Idea in Stone | Page 2

"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 for browsing the music stores based on selection, price, and what the staff were like to look at. He had favourite staff members who were friendly, cute, or both, though downtown interactions were limited in nature by a band of high-pressure air surrounding each person, preserving anonymity and professionalism, and also preventing