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Cool Story: CHRISTINEYOUNG fell to the hymnbook in her lap. Almost unaware of her own actions, she pressed the book between her legs, felt her pubis throb against red leather. The color of blood, she thought, though her eyes were closed, The color of blood. Her hips were writhing now, and she felt the hard nub of her clitoris rise to meet the package of words, the book that held the songs that soared, like birds, around her numbed mind. She felt the rush of panic when for a minute the cloud cleared and she realized what she was doing. But, she thought, it's dark, and anyway, Caleb's gone. She pressed the hymnbook more tightly against her denims, and touched her face lightly with one of her fingers, letting it slide lightly over her lips, her eyes, enjoying the feel of her face, of her skin, in a manner that Caleb never had. She imagined the Jesus of her Grandma's picture, and he was before her, laughing, and his robe was open