Schrödinger’s Saint | Sean Davis

Waiting for the 30 Bus in Boring, I met an unusually tall man wearing a soaked Santa suit—like viscous and gleaming type of soaked. Unsolicited, he told me that Vulcan is our sun’s dead twin but that shouldn’t stop us all from pursuing our passions. I nodded and gave it more thought than needed. He called me Jacob and said I should look into Brownian Motion because there’s a metaphor there that could be used, a metaphor for life. I smiled and nodded again, but I didn’t look over because in my peripheral vision I saw a dingy, sagging beard. I didn’t want to know if it was real or fake. I didn’t want to know if he was real or fake. I don’t mean if he was really Santa. I mean if he was really real.

Like most of us, I’d become accustomed to holiday music, decorations, and Santa outfits in November, but it wasn’t until he asked if I wanted a toy from his bag did I realize it was the eighth of January. I thanked him, but declined his offer.

The bus came. I got on. He said, “Goodbye, Jacob.” And something inside his wet, red sack moved and moaned low. The doors closed. I didn’t watch him disappear in the gray rain. The situation had made me agitated. Many situations do nowadays. I should have been glad it was over, but no, a tinge of regret came over me. Despite myself, I wished I had reached into his bag.

Sean Davis lives, works, and writes in the Cascade mountains, and on his off time he hikes in the woods to talk to Bigfoot.