Coffee with Wilde

Prologue

"We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars" - Oscar Wilde

Her binder deflected the droplets of rain from falling onto her already soaking wet uniform. Athena dodged past disgruntled commuters, sidestepping into the cafe on the left side of the station. Tugging at her wet clothes, she took the only available seat at the back of the cafe.

Letting herself be engulfed by the leather seat, she dumped her bag and folder. Wringing out her blonde hair, over the maroon table, she tucked it behind her ears.

A masculine laugh rang out from beside her. "Sucker," he said,

"It's not my fault that it rained," Athena said, pulling down her plaid school skirt. "Would you mind my stuff for a second?"

"What's there to steal your..." he leaned over to look at the multicoloured timetable, slipped in between the plastic of the folder. "Legal studies notes."

Athena rolled her blue eyes, as she dashed over to the counter in the vain hope that coffee would either, keep her warm, or help her escape from the gaze of the boy at the seat next to her.

Looking back at him, he was already back to writing in a brown leather notebook, and there seemed to be no other interest in anything else. Receiving her coffee from the cashier, she sat back down.

Leaning to the left slightly to peer inside the notebook, she found that the pages were covered in scrawled words, strategically spaced out in poetic verse.

Slamming the book shut, and pulling it to his chest, the boy looked over at her, before shifting over to his left, until he was pressed up against the wall.

Athena leant back, playing with the zipper on her bag, letting the cool metal flit in and out of her slender fingers.

Shifting the coffee cup around the table, feeling the indentation, through the jerky movement of the cup and the rattling. Looking up and watching patrons, come in and out of the door, she noticed that most of them carried either, a book or laptop and would comfortably set up on a small bit of table, occasionally having to share with another, but it never seemed to bother them. Most would shift their belongings to make room for the other person.

To fit in, Athena pulled out her copy of "Ariel", and flipped to 'Mary's Song' and began to annotate.

"Poetry's meant to be enjoyed not picked apart," the boy said, barely looking up from his book.

"I think so too but my English teacher doesn't," Athena said.

"It's called bullshitting."

"It's called wanting to pass English."

The two of them slumped into their seats in unison, picking up their books, and reading them. The boy began writing again while she made small notes in loopy handwriting on the sides, about the victim and the oppressor.

Eventually Athena packed up and slung her bag over her shoulder.

"See you next week," the boy said.

"What makes you think I'll come back?" she asked.

"I said the exact same thing. If you're an artistic intellectual you'll come back," he said, his eyes still downcast towards the book, although he did raise a hand in farewell as she walked out.