“Fuck me, it’s cold.”

An unusual complaint from the old man. Still, he reasoned, it was his first time out this year. He’d been coddled by roaring log fires and over indulgence.

But he had to see her. He supposed that was where it started to go downhill. The start of his whatever-life crisis.

He slowly made his way to the Garage. That used to be a stable. And was probably going to become one again. He fumbled to get the key in the lock – the story of his life these days – and grunted open the door.

There she was. As shiny and polished as the day he put her in there.

He bought her in the 70s. Thought he should change his image. He didn’t have the beard then. “Or the belly,” he thought, stroking is, large, over his belt.

He remembered how it all went down – wanting to be more hip. He’d had an awful, silver mustache, opened his shirt to show off some medallion or other.

The ladies had loved it “Come and sit on my lap, pretty lady” And how they giggled. “Do you have a present for me?”

“Only if you’ve been naughty!”

His blushes coloured his cheeks.

“Don’t call me Father! I’m not a priest – you an call me Daddy.”

It reached his ears.

With a sigh he walked into the garage and ran his fingers over his car. He couldn’t even sit in the damn thing now and he wasn’t quite sure why he was keeping it. “And Rudolf never forgave me,” he thought, sadly, looking out, through the snow, to see the dim glow in the meadows.

Of course, it couldn’t last. His idea only got out once a year, and the girls had forgotten him by then. Some didn’t forget. Some never forgot, and he dreaded going into those chimneys.

But…somewhere along the way…he got lost. People stopped believing in, or even caring about, him.

“Just like that table maker guy.”

And now he was getting out less and less. It’s like he was a nominal idea, not even a current one.

“Fuck this. I’m going for a drink.” He looked out into the meadow and wondered if he could fit into his one man sleigh for the trip…


Photo supplied by Stephanie

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