Maybe Someday

Untitled Part 1

           

"Oi, move it, kid. Unless you want me to drop these books on your head."

            "Don't call me kid."

            Marlon glowered at the kid over the stack of books he had in his hand. The kid stared back evenly, not even breaking eye contact as he pulled another book from one of the many messy piles surrounding his rocking chair. It was a long moment before he pulled his legs in under the rocking chair, allowing Marlon to pass through.

            "I told you that you've gotta put the books back after you read them," Marlon said as he shoved books into their place on the shelves. "This is a store, sometimes people come in and want to buy those books, yanno? But then they're in your grubby little hands." As he walked further down the shelf, he raised his voice. "Keep it up and I'm kicking you out. This isn't a public library."

            "Yeah, got it." The answering voice was utterly disinterested and followed by the sound of flipping pages. The kid knew just as well as Marlon did that he was just giving empty threats, uttered at least five times a day.

            Marlon couldn't quite recall when the kid began to show up, but at some point, his presence in the shop had become as certain as the books on their shelves. Every morning, Marlon would unlock the doors to the bookstore, and as soon as he turned away, he would hear the soft jingle of the bell at the door. The kid would breeze past him, his dark hood pulled over his head and his hands buried in his pockets. He'd sit on the rocking chair in the darkest corner of the store, and there he stayed until Marlon closed the store for the night.

            In the beginning, he barely seemed aware of Marlon's presence. The kid never looked directly at him and never replied if Marlon asked him anything. Can I help you? he would ask, or do you ever plan on buying a book? or do you ever eat food or do you just absorb nutrients from the sun? But the kid would never look up from his book. It was only when Marlon walked too close and the visibly tensed up, seeming far too focused on the book in his lap, that it was clear he was far more aware of Marlon's presence than he showed.

            But that was a long time ago.

            Now, the kid snapped his book shut. "I'm hungry," he announced, with a voice that sounded, as always, as though he had lost it one too many times.

            Marlon pushed two books apart before he turned to glare at the kid. "And what do you think I can do about that?" he asked.

            Silence. Midnight-black eyes stared impassively up at Marlon through long, tangled bangs. And yet, Marlon knew exactly what the kid was thinking.

            He sighed and turned back to the shelf. "Sandwiches are in the bag behind the counter." Marlon haphazardly threw the last book onto the shelf and sighed again when he heard the sound of footsteps padding away. "Freeloader," he muttered.

            A normal person would probably have kicked the kid out long ago. Marlon wasn't even sure why he allowed the boy to come back, time and time again. Perhaps it was the way the boy used to try and make himself small, hunched over with his knees to his chest, staring intently at the books in his hands as though he wished desperately to dive into them. Perhaps it was the way he looked both far too young and far too old, his face sometimes too blank and his dark clothes always too large for his thin frame, the sleeves falling well past his hands. Or perhaps he just liked that he had company in his dim, empty store, however silent the boy might be.

            Regardless of what it might be, Marlon didn't think he could kick him out, after so long.

            Marlon picked up the books that had been in the kid's discarded pile and began to put them back in their places. "If you get crumbs anywhere, you're cleaning it," he called over his shoulder, knowing full well that the kid would ignore him. For some reason, Marlon didn't mind too much. This was a routine he would be fine continuing every daky.