The True Meaning of Christmas
November 2015 | Science Fiction | 1200 words
First Published by the scholastic art & writing awards, 2016
When there was an ambiguity of a greater power and an unknown to be feared and respected, we hadn’t yet proved our superiority in the universe. Of course, we had all been silently sure of it, even as we watched the skies and wondered if we were all alone. When they arrived, we remained cautious. We didn’t even know their names—we were afraid to give them any—but once they left, a great gust of all triumphant certainty in human supremacy was unleashed from our bodies, our minds, and our spirits; all of which belonged exclusively to us. Thanks to them. The first ship landed in the United States during the latter half of November. This event was covered well by an array of rapacious television reporters speculating the significance of what had been spotted above snow-packed woodlands north of New York City. After several days of hyped discussion, it was concluded that the object had in fact been a UFO. We then resumed our lives, occasionally bringing up the subject and wondering exactly which theory of the alien invasion would turn out to be correct. “I bet they have advanced weaponry!” “Obviously, but we’ll never give in.” “Not unless they can play with our emotions. They’ll want to get on our good side, rally us together.” “The best tactic is religion. History doesn’t lie; religion is the best way to control any group of people. I bet they know that, too.” Nearly everyone believed aliens had arrived. Interestingly enough, those who didn’t believe were the only ones struggling to remain calm about it. They attempted to drive our focus back to “what was important,” to “what was real,” but we chose to ignore them. Within the next week, a thin, limp species with skin the color of crisp dollar bills had made its presence known. Reporters came from every state to inspect the emergence of these new creatures as the entire nation watched eagerly with the interest of children. December arrived. Perforating the ordinary spangle of holiday commercials were news broadcasts and live interviews with the creatures. The aliens became a national sensation. Even the president welcomed them warmly into the country that would become their new home. Inevitably, the novelty of their presence died off. Images of aliens on television screens, store windows, and magazines were replaced with tinsel, felt, and paper; with sledding and merry carolling; with cocoa and stockings by the fire; with red, white, and green; with evergreens, and gold and silver ornaments; and with a special arrival from a jolly elf. Even as our focus snapped back to the spectacle of Christmas, the creatures were never far from sight. People rushing into stores for gifts were surprised to find them walking with reverence through the toy and candy cane aisles. Before entering malls and post offices to marvel at the beautiful decorations, some creatures made sure to wipe their feet out of respect. They listened to holiday songs on the radio. Some of them were even caught stowing statuettes of Santa away in their clothing. Many creatures, becoming confident, drew crowds on the streets of New York while preaching good tidings. Upon the flashing of Christmas paraphernalia on cinema screens, they fell out of their seats and bowed low on the candy-coated floor, attempting desperately to display their conformity to our apparent religious customs. We studied their behavior fascinatedly, wondering what it was they were trying to accomplish through their actions. We couldn’t have possibly anticipated the answer to that question, but soon it became very clear. These aliens had somehow come to the conclusion that we worshipped Santa Claus. A large army of followers emerged. The creatures walked the streets in lines, dressed in red and green tunics and shouting out words of salvation to the human onlookers. The “elves,” heralding the arrival of “his most jolliness,” claimed to have known first-hand of the truth of Christmas. Now that they had finally found a civilization of common believers, they wished to enlighten us with what they had seen. They offered us the chance to walk humbly with “he whom we worship” forever in that white wonderland of which we so dreamed, if only we would do exactly as they said. To convince us, a round creature dressed in a red suit and a fake white beard slid through the streets on a sleigh, waving to us and demanding to know if we would obey him for the chance to be saved. They waited for our response. We waited for our voices, which had been shocked into silence, to return to us. Then, when they did, we berated the creatures with laughter. How else could we react? After all that time, after all that waiting for proof, the unknown had become known…as something that didn’t need to be feared at all. By the time the last few chuckles had been drawn from our cores, the creatures were already long gone, swept swiftly away by an emboldened, independent, self-governing humanity. The aliens’ embarrassing attempt at an invasion prompted the president of the United States to deliver a humorous speech. “Had they come at any other month of the year,” he said, “they might’ve had a better shot at enslaving us through customs and religion. Did they really think we worshipped a cookie-loving elf from the North Pole?” Outwardly, we enjoyed the event with classic American pride, but inwardly, we were relieved. The creatures had thought they would conquer, but victory was ours. “If they were all we had to fear,” he concluded, “then certainly we’re unstoppable.” No more would we look up. We were the supreme power. No more would we worry; we were now what others need fear and respect. At last, we were at our own disposal. Life existed only for living. Not preparing. That year, December 25th fell on a Sunday. While most families were at home revelling in the spirit of gift-giving, many stores were not yet emptied. Returns were made, toys were purchased. Members of every religion and no religion came to take advantage of the holiday and splurge on wanted things, including the new collection of knick-knacks modeled after the month-long invasion of the “space-elves,” which became an instant holiday classic. As it happens, through the transaction of bills and coins, those creatures really did infiltrate the country—this time with no resistance from the delighted consumers. However, not everyone had converted to the day’s materialistic festivities. Remarkably, many Christian pews remained occupied. Stubborn, white-knuckled patrons came to pray furiously for themselves and for their friends, whom they believed had lost sight of what really mattered, of what was important, of what was real. Through all that had occurred in the month prior, their God stood idly by in churches across the country, lovely but blue on that wooden cross, like a cold meal that only they would stay to eat. One priest, observing with disgust a mob of preoccupied shoppers at the mall across the street from his church, smirked as he did every Christmas before beginning mass. It amused him to see how some chose to celebrate Christ’s birth. He had witnessed the invasion and had listened to the president’s address. He didn’t wonder, as everyone else did, why the creatures thought we worshipped such a thing of fantasy. Year after year, he had watched the population of his church dwindle. The patrons he used to have had found a new religion. When the priest brought his gaze to the heavens, his smirk turned bitter. Wait a year, he lamented. Then come back. See if we stand a chance.