A Certain Romance

To Be Lost in a Forrest...

It's 8:57 and I'm sitting in a cold plastic chair waiting for the lecture to begin. 8:58. I watch the seconds count by on my watch until it's 8:59. I tap my foot, impatient, I do not like waiting. He should have been here by now.

9:00. Still no sign. I look around. My classmates don't seem affected by the Professor's tardiness. They use this time to chat up potential study buddies, fuck buddies, buddy-buddies... I have no interest in any of that.

I want to escape. A lone wolf trapped in a sea of hyenas and jackals. Their distilled positive energy and naivety suffocates me.

At 9:01, a man in his late 40s rushes in, sweaty, balding, his white collared shirt mis-buttoned at the neck, his blazer wrinkled.

"Good morning everyone" he pants while pulling out a handkerchief from his pants pocket. He wipes off beads of sweat  running down his forehead. "I am Professor Stanek and this is Political Philosophy. I've been teaching this course for about 5 or so years and have invested my life to philosophy for 5 times that amount"

Either he couldn't do math or he was older than I had gauged. I shrug it off, and try not to focus on the minor detail. It pains me.

"I'm going to be passing around a seating chart and while as juvenile as it sounds, it'll help me match your names to your smiling faces. Now, on to this semester's syllabus-"

I roll my eyes.

And then she walks in. 

Smooth and confident, she strolls into the room on invisible clouds. Her orange hair is cut at various lengths, the asymmetry bothers me and intrigues me simultaneously. She's unaware of all the attention brought from her late arrival. She takes the seat to my right, her uneven bangs framing her face with every slight movement.

"-as a friend of mine once told me, 'Granted we can't do anything with philosophy, might not philosophy do something for us?' and I have to agree and disagree with him. Because-" Professor Stanek ignores her and babbles about the class overview.

It's the same bullshit every time. Teacher explains what the class is going to be like, patronizing the students with things like sign-in sheets or seating charts, then when the next session starts, everything goes down the drain.

The person to my left passes the sheet to me. HECTOR STEVENSON. I write in all capital letters and black ink on a crudely drawn circle that is supposedly representing my seat. I pass it along to the girl. She looks at it, chuckles, and says my name under her breath. Each syllable sounds like milk and honey when they escape her lips. I replay it in my mind for a few seconds until she turns to me.

"I'm Iole."

As she says this, she writes solely her first name in bright pink, I-O-L-E, then with an obnoxious shade of blue, draws an eye inside the 'o'. It's rather detailed for a doodle. "Like Eye-oh-lee. Or Eye-oh-leh. As long as you got the 'eye' part, I don't care how bad you butcher my name." She laughs. It's dreadful. I never want her to make that sound again. But her smile reels me in.

"What kind of name is that?" Shit. I am terrible with people. I should have known after countless failures to keep my mouth shut around everyone. I built up this whole mysterious-nerd-but-extremly-attractive facade for a reason, and not speaking would only help this mask stay on my face.

"Well, what kind of name is 'Hector Stevenson'?" She smirks. My God that smile.

"It was my dads. And my grandfathers. And then some. I've never been quite fond of it myself..." I sort of lie. My name doesn't bother me much, I think it has a nice ring to it. What does bother me is that my parents were so attached too the idea of tradition. Tradition is not original. Tradition is not even that sentimental. 

"My dad's obsessed with Greek mythology, I'm named after the lady who was indirectly responsible for Heracles's death."

"Ah."

"Yeah, my mom didn't mind, she just thought it looked nice when it was written."

I laugh nervously. I can't tell if she's serious. 

"You with the blue shirt, a Mr..." Professor Stanek looks at the seating chart then glances back at me, "...Mr. Stevenson, what exactly do you find funny about John Locke's Two Treatises of Government?"

Iole snorts and chokes on her laugh. It's surprisingly more pleasant than her actual laugh. I shoot her a glance that she doesn't return, and stay silent. I laughed, louder than I meant to might I add, at the most improper time, when Professor Stanek was apparently going over our course reading list for the semester.

"No answer? Well maybe class, when we get to John Locke's Two Treatises of Government, Mr. Stevenson will have an answer for us. Now, back to page three of the syllabus, 'Our Reading Material'-"

I pretend to listen to Professor Stanek, but all I can think about is this girl roughly 28.91 centimeters away from me. She is almost the antithesis of myself, arriving late, hair uneven, probably doesn't set plans and rather follows whatever direction the wind blows, and yet

"She is the girl of my dreams" Shit. I said that out loud. She immediately faces me, raises one eyebrow and smirks.

"You're weird Casanova, I mean 'Mr. Stevenson'" She's mocking me. I guess it could have been worse.

"Alright, class dismissed, I'll see all of you Thursday, same time, same place. Be sure to read some of Plato's Apologia in the meantime."

Iole gets up to leave. I can't let her get away, not yet. I find it rather odd; I am smitten with a girl I met only an hour ago.

"Wait!" She stops. "Do you, I dunno, would you like to hang out sometime?"

She shrugs. "Yeah ok, whatever. But I'll tell you when. My life is an enigma and I'm a spirit that can't be tamed." I still can't tell if she's being sarcastic or serious. I'm not sure I want to know.

"Sounds like a date." Fuck why do I even speak.

She shakes her head. "You sir are definitely an odd one." She flips the longer part of her orange hair over her left shoulder and leaves.

Our whole encounter leaves me breathless. I had no idea a single person could have such an effect on my entire being. Was this the start of something greater? I only read or heard songs or watch movies dealing with this subject matter, I never thought I would ever experience it for myself. I had no interest in people. I didn't like people. I thought the human race as a whole were zombie doomed with the future of self-destruction. I became rather uncomfortable.

"Mr. Stevenson, a word please." Professor Stanek stood behind me. I have no idea how long he's been standing behind me. On closer inspection, he resembles a worn out version of Danny DeVito. He takes his hankcheif again and wipes more sweat from his brow. "A colleague of mine, Professor Woodward, holds you in high regards. He spoke fondly of you when you took his Ethics course last semester. Don't disappoint me. And most of all, don't let Empusa distract you from what's really important. Your grades and this class."

I stare blankly at Professor Stanek.

"Don't tell me you don't know who Empusa is? The demigoddess who seduces men then drinks their blood and eats their flesh? You've never heard of her?"

He waits for my response. I have no idea who he's talking about. Although I am a fan of Greek philosophers, their mythos never really caught my eye. 

"My God, what do they even teach young people these days!" He says as he storms away.

It is 10:07. I have exactly twenty three minutes to get to my job. Then I'm done for the day.