig-ma-row thing?
“Yes, Virginia – there is a Santa Claus.” Hhhmmm.
First off, my name is Jenny. I have never been “Virginia.” My father insisted I sign every letter as Virginia. My name is Jenny.
This is stupid. I hang out with the same group of friends now as I did when I was eight. And it’s the same conversation we’ve always had. It used to be boys and school. ow its men and work. Same thing.
It used to be ice cream. Now its happy hour. Yes – that’s right. I drink. OJ and vodka at breakfast. A bloody Mary for lunch. Wine with dinner. So what? What? My time. My life. My money. I work.
I am so freakin’ tired of this. One little wreck. It wasn’t even a wreck. It was a love tap. A fender bender. OK – it was a little more than that but it wasn’t a big deal.
Went to court. I did not agree. I do not agree. The judge and my lawyer (my brother) decided it would be best if I went to rehab. What the hell.
So, here I am.
The forever optimistic and gullible Virginia O’Hanlon. In rehab. Are you serious? do not belong here!
Group therapy. One-on-one sessions. If I have to take one more “nature walk” for fresh air, I am gonna lose my ever-lovin’ mind.
And no – my mother doesn’t visit. I haven’t heard from my father since I wrote that letter. He disappeared the same day it was published – September 21st. Great day. Great day.
Oh God – its the same conversation everywhere I go… “Oh – you’re that Virginia! I love that story. I bet Christmas is your favorite holiday. o you still write Santa?”
Yes, I am. I don’t. No, it isn’t. And hell no, I do not write Santa. Why would I? I mean – it worked out so well last time… Until now.
My counselor. My shrink. My therapist. I don’t know what she is. My life Nazi… thinks it would be a good idea if I wrote Santa another letter so I can find some closure for that part of my life. I got your closure. Right here.
Know what I’d like? I’d settle for some closure on this part of my life. How about that? hat a crock.
So – here Mr. Claus. Here’s your letter.
Dear Santa, I’d like my life back. I’d like to be rid of Virginia. My name is Jenny. I want to be left alone. Oh – I also have a “faith counselor.” Whatever that is.
Her name is Ginger. So yes, God has a sense of humor. Ha. Ha. Anyway – Ginger says miracles are everywhere.
So, Santa Baby, get on your sleigh and find me a miracle. Can you do that? I’ll be waiting. Waiting. Right here. In my little room. You know what they – “yes, Virginia. There is a Santa Claus.”
Sure thing. Sure thing.
I’m waiting,
Jenny O’Hanlon
Jeffrey Griffin 