Reliving that orgasm, each sensation is somecatharsis to reenter the real world. My brain is here. Theroom is dark, and only red embers glow from the fire place.The wood is damp and the room smoky, it reminds me of thewet Appalachian apple orchards of the harvest times of myyouth. Naked I throw some more logs on the coals and stokethe fire. The little light from the fireplace emits a gauzyreflection off the window panes, but I see a white ghostbeyond them on the screen porch. The flames behind me warmmy back and backside, but my chest feels cold. I can feelthe damp coldness wash over from the lake and through theopen door.Sue does not turn when I come out to the porch, but staresat the ice dark lake water, or perhaps the fast-movingcumulus clouds that are the silver lining of a starry sky.For the first time I hear the wind whistling. I watch as myhands grasp the upper arms of Sue. She does not flinch, sheknows I am there. I want to press my body against her back,but for some reason I. The song is childish. The song is dated. The song is dumb. Seriously, who ever heard of a reindeer with a red nose? ‘Rudolph theRed Nosed Reindeer… Ah, gees, now you have me singing it.’ It’s one of those haunting songs that sticks in my mind, whenever I think about it. Yet, every time I hear that song, I think of Gene Autry. Boy, he was a man’s man, a genuine cowboy, right up there with Roy Rogers. My Dad was sad when Mr. Autry died, too. I kind of suspect my Dad knew them personally, Burl Ives and Gene Autry, as well as Roy Rogers. On second thought, my Dad claims he’s known everyone. He may be getting a bit senile in his old age. My Dad said that ever since Gene Autry was a boy, when he sat on Santa’s lap, it was always Mr. Autry’s dream to buy a baseball team and when he bought the Los Angeles Angels, he was such a happy man to finally realize the Christmas wish that he had as a young boy. ‘And what would you like for Christmas, Gene? A train? A cowboy hat and guns?’ ‘No thank.
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