Four Minutes

Short Story by J M Jackson

She entered the shop on a Wednesday morning at two minutes past ten o’clock. By six minutes past, he had fallen in love.

When she came down his aisle, he stared. When she reached the end and turned the corner, he followed. At a distance, of course. But then not at a distance. When she happened to glance in his direction, he didn’t flinch. Eyes wide. Vacant smile.

He gave the same smile to his shelves at home. Little boxes and books all neatly arranged. Children’s books, out of date atlases, electrical appliance user manuals. Nothing to be read. Everything to be organised. Dust would settle on the boxes and books. Absolute order remained. The boxes he turned into books by writing illegible titles on their cardboard spines which protected nothing but air.

‘We had another customer complain about your behaviour,’ the manager said.

She noticed me, he thought. Ecstasy. Joy.

‘Do you hear me?’ continued the manager. ‘Just because we’re family doesn’t mean I’ll be able to keep ignoring these complaints.’

He hung his head and swayed gently. He ignored his uncle. He was looking at his shoes and smiling about the girl. His smile belonged to an actor who might play the role of a schizophrenic villain. But why do the schizophrenics have…