Call Me Jennifer by Elektra Pendragon Mr. and Mrs. Honeycutt--as Stefan insisted on calling Matt's parents--were out for the evening, leaving the two guys to relative solitude in the family room. They were supposed to be babysitting, but all of Matt's younger siblings were outside playing football without them. The kids didn't like to play football with Matt because he always lost. It was much more fun when the five of them could gang up on unsuspecting neighbor kids and beat the pants off them. Childish yelling could be heard through the walls of the old house, letting Matt know they were all still alive. After so many years of babysitting the siblings, he'd learned to sense when there was a problem. Right now, it sounded like the only problem was being down by a touchdown. With the kids outside and the parents dining out, Stefan and Matt had the television to themselves. All six channels of it. To save money, Matt's parents preferred to buy or rent movies for the ancient VCR rather than spend money on channels that probably wouldn't get watched anyway. Most days Matt didn't mind, but at that moment every station was playing commercials. The living room was pretty quiet in comparison to the zoo it usually was with the kids around. The two men veging on the couch didn't speak at all as Matt continued to flip slowly through the six TV stations, trying to find one without commercials. The silence between them was nothing new; Matt and Stefan had barely talked all afternoon. Much of their time together was usually spent not talking. After the first week of friendship, Matt sort of ran out of things to say. Stefan wasn't one for in depth conversation about himself, so they had started falling into long silences such as this. It wasn't uncomfortable in the least; Matt didn't feel as though he needed to say something around Stefan. It was enough for them to spend a little quiet time together between football practice and homework. It seemed to be the only time that Stefan truly relaxed, and considering how tightly wound Stefan usually was, Matt wasn't about to do something to ruin that time for his best friend. How sad was that? Some guy he had just met a few weeks ago was a closer friend than the guys he'd been playing ball with for the past four years. Those guys were only interested in Football and Girls and Beer, which didn't excite Matt enough for him to call those people his friends. Stefan was different from the other guys on the team; it was like he was more real, more human, than everyone else. Stefan was also different from Matt. Stefan was basically different from everyone else in Fell's Church, which just made Matt all the more determined to remain his friend and give him a place where he could relax into a lumpy couch, surrounded by the leftover smells of a microwaved lasagna and some kind of family. Matt didn't know anything about Stefan's family, other than that he didn't seem to have any locally. He didn't know the name of Stefan's previous high school, or if he liked his old teachers better. He didn't even know if black really was Stefan's favorite colour, or if it just went with his Porsche. But there was one thing that Matt knew for sure about Stefan: he was one lonely guy. One only needed to see the pain in his eyes as he walked alone through the hallways of Robert E. Lee to know it. There were still commercials on every station, and Matt had couch-surfed them all at least ten times. There should be a law against simultaneous commercial breaks. Car commercial. Coke commercial. Bank commercial. Car commercial. Even PBS had commercials on. Matt finally stopped on a random station, almost sure that it was where he had started. Logically, then, it should be the first to stop showing commercials. He waited through the last five seconds of "What's to come!" promises, but when another commercial started, Matt had to physically stop himself from flipping through the stations all over again. He forced himself to put the remote down in his lap and leave it there, balling up his fists to remove the temptation to take it up again. He'd be patient. Stefan was being patient. Stefan was very polite in watching the TV the entire time, no matter what was on. Matt had looked over at his friend enough times to be sure that he wasn't upset about the channel surfing. Stefan had barely looked away from the screen since the kids went outside an hour ago. The commercial just starting seemed to be about coffee. People were gathered in a stylish cafe, sipping cappuccino and other frothy drinks out of large cups and looking like they were very happy to be there. A nicely dressed man who could have been Stefan's cousin ordered another coffee in Italian. Stefan's accent is smoother, Matt thought to himself, and once again he wondered what region of Italy Stefan came from. Maybe if he asked nicely, Stefan would answer him this time. Before Matt could turn to his friend to ask, the scene changed. A woman had noticed the man speaking Italian, and she looked very interested. Normal enough, but things suddenly took a weird turn. Some lady in a dress stepped out of the crowd and said, "Stop." Everyone in the cafe froze, though not in the cheap-film-trick way. They basically stopped in the middle of whatever they were doing. One waitress overfilled a cup, letting it spill onto the floor. The sharp-dressed lady approached the woman, talking to Matt and Stefan about her serious and sudden desire to learn Italian. Good thing I have this cell phone. The lady put a little flip-phone into the first woman's hand, then everyone started moving again like nothing had happened. Still staring at the stranger, the woman dialed frantically. A little woman with dark hair appeared in the corner of the screen. The flirty woman asked to have some long come-on line translated, and the little dark-haired woman just looked amused. "This could take a while." Like it had anything to do, really, with cell phones or coffee. Matt was never going to understand the delicate psychology of surrealism that dictated what commercials did to sell their products. His hand unclenched and hovered closely over the remote. Once the commercial was over, another one promptly took its place. Just as Matt's finger moved down the final inch to touch the channel-up button, Stefan said something. He didn't mumble, or talk under his breath. He merely rattled something off with the same nonchalance he'd use ordering a pizza with fifteen specific toppings, and then he lapsed back into silence. The only thing Stefan said that Matt could understand was the name Jennifer, and something about a "momma." Thinking that maybe his brain had been fried by the overload of commercials, Matt completed his maneuver to change the station and casually asked, "What?" He glanced over to Stefan as his friend shrugged and repeated what he'd said before. This time Matt listened. Carefully. "Ciao. Mi chiamo Jennifer. Ora sia un buon ragazzo, vieni qui e siediti sulle ginocchia di Momma." Matt could understand enough of it to know that it was Italian, and that he had no idea what Stefan had said. "What?" Very calmly, staring at the television screen, Stefan enunciated, "I said, 'Ciao! Mi chiamo Jennifer. Ora sia un buon ragazzo, vieni qui e siediti sulle ginocchia di Momma.'" The foreign words fell as naturally from Stefan's lips as cherries from a tree. Matt shook his head and changed the channel, trying not to think of "Stefan" and "cherries" while almost dirty-sounding Italian phrases were still floating around the living room. Flexing his hand a couple times, he picked up the remote from his lap and began another round of channel surfing until he finally found a station not showing commercials. Hmm...Nature film. Tigers really do bite when they mate. "Yeah, I got that, what I want to know is what you are saying," Matt explained, a little more exasperated now. He tossed another glance at Stefan, just to let him know that he meant no more silly business this time. "Hello, my name is Jennifer; now be a good boy and come sit on Momma's lap." Said just as plain and nice and neat as "hello" or "pardon me while I kick this linebacker's ass." As if Stefan asked his best friend to sit on his lap and call him Jennifer every day. Matt carefully put the remote back down on his lap, turned around on the couch and LOOKED at Stefan. "You want me to do what, now?" he asked, trying hard to make his voice sound like he was joking around. He couldn't believe how fast his heart was beating. Low growls came from the TV, followed by the little mewling purrs of baby tigers. The miracle of nature. "The commercial," Stefan answered easily, gesturing to the nursing tiger cubs on the screen. "That woman wanted to know how to say 'Hello my name is Jennifer now be a good boy and come sit on Momma's lap' in Italian." Then he repeated that whole phrase again, this time with feeling and in the Italian. "Ciao! Mi chiamo Jennifer. Ora sia un buon ragazzo, vieni qui e siediti sulle ginocchia di Momma." Stefan's mouth popped neatly on the "Momma" part as he pronounced it with bounce, his lips adding an eloquence to the childish word that surely didn't belong there. Matt had to sit and think about it. He had blanked on commercials ever since he was three years old--he just didn't see them anymore. Vaguely he remembered coffee. A nice looking guy with an accent not quite as sexy as Stefan's. Yeah, there was something said about laps in there. He nodded his head slowly. "Okay." Of course, he'd have to take his friend's word for it that he really was translating the phrase; for all Matt knew, Stefan could have been ordering a pizza with fifteen specific toppings. Stefan smiled slowly, letting the rare look of amusement stay on his face for longer than his usual fifteen seconds. "Si, è facile," he said, simply, as though Matt would somehow understand what he was saying. Stefan leaned his arm against the back of the couch and rested his cheek on his hand. Almost dreamily, he rattled off something nice on a long sigh. "La lingua italiana è bella. Ci rincresce molto che non parli italiano. Hai una bella voce." It sounded very nice to Matt, not quite as dirty as the Jennifer thing. "Don't you think?" Stefan added in English. His smile got wider--he knew that Matt had no idea what he had just said. Okay, now Stefan was just showing off. "You're enjoying this aren't you?" Stefan nodded in answer, his smile becoming a little more devious. Matt had to admit Stefan did look like he was happy--happier than he had been all day. Something in Stefan seemed to relax when he spoke in Italian, like he was slipping out of his football uniform and back into his familiar black. Only now he looked inordinately pleased with himself, smiling at his joke which Matt would never be able to understand. "I hate you." Matt didn't mean it, so he faked a soft punch into Stefan's left shoulder to show he was kidding. Stefan leaned into the punch, as he always did, his body moving slightly up into Matt's fist. It wasn't a hard hit in the least--his littlest brother could throw a meaner punch--but the leaning thing distracted Matt. Stefan's back had straightened slightly when his fist had connected, and his chest had turned more towards Matt, opening up his body to the light punch instead of rolling away from it. It was strange enough to make Matt pause in his play hit and look carefully at Stefan, trying to read what it could possibly mean. Stefan didn't stop smiling, but he didn't move away from Matt's fist either. He just sat and breathed against his hand, watching Matt with a content, relaxed expression. It wasn't the first time Stefan had leaned into Matt's touches at an odd moment, usually when the other man should be returning with his own play-punch or maybe a head-swat like the other guys. When Matt had first noticed it several weeks ago, he had thought Stefan was a masochist or something, but Stefan never leaned into a hard tackle at practice. The one time Dick tried to swat him with a wet towel, Stefan had caught the towel and tossed it across the showers, giving his would-be assailant a deadly cold glare. Stefan would always annihilate anyone who touched him on the field, and he discouraged everyone else from trying. Everyone except Matt. It was enough to make him want to touch Stefan more than usual. Chalk one more up on the Stefan Weirdness Scale, Matt thought. Matt added the leans-into-friendly-Matt-touches to the list of weird Stefan things, rating it low on the Stefan Weirdness Scale. Maybe a five point something. A five would be how Stefan pointed out that the furnace needed fixing after sniffing the air a few times. He had been right, Matt thought ruefully. The furnace had been about ready to explode, but that didn't negate the weirdness factor. The touch thing, though, was a little weirder than that. A five point five maybe. Not quite a six--that would be the sunlight thing--and definitely not near a nine--Matt was reserving the higher numbers for the yet-to-be-seen weirdness he sensed lurked under the surface of their still-new friendship. A one would be the accent--unusual for Fell's Church, but not so unusual in the scheme of the world. A ten would be...finding out Stefan was a space alien, or a werewolf; something so impossible it would have to be weird. Yeah, five point five, to be rated higher should he do it again. Matt was finally satisfied with his evaluation of the lean movement. Then he noticed that he'd been staring at Stefan too long again. And that he still hadn't moved his hand from where his fist connected with Stefan's shoulder. He could feel the smooth muscle breathing beneath his knuckles, like rock under the soft cotton of the shirt. Matt knew that the body matched the strength he could feel right now and had seen on the field; he'd taken showers with the guy. One big block of white rock, that was Stefan. And Matt was still staring. It wouldn't have been so bad, but Stefan was still staring as well, their eyes meeting without blinking for what was surely long enough for the commercials to start again. Matt hastily took his hand away and turned back to the TV to concentrate heavily on the tiger. It was stalking through the brush, following the movements of the antelope. Very interesting. Sneak sneak sneak. Sneak sneak. Sneak. "Matt--" The tiger exploded into action, diving into the middle of the herd and taking down a skinny, weak, long-legged antelope kid. "So, how do you say that again?" Matt asked, carefully casual. "Come over here and sit on momma's lap?" He looked out of the corner of his eye, just sliding to the side to get a glimpse of Stefan. "Might come in handy sometime. I mean...I'd have to change it to daddy's lap, but...you know, in case I meet a really nice Italian sitting in a coffee shop." If Stefan noticed the opening Matt left, he didn't make it obvious. He simply smiled that sad little Stefan smile and settled back into the couch. Very slowly he repeated, "Ciao! Mi chiamo Matt. Ora sia un buon ragazzo, vieni qui e siediti sulle ginocchia di Daddy," then tapped Matt's shoulder. "Now, repeat." Like a linguistics tape. Matt picked up the remote once more and flipped through the stations even though there were no commercials playing. Clearing his throat, he made a stab at repeating whatever Stefan had said. "Ciao! Mi kemo Matt. Or a bon ragu vinnie que sidi pinocchio di Daddy." Matt tried to copy Stefan's accent as he did it, putting on his coolest face. He knew he failed miserably at all of it, but he was just playing with Stefan. If Mr. Continental wanted to show off, he was going to have to work for it. Stefan shook his head sadly. "I don't know what language that was, but whatever you said, I'm sure it wasn't polite." Stefan was right. It did sound pretty dirty in a different language, no matter what language it was. Matt snickered in reply, then settled on a Treehouse of Horror episode. Halloween was coming soon. "Try 'Siediti sulle ginocchia di Daddy." "Seediti suey ginocchia di Daddy!" Matt parroted towards the cartoons on the TV, mangling the accent while gesturing widely with his hands. Stefan almost laughed that time, and Matt tried to remember what he had said so he could make his usually solemn friend do it again. "I think this may take a while," Stefan said once he got his amusement back under control. "That's okay," Matt replied. He turned his attention from the TV for a moment. "We've got all the time in the world." Stefan looked impossibly sad for a moment, making Matt want to steal back his words and apologize--do something to stop that sadness from coming back after he finally made some of it leave his friend. But Stefan recovered himself quickly, whatever brood he was working on abandoned to show a weak smile to Matt. "I can teach you something easier to say that I think would work better." Putting on his own weak smile, Matt shook his head and returned to the Simpsons. "Nah. After all, you never know when I'll need an Italian to sit on my lap." He passed a look to Stefan that he knew his friend wouldn't quite catch. And was surprised when Stefan nodded his head slowly, smiling in a much deeper, much different way. A real smile, finally. "Trust me. Try this: 'Sei così bello.'" Matt didn't know what it meant, but he was not one to pass up an opportunity. "Sei così bello." THE END translations (the quick and dirty version): Si, è facile. Yes, it's easy. La lingua italiana è bella. Italian is a beautiful language. Ci rincresce molto che non parli italiano. It's a shame you don't speak Italian. Hai una bella voce. You have a beautiful voice. Sei così bello. You are so beautiful