LARGETONY Blog

NOTE: I have not seen the movie “Brokeback Mountain.” This is just sort of a spoof based on what I have seen in trailers, with my own ideas tossed on top of it. It’s not a commentary on anything, just me wanting to write something. Just meant to be entertaining.

Jingleshanks was tossed from a deep slumber as the tiny train lurched forward, climbing the final peak before descending into Christmas Town. It had gotten considerably colder now that they had reached the North Pole. He pulled his coat collar up around his face for warmth, happy that he had grown a beard before making the trip. He was born a tree elf, after all. He had spent his days growing up around the fiery ovens of Hollow Tree. There, it had always been best to stay clean-shaven. Not only because of the sweltering heat, but also the customers didn’t take well to finding hair in the baked goods.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Jingleshanks peered down the aisle and saw the the conductor shoveling more chocolate chips into the engine ahead. Around the car, he noticed a handful other passengers who swayed lazily as the car rocked back and forth over the rugged terrain. There must be more in the two cars behind his, he figured. He wondered if they were all headed for Christmas Town, too. They must have been. The North Pole was the last stop. There’s no place else they could be going. They all looked to be young elves, like himself. And judging by the nervous silence that filled the train car, he figured that they were also signed up for duty at the Silver Whiskers Ranch.

To the human world, the Silver Whiskers was known as a magical place called SantaLand. The beauty of place was beyond that of any child’s dream, but the elfin world knew the reality of the rigors of working and maintaining a complex compound of toy factories, candy shops, mail centers, and reindeer stables. An assignment at SantaLand was not for the weak. And for many a young elf, it was a rite of passage to spend a season working side-by-side with the year-rounders. The Silver Whiskers was for “real” elves.

“North Pole. End of the line.” yelled the train man. The phrase wasn’t lost on Jingleshanks. For a lot of elves, the Silver Whiskers was the end of the line. Many of them couldn’t tough it out and returned to their other lives broken, defeated, and ashamed. Jingleshanks had something to prove to himself. He wanted to prove that he, too, was a “real” elf. The Silver Whiskers was do or die.

With his travel pack in hand, Jingleshanks stepped off the train onto the platform, unsure of where to go. Looking around, he saw elves being greeted by what seemed to be family. Those must be elves studying abroad who are home on break, he thought. Then there were those who seemed to be seasonal but on a return trip. There was a camaraderie between them and they shared hired sleds to take them on their way. And, lastly, there were the elves who were obviously new. Jingleshanks wondered if he looked as green and as lost at to what to do. He must have.

“They call you Jingleshanks?” came a mumbled question from an approaching elf. “Yeah, I’m Jingleshanks.”

“Thought so,” came the response “You’re mine.” Jingleshanks took that as an order to follow him to a nearby sled that was hitched to an enormous reindeer. The young elf knew that reindeer were big creatures, but this one was massive. “That’s Blitzen,” he told Jingleshanks, giving his own name as Flintwinkle.

“Pleased to meet you, Flintwinkle.” Flintwinkle just nodded in response, then snapped the reins making Blitzen take off down the snowy road. The two elves rode in silence for a while , Jingleshanks taking in the way the Blitzens bells cut through the placid Arctic silence. “Blitzen is a flying reindeer, ain’t he,” Jingleshanks asked. “Yep, ” Flintwinkle responded. “But the big man don’t like nobody to fly ‘em but him. Unless, of course, we’s training ‘em. So, you’ll get to see him fly soon enough.”

“You mean I’m gonna be working the deer?” Jingleshanks could hardly contain his excitement. It was well known that handling the reindeer was among the toughest, if not the thoughest, assignments. This was just what he needed. “I was afraid I was going to end up doing candy or something,” he told Flintwinkle, “Seeing as how I been in the kitchens.”

“One of them cookie elves, huh?”

This got Jingleshank’s back up. “Yeah, I’m a cookie elf. You got something to say about it?”

“Just asking a question,” Flintwinkle muttered. Jingleshanks realized he was probably being too sensitive and that Flintwinkle meant nothing by it. But he knew that some elves looked down on tree elves and held certain stereotypes about them. Maybe deep down he believed those stereotypes himself.

The sun was beginning to go down and the air chilled even more, if that was even possible. Jingleshanks began to shiver. Flintwinkle picked up on it. “You’ll get used to it in a few days, ” he advised. “After a while, the cold just becomes a part of you.” Jingleshanks figured Flintwinkle wasn’t lying, considering that the driver’s woolen vest was sleeveless, and the arms of his thermal shirt were pushed up on his forearms. Jingleshanks considered how boyish his own forearms look compared to the sinewy hairy ones of Flintwinkle. He was glad he was fully covered.

The sled glided over a hillside into a little valley were a small cabin sat. “This were I’m staying?” Jingleshanks asked. “Just for the night,” Flintwinkle answered. “The wife has made up a bed for you, and she’ll give you a good meal. We’ll get you set up in a bunk at the ranch tomorrow.” As they approached the house, two tiny elves ran into the yard, dancing with excitement. “Daddy!,” they cried out.

Flintwinkle’s daughters attacked him with affection the moment his feet hit the hard ground. He scooped the younger one, Pixiebean, up in one arm and led the other, Tumblepuff, by the hand into the cozy cabin. Jingleshanks grabbed his pack and followed them in, stopping for a moment to brush Blitzen across the nose. Inside, Jingleshanks was introduced to the girls’ mother, Gingertwist, who showed him around the tidy, modestly furnished little home. She led him to the smallest room, which contained just a small bed (small even for elves), a bureau, and shelf with a handful of toys.

“Hope you don’t mind being in the girls’ room for the night,” Gingertwist apologized. “They’ll sleep in with me, and Flintwinkle can have the sofa.” Jingleshanks offered to take the sofa himself, not wanting to put anyone out. “Oh, it’s alright,” Gingertwist explained, “The girls will get a kick out of sleeping in Mommy and Daddy’s bed. Besides, you had a long trip. You deserve at least one night in a proper bed, before you go bunking up at the ranch.”

Jingleshanks thought it was funny that Gingertwist considered the tiny bed a proper one for a full-grown elf, but thanked her generously for her hospitality. “Don’t think anything about it,” she responded. “We’re happy to have you. Now, you get your things unpacked, we’ll be having supper soon.”

Left alone, Jingleshanks sat for a moment on the tiny bed and took it all in. Two days ago he was securely in the saftey of Hollow Tree, and now he was sitting in the icy desolation of the North Pole. For only a moment, he wondered if he was doing the right thing, taking on a job at the Silver Whiskers Ranch. But only for a moment. It was something he needed to do. It was something he was destined to do.

His thoughts were interrupted by a hammering outside the single window of his room. He blew his breath against the frosted glass and rubbed away a patch with his sleeve, so that he could peer out. His eyes had already adjusted to the low gas light if the interior, so it was little blinding to look out side, even at sunset. Across the back yard, he saw Flintwinkle enlarging a hole in the ice over a little portion of water. Waves of steam billowed over the hole, so Jingleshanks figured it must be a hot springs.

Flintwinkle tossed aside his hammer and pick, and began stripping from his clothes. Jingleshanks initial response was to turn away, and he did, drawing the square of cloth that acted as a curtain across the widow. Even so, something drew him back to the window, and he pulled the curtain open just enough to peek around it and spy on his host. Flintwinkle’s back was to the house and he was now completely naked. He lifted is arms above his head and stretched. Jingleshanks was completely engaged by the sight of muscles that played across Flintwinkle’s body as he worked the kinks out of his arms and torso.

It was more obvious to Jingleshanks, now, how pale Flintwinkle’s skin was. It made sense to him. This time of year there is very little sun, and the calendar was swiftly heading to the days where there would be no sun at all. As pale as he was, Flintwinkle’s skin had a healthy looking lack of pigment. It was not ghostly or sickly. It was apparent to Jingleshanks that Flintwinkle was a hearty, robust, and rugged elf. He was broad shouldered and solid, particualrly his legs and buttocks.

Jingleshanks watched with rapt attention as Flintwinkle dropped himself into the hot water. He dunked his head under then came up and began to scrub the working-elf’s sweat and grime from his powerful body. Knowing he should allow Flintwinkle his privacy, Jingleshanks tried to draw himself from the window, but he couldn’t. Something held him there. And all he could think of was the words Flintwinkle said to him just an hour ago: “You’re mine.”

“Didn’t mean to startled you,” Gingertwist said after returning to the room with her daughters right behind. She hadn’t tried to sneak up on him, but when she came in to call him to supper, he nearly jumped out of his skin. So much so that it startled the woman and her girls. “Hope you like stew, ” she blushed. “I’m sure it will be fine, ma’am,” he responded on his way through the door, being led by each and toward the kitchen by Pixiebean and Tumblepuff.

Gingertwist held back a moment wondering what could make her visitor so jumpy. Her gut told her not to look, but she couldn’t help but draw the curtain aside. When she saw her husband, toweling his naked torso, she began to wonder even more.

—to be continued

This entry was posted on Thursday, December 22nd, 2005 at 11:08 pm and is filed under holiday, stories. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.