Ruby Red

I

Working overtime at an antique shop can be really exhausting. Not because it's busy and we have a lot of customers. It's quite the opposite. It's so quiet in the shop, that it becomes tiring to wait for customers. I lost count of how many times I've walked around the shop, repositioning items in the hopes that it will attract customers somehow. Which of course, it doesn't, and won't.

The shop belongs to Reg Nirbnwad, or as I call him, Mr Nirbnwad. His name is unique, I know. But every time I ask about it the only explanation I get is "my ancestors were part of a witch tribe". Yeah right. He can convince his 7 year old son with that one, not me. The fact that he owns an antique shop won't fool me either, it's just a hobby. He asked me to take care of the shop for 2 weeks because he's going on vacation with his family. How could I say no. I'd do anything for a bit of quality time with my parents. Well. Dad. Sadly mom isn't with us anymore. In the 19 years of my life I only got to spend the first 3 with her. Life is unfair.

Mr Reg Nirbnwad always makes me feel at home. I've been helping him with his shop since I was 15 years old. He's like a long lost uncle. It's weird, but it's true. Besides my dad, I consider him one of the only men I feel comfortable with, in a family way. The shop is one of his family's most prized possessions. It's been well known for centuries, and he wants to keep it that way by passing it on to his child when he's older. I think it's pretty cute.

The items they collect vary from books, to mirrors, to gemstones, to herbs. All these items might look innocent at first glance, but they have a deeper meaning to them. Some of the books contain spells and rituals. Some of the gemstones have 'magic' in them. I guess it's pretty interesting, for those who believe in that sort of stuff. I don't believe in it, but I respect those who do. It somehow makes me happy to see people being passionate about something. Whether that be a person, a book, or a hobby. Gotta be open minded and positive. We don't need more shitheads in this world.

The jingle of entrance bell wakes me from my thoughts. A customer. Of all the times they could've came they decide to come at closing hours. I get up from the stool behind the counter and peek at the customer. He's looking at the books. I can see him carefully scan the covers from top to bottom, until he finds what he's looking for. He calmly grabs a book from the bottom shelf and dusts it off. Bottom shelf is for history books. Of course, the books are all about magic of some sort, but magic is a broad subject. So we've divided the bookshelf into genres to make it easier for everyone to find the book they're looking for. That way people don't block the passageway either.

The customer walks towards the counter with his eyes fixated on the book. I notice I'm staring and quickly come back to my senses, walking back to the counter. He puts the book down in front of me. The history of shadow magic. Sounds pretty interesting. The cover is completely worn out and it makes me wonder why anyone would want to buy such an old book. Can't we read them online nowadays? I guess it's just a personal preference. Maybe this book is really rare. Some prefer the physical copy, others don't mind getting stingy eyes by staring at their computer screen for hours.

"That'll be $12 please." I say, entering the price on the cash machine. He pulls a $20 bill out of his coat pocket and places it on the counter next to the book. I notice a few rings on his fingers. For some reason it makes me happy. He's stylish. Stylish people are always a big yes for me. I grab the $20 bill and put it in the cash machine. I grab some change for him, but he simply holds his hand up at it. He doesn't want it. "O-oh. Thank you." I say, looking up at his face for the second time since he walked in. He never takes his eyes off the book. Something about him feels so oddly familiar. He grabs the book and makes his way to the door.

Part of me says I should start a conversation with him, part of me wants to prevent embarrassment. As he approaches the door I decide to live in the moment. It's now or never, I might never see him again.

"Hey. Do I know you, by any chance?" I ask. All I hear is my own heartbeat. For a split second it looks like he's standing still. Am I imagining things? Or is it just one of those moments where it feels like time stopped? He puts his hand on the door and pushes it open. Without further response, he walks out with the book under his arm. The entrance bell jingles one last time and the glass door slowly closes itself. I sit down on the stool and sigh.

Part of me thinks he didn't hear me, part of me believes he stood still when I spoke.