Little Helpers

by L. Soviero

Max Zindel

Our neighbors near sleepwalk into the snow-bitten night. They want a glimpse of Dad in his Santa suit, the pillow-belly full of ho ho hos, the wayward, white beard. But also, the flicker of police lights, the way they sync with the Christmas lights in the windows of our houses, the wonderland dazzle they make of the droplets on windshields, the slick of the street, the wet of Dad’s eyes as he’s bowed into the back seat, hands folded around the red fluff of his lower back, all while he stares into Mom, while she stares into the emptiness in her hands.

Funny that only moments ago, he was in our room, breath sour, voice of broken ornaments, promising he’d buy us a pony, no, two ponies, one for each of ya. Our ears tuning to the creaks beyond our walls, each one treated as a potential reprimand as we imagined the perfect spot for ponies in our bedroom. How when he left us, his body cookie-cut the light from the doorway and he laid a ribbon of finger on his lips, his eyes bright with their own celebration. And how we held our fingers to our lips just like his, a promise to keep his secrets. Even the ones he hasn’t yet told us.

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L. Soviero is a writer from Queens living in Melbourne, Australia. She has been nominated for Best Microfiction, Best of the Net, Best Small Fictions, the Shirley Jackson Award and the Wigleaf Top 50. Her work has been included in Best Small Fictions (2021 and 2024), Best Microfiction (2024) and a variety of journals. Her chapbook “Wandering Womb” made the Masters Review 2023 Chapbook Open shortlist. Check out more from her at lsoviero.com