Im pretty sure that bookshops are heaven for the gays and old people. It was certainly heaven for me as I wandered through the peaceful shelves, the duvet of dust undisturbed on their old spines.
These were book written in history, their pages held stories of blood and loss, war and love, passion and poetry, from the Greeks to the romans, to the bastards in the eighteen hundreds who decided that women were inferior, when they wouldn't have been deciding anything if their mother hadn't been there.
I picked up a gorgeous red book, it's crimson colour catching my eye. It was a Shakespeare book, full of his sonnets, which I had never cared for, I found his vision of love distorted through a hazy cloud, the cold reality of truth hidden.
I sighed, looking around again. I was looking for a book on Icarus, I had been researching into Greek mythology recently, and the story of Icarus always drew me in. I had no hope finding it, I had been here for a while anyway, and it was only a small bookshop. I wandered over to the desk, my eyes catching on a fuzz of fluffy brown hair as I did.
As I greeted the boy who sat with an older Jane Austen book resting in his palms, his face began to turn upwards to look at me. Time seemed to slow a little, as my heart sped up. First came the rim of rounded glasses, the deep eyes behind them full of a thousand stories, from a thousand lives. A strong nose and slightly freckles cheeks followed, completed with pink lips, stained a darker red where he had bitten them as he read.
"Hello?" His voice was cheery, nothing special, but in that moment, his face illuminated in the dustiness of that small room by a fragment of light coming through a ceiling window, it seemed to drip like honey from his lips, rich and sweet.
"Hi, I was wondering if you could help me find a book?" I matched his cheery tone, delighted to receive a smile in return for my own. He nodded, slipping a book mark into the thin pages. Green flag.
"What book are you looking for?" He asked, slipping the book into a brown satchel that sat next to him, before pulling out a huge binder, full of names of books that they they had in stock, or would have soon.
"Well, anything to do with the Greek character Icarus," my voice sounded a little forced and posh, trying to keep up with his distinct British accent. He smiled, thumbing to the page that was full of the I books.
"We've got three, but they might not be to everyone's taste." He said, his voice lilting, in a questioning-like way. He was trying to figure out what kind of nerd i was. I nodded, and he carried on.
" we have a book called Icarus, by Peter way, or the fight of Icarus, by Raymond Queneau, both are interesting but if you're looking for something more modern, we have Icarus, by Adam wing."
He led me through the place o had been earlier, into a narrow corridor lines with books, until we stopped on about the forth shelf, where he pointed at the small sign that said Greek mythology this way, smiling.
"I'll take them all." I laughed, pulling them down off the shelf. He led me back to the counter, swiping them one after the other, before packing them neatly in a bag. Slipped them into my rucksack, eyeing the book the boy had been reading earlier. It was sense and sensibility, a classic but less so than pride and prejudice. He smiled at my gaze, running a long pale finger along the delicate golden pattern on the spine.
"Want to sit and read with me for a bit?" He asked, slipping back onto his cushioned stool. "It's been a quite morning so far," he reached under the desk, pulling out an equally comfy looking stool.
"Sure" I slid onto the stool, pulling from my bag my well worn copy of black beauty. "I'm quackity by the way."
"Wilbur." We shook before settling, sitting like that for a while, content in the warm silence, or the crisp sound of turning pages.
An hour or so later, when I couldn't put of leaving any more, I snapped my book shut, the noise making Wilbur jump. I laughed as he grinned up at me, running his hand through his hair, as I stood, sliding my rucksack over my shoulder.
"Here." He held out a copy of Greek myths, the truth. "It's outdated, but it's got everything in it. It's my own copy though, I'll need it back soon."
I nodded, taking the small book from him, holing the creased crease against my palm. I turned to leave, o most making it to the door, before he called after me.
"But how will I know that you'll bring it back?" He stood leant against the wall behind his desk now, lean like a cat.
"Uhh, I guess I could give you my number." I said walking back to him, pulling my phone out of my pocket as I did. He pulled out a notepad, as I recited it, a small grin dancing on his lips.
It was only when I sad my goodbye, and found myself dazed in the brightness of the street, that I realised what he had done.
That smooth motherfucker.
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