The Somnabulatory Abstraction

“Excuse me ... sir? Would you mind not dropping any of your discarded books on the floor? If you don’t want them, then just leave it on the shelf, yeah?”

Myles quickly averted his gaze to the woman speaking to him ... hardly a woman, actually, more of an adolescent. She was staring right back at him, arms now defiantly folded.

He straightened his back, bringing himself to his maximum height. “ I require these books, and so it is none of your business if they are or are not on the floor,” he responded coldly, picking up the nearest book within his reach, as if to make his point.

“Not my business?” the girl actually had the nerve to laugh. “Not my business?” she repeated, eyes narrowed now. “I’m the one who keeps picking up your books whenever you’re bored and leave. I’m the one who has to get out of her bed extra early because of your complaint over our- what was it again? Late opening hours?” she took a step closer now, which left Myles in an extremely uncomfortable state. 

“Just remember, you spoiled cow, I am, in no means necessary, your maid. So stop being an intolerable  nuisance, because I’ve met guys who are twice the men you’ll ever be,” she hissed, grabbing the book from Myles’ hand and returning it to its rightful shelf.

Myles gave her his trademark vampire smile. “What was that old saying? The customer is always right? This store looks like it’s on the verge of bankruptcy, so as to salvage what’s left of the shop, try and attempt treating your only customer decently, or face the cruel alternate, understood?”   

If looks could kill, then Myles would have probably been dead right then and there. The girl forced a courteous smile and nodded slowly. Myles could have sworn he heard her mumble, “Cretinous, vermionous oaf with absolute no decency,” and, “What a pompous arse,” before flouncing off towards the front desk.

He raised his dark eyebrows in irritation and continued rummaging through each book carefully, fingers brushing against timeworn leather spines.

“Who was that?”

Myles turned around to find himself face to face with his twin, Beckett, basket brimful of autobiographies of renowned ju-jitsu masters. He shrugged. “The store clerk,” he said, waving his hand dismissively.

Beckett craned his neck to get a better look at the girl, who was busy reorganizing the bestseller section. He smiled, “She’s cute.”

Myles barely reacted, his face smooth and devoid of emotion. “Hardly.”

Beckett grinned. “You like her don’t you?”

Myles turned around slowly, giving him the impression of extreme boredom and wariness. “Beckett, do you like her?”

Beckett looked like he was considering the possibility, but then shook his head quickly. “Nah- you’ve had your eyes on her first.”

“Beckett, your imagination, though sometimes amusing, is growing to be absolutely insufferable,” Myles said dryly, returning a copy of Shakespeare’s, “A Midsummer’s Night Dream” into its rightful place. Beckett was about to protest but his brother cut him off, “Is it because she’s female and I am male? “ He made a big show of scratching his armpit, trying to appear as if he were a primitive Neanderthal. “Beckett, you’re hopeless,” he continued, enjoying himself.

Beckett brushed the insult off in an instant, clearly not buying it. Sure, Myles could have fooled the world’s best lie detector, but Beckett was his younger brother  (give or take two minutes) and no lie could’ve deceived him. “Stop pulling my leg, Myles, how about you try and go and talk to her,” he said, grinning at the prospect of his brother flirting with a bookseller- that would have been quite a sight.

“How about we leave the store, and you take me home? You’ve had enough of a bodyguard hiatus as of today and quite frankly I am beginning to fear for my own well being,” his brother muttered, rolling his eyes a tad bit too dramatically for Beckett’s liking.

Beckett let out a noise of frustration. “You’re an idiot, Myles. A down right prat. Fine ... I’ll go talk to her.” He glanced down at Myles’ book basket. “Are you buying anything? Because lately I think I’ve seen about four copies of The Odyssey lying around the Manor.”

Myles ignored his brother and dropped the basket. Smoothing out his navy pinstriped Armani suit, and taking no notice of Beckett’s muffled ouch! That hit my foot, he departed Faucet’s Bookstore.

Beckett sighed and rubbed his foot tentatively before vowing to hide Professor Primate in the dojo as punishment. He picked up both his and his brother’s baskets, clearly not noticing that the weight of the books combined were equivalent to the weight of about four bowling balls.

He walked towards the counter and heaved the two baskets, fishing out his wallet in the process.

“Fraternal twins, huh?” the girl asked him, sounding mildly interested. Beckett finally got a good chance to really look at her. She wore a permanent smirk on her face, and her almond-olive colored eyes sparkled with perennial curiosity.

“Yup. He’s older, though- two minutes. Never wants me to forget that though. It’s a bit ridiculous,” replied Beckett, grinning a bit. The girl surprisingly returned his smile and began checking out each book one by one.  “He’s always here, that one,” she said, jerking her head towards the direction of his car, where Myles would undoubtedly grow impatient with the wait.  Beckett smirked, triumphant. “I knew it. He likes you, you know. Just doesn’t want to admit it.”

The girl shook her head, laughing. “That bloke? Please, I think he’s trying to make me look bad on purpose. The other day, he accused the store of book forgery, because apparently the publisher’s logo was printed backwards.”

Beckett raised his eyebrows.

“He was right,” she mumbled, looking sheepish and a bit peeved all the same.

Beckett nodded, very familiar with Myles’ absurd accusations, when actually they turned out to be very much fact and not fiction. “That’s my brother!” he said cheerfully, turning around to check on his twin, who turned out to be leaning against the doorframe leisurely, lazy smile intact.  

“Oh no, brother of mine, go on. This is quite the chit chat,” he drawled, quite pleased that he was finally noticed.

“Emily,” he addressed her, giving her a tight nod.

“Myles,” she grumbled, before placing the last of the books into Beckett’s canvas bag (more like stuffing with sudden ferociousness).

“Beckett, do hurry up now, would you? My experiments require first hand, detailed synthesis. Notes won’t write themselves, you know,” he said briskly before slipping through the glass doors and out of the bookstore.

The girl, Emily, rolled her eyes and looked at Beckett, face twisting into something painful. “See? It’s becoming rather annoying, his visits here.”

Beckett just smiled.

He so likes her. 

-left-foot-fowl