Luther Cross lived alone, but for the most part he didn't mind. It was a good life he had. Until the night time closed in, and then, well, that was when the loneliness settled over him like a blanket on a hot August night. Sometimes it was purely suffocating.

He drank a cup of joe and gazed out the kitchen window of the little house he and his wife had once owned together. Until the day she took off and left him with all the bills. Exactly one year ago today. This holiday that was supposed to celebrate love. Good old Valentine's Day. Go figure.

Luther whistled softly under his breath. Someone had made a perfectly shaped snowangel in his yard. He had never seen one so well done. It sort of looked like a naked lady had lain in the snow. But then, that was probably just his imagination at work. He was going stir crazy, this was turning out to be one of the worst winters on record.

Determined to put an end to the continuous snowfall, he decided to do a reverse rain dance tonight. It was time for spring. He laughed. It was a kicker getting old Ethyl Noseby riled. It was too much to resist. He knew when the Noseby's went to bed and he'd be out in his backyard, doing a dance just for them.

After the news and weather reports got all the dribble out of their systems, Luther shed his clothes, got the bottle of bravery, and stepped gingerly out the backdoor. The cold brought him fully awake, damn the winter anyway. He had his long black hair down, for full effect. He couldn't do the war-whoop his Grandfather had taught him. The cops would be called for sure then. And right on cue, his nosey neighbors silhouettes appeared in their bedroom window. This was gonna be a hoot.


"Earl, quick, com'ere! ... Luther's dancin' again. Look'it, he's out there naked as a jay bird. And it's only twenty-six degrees ... mmm, mmm, Lordy, now." These last words were spoken with a certain breathlessness, that had the sound of adulterous desire and unspoken needs.

Ethyl Noseby's husband looked up over the top of his reading glasses at his round wife and sank farther down into his plush pillow.

"Ethyl, I'm telling you, get out'ta that window and leave Luther the hell alone. He's probably just taking a leak. Pull that blind down while you're at it. I mean it, woman."

"But, Earl, he's doin' some kind of weird dance, it must be the Indian, I mean Native American ancestry, in him. I think he's lost his mind ... Earl? Shouldn't we call someone?" She looked around at her husband, who was trying to ignore the whole situation, but Ethyl wouldn't stop. "He's gonna get frostbit in some tender places now. It's still below freezin', the snow isn't even gone yet."

The ever diligent Mrs. Noseby continued to yammer as she peered intently out the bedroom window overlooking Luther Cross' back yard. Her beady eyes were glued to her neighbor's well built derriere, hoping he would turn around just right.

"ETHYL!" She jerked the shade down, fast and hard, falling out of the window as Mr. Noseby threw his Penthouse magazine at her, almost knocking the huge pink hair rollers off her head. Had the blind remained up, Luther could have seen a pair of pink, fuzzy house shoes make a brief appearance in the window as Ethyl Noseby rolled backward, landing in a heap, with a picture of Miss February's breasts staring her in the face.


Below the window in the dim light of the winter moon, Luther heard Earl holler and stopped moving, he'd succeeded in his mission. Laughing to himself, he high-stepped it back inside. Back to the reality of an empty house, where the world couldn't see his pain.

As he bundled up in the old wool quilt his grandmother had made for him when he was a boy, he pulled a long drink from his buddy Jim Beam and longed for someone to talk to. He hated Valentine's Day. It was invented just so they could sell cards, but yet, it had been nice when he and Brenda had been together. He still clung to the good times, the good memories. But it was no good rehashing what was long over. Some old song about never going back started playing in his head, and Luther finally drifted off to sleep listening to a country lullaby.


More snow fell that cold Valentine's night. It glittered and sparkled in the street lights, slowly accumulating another four inches, while Luther slept deeply, dreaming of things men dream of.

And outside, out where Luther had made his wish, a form shaped in the drift, and she rose from the spot in the snow, feminine and lovely, with long dark hair and warm loving arms. And as his desire for love and happiness made Luther smile in his sleep, his real angel came up the back steps of the house that he called home, and walked into his dream.