Idea in Stone | Page 2

"Look, Mom, people just don't like me that way."
She put a hand softly against his face. "Stefan, I just want you to be
happy." She moved her hand to his stomach as if examining for
something. "You've got so much vexation inside you. If you met
someone nice then maybe all that would settle down. I didn't mean to
upset you."
He smiled at her. "It's okay, I don't mind. He probably doesn't like men
anyway."
"Oh, no, he does. Sue Jackson asked him."
"Ugh. That doesn't help. Okay, I'm going to get him a shirt," said
Stefan, heading for the basement.
A minute later, Stefan heard unfamiliar steps on the stairs, and the
aquarium cleaner poked his head through the door, his arms on the
doorframe. "Hi," he said, "it's okay, I don't need a shirt. I'm going
straight home after this, so I can change there."
Stefan nodded, then laughed nervously. "I'm sorry about that," he said.
"Every once in a while Mom does this romantic hunter-gatherer thing.

Sorry if it made you uncomfortable." Despite himself, he noticed he
was trying to do his favourite attractive-guy look from the mirror.
"It's okay," said Tyler, "you'd be surprised how often it comes up with
this job. You know that Mrs. Jackson? Well, all I'll say is that she's got
big tits." They laughed, then Tyler tapped the doorframe, smiled, and
left.
Stefan sat down on his bed and sighed. This was familiar, this thing he
called "the pain of never". Why, he wondered, does beauty hurt to look
at? The feeling wasn't loneliness; more like a cousin to it. But
sometimes loneliness came along for the ride, and together they ran
him down.
He stared at the ceiling, hearing his mother walk Tyler to the door, then
creak about, on to some other task. He had things under control and
was happy being single -- why did she have to stir it all up again? He
closed his eyes and imagined the house upside-down, with him pinned
to the ceiling in his bed, and her walking upside down on the other side
of his floor. With one mental shake she fell loose. He kept shaking the
house until she dropped out the chimney.
~
Stefan woke up an hour later, stuck in the stupefaction of a
mid-afternoon nap. He gradually recalled who and where he was, but
lay in bed a while longer to avoid the responsibility of deciding what to
do with the rest of his day. He remembered a new CD that was
supposed to be released that week and made it his mission to find it. He
looked to his right, where thousands of plastic jewel-case spines
covered the entire wall. He'd have to shuffle them all around to make
space for this addition.
He bounced himself out of bed, grabbed a CD, and bounded up the
stairs. He passed the living room, where Delonia sat at the piano with
her bifocals, a pen, and sheets of music paper. "Where are you going?"
she called as he flashed past the room's archway.

"Out," he replied, poking his head back around the corner. "I
remembered something I need."
"Need or want?" she chided. Stefan rolled his eyes. "Alright, but Cerise
is going to be by this afternoon to move her things in, and I think it
would be nice if you were here."
"Okay, I'll try to make it back," he said, heading out the door. As he
walked, his mind filled in variations on the rest of what he wanted to
say. Because I wouldn't want to miss seeing my mother's girlfriend
move into my parents' house. Because I'd hate for something heavy to
drop on one of her cats. Because if I'm lucky you'll crack some
innuendo-laced joke to her that'll make me picture you two naked
together.
Leaves clung to the trees overhead, strangely green for a November day.
Stefan pulled the headphones from his jacket pocket and listened to the
CD he brought, the previous album by Microchimps. He loved them,
though there was something unfulfilling about listening to it when he
knew there was a newer album out there. His lips moved slightly with
the music, and he unconsciously adjusted the inner workings of his
throat to mimic the singer's style. He looked around, saw that there was
no one within earshot of him, and sang quietly to himself.
He stopped singing by the time he reached Yonge Street, which was
busy with Saturday shoppers. The store-front windows promised
coolness and bargains. Billboards towered above on every free surface,
featuring tanned, thin, scantily-clad people. There was something sexy
in the atmosphere up there that was missing at the street level, where
sweaters, coats, dark colours, and plain faces prevailed.
Stefan had a pattern