They say time heals all wounds, but what the fuck do they know about wounds? Who are "they" and why is it "they" know everything?
My senior year of high school was a life-changing event, in many ways. My parents, wanting me to be more like my older brother, sent me off to Welton Academy for Boys. Why my senior year? God only knows, but if they had kept me in the high school I had been attending, I may never know what I know now.
It all started with English. Maybe that's why I chose English as my major in college. Maybe that's why I wanted to teach at Welton. Who knows? But here's what I know: Mr. John Keating changed what I felt about myself.
And my roommate, Neil Perry. A tall self-assured young man who, despite having an overbearing father who controlled his every move, lived life to its greatest extent, never second-guessing, never turning around. I don't think Neil ever thought of the consequences. A trait I wish I had.
To say I was shy and quiet, well, that would be point on. I lived in Jeffery's shadow for years. Valedictorian and football hero and all around good guy. Somehow I was expected to be the same and when I found I couldn't live up to Jeffery, I sank inside myself and never dared to speak unless spoken to and even then, it was quiet, inhibited, almost scared.
So, off to Welton for my senior year. Does it get any worse?
Oddly, for being as shy as I was, Neil and his friends grappled me to their chests (in a manner so to speak) and we became the closest of friends. Not that any of us really cared for Cameron. He was the one that would kiss ass to get whatever he wanted.
Charlie Dalton was the one that I secretly admired. Cocky and confident, he had no troubles with the girls and he, well, Nuwanda, as we called him, was the kind that didn't go down without a fight. I could see him on the Bismarck, or the Titanic, fighting until the very last breath of life was gone. That was Charlie. The phone call from God was his greatest way of bucking the system. We wanted to be so mad, but we couldn't. Charlie was Charlie and we accepted him for that.
Then, there was Knox Overstreet. Obsessive and at times insecure, he still found his own way of bucking the system. When he found something he wanted (we'll not mention Chris here at all, right?), he would chase it and fight for it until it was his. Okay…he and Chris have now been married happily for nearly 5 years, but it wasn't pretty sight watching him pine over her. I'll never forget when he called her and was invited to a party or when he read the poem to her at her school and how she showed up at our school the night of Neil's play. His face looked confused and yet a glow shone.
Neil Perry. This is where time heals no wounds. He didn't bother to ask if I wanted to be his friend or not, he sort of just quietly demanded it. Though, I dare say that I'd have been his friend anyway. Everybody needs a friend like Neil. When I thought of quitting the Dead Poets Society, he talked me in to staying. When we first decided to start it, he made sure that I was the "keeper of the minutes" because talking in front of people scared the shit out of me. When I got the same desk set as I did the year before, Neil taught me about aerodynamic unmanned flying desk sets. No matter what was going on with our lives, Neil and I would talk and despite the fact that the others knew him longer, I knew Neil on a level they didn't. He was just as much my support system as I was his.
So, his suicide hit me hard. Hit me like a ton of bricks.
The pain I was feeling about losing Neil, the young man with so much to live for, my best friend, was made worse when they fired Mr. Keating, the man who taught me to find my voice. This was the man who thought that we should be like Charlie and think for ourselves. He read us one of his poems one time and I wrote it down and keep it close to me at all times.
"Only in their dreams are men truly free; T'was always thus and always thus will be."
He wrote that a while ago, I guess. But it resonates, beyond generations.
As I watched Mr. Keating leave, I was still dealing with the sting that Neil was dead and Charlie was expelled. Sure, there was still Pitts, Meeks, and Overstreet, but we all knew without Neil and Charlie, things wouldn't be the same. So, Mr. Keating's being let go hurt and when asked, I have always stated I never regretted what I did. So, I had to work in the kitchen for a month and couldn't play soccer. It was well worth it. Even Knox agreed. Half the class agreed.
I have never once regretted standing on my desk, saying "Oh, Captain, My Captain." I have never regretted once yelling out to him that we were made to sign the papers.
What I have regretted is the losing of Neil without letting him know what impact he had on my life. I have regretted not doing something more for him. I have regretted not trying harder to save Mr. Keating's job.
Time heal all wounds? Not really. I still wake up every morning and miss them. When the sun is shining and I see my daughter running towards me, I think of Neil and what type of life he would have had. I go to his grave every chance I get and I speak to the headstone as though it were him, hoping he can hear.
Every time I stand in front of my class at Welton, teaching what Mr. Keating taught us, I think of him and miss him. If only he knew that I was here, teaching. Doing the one thing that scared me most: Speaking in front of people.
So, no. Time doesn't heal all wounds. Sometimes, it only makes them worse. Maybe "they" don't know everything after all, do "they"?