Chapter 3: Dilemmas and a Spark
I'd quickly grabbed my gym clothes and made a run for the girls' locker room before anyone could've said 'Jack Robinson'. If I wanted to properly freshen up, I'd have to do it early and fast, as I'd been warned that the teachers were strict even about what time one reported for extra-curricular activities.
When I arrived on the field, all of the boys were already there, some of them just chatting, and a few were kicking a ball around. I caught sight of Charlie and Knox throwing rocks at seemingly nothing.
"Hey, what side are you playing on?" Charlie called as I jogged towards them.
"Not sure, really" I said. And to be honest, I had no clue.
"O'Donnell, team B" I heard the coach call. Knox smiled gleefully, while Charlie smirked at me challengingly just before the coach blew his whistle.
"I think Neil is also on the other team" Knox whispered to me as we jogged off to the rest of our teammates. Todd was already there, looking quite lost, and an expression of what must've been relief spread on his face when he caught sight of us.
"Come on, it might be fun" I said, to encourage him. He just nodded diffidently at me. Poor kid.
I was determined to play my best, not to mention bring down Charlie's ego a bit. I was wondering how well would the rest play, but then again, it wasn't as if it was a championship game so I probably wouldn't get as much adrenaline out of it as I wanted to.
Needless to say, life threw me another curveball that afternoon. Knox faked a pass to Hopkins, then passed it to me, but before I could blast it into the net, someone intercepted the ball.
"Oh no you don't, Perry" I whispered, trying to get the ball back from Neil, but he proved to be too fast for me to take him on.
"Get the ball, Anderson!" someone yelled to Todd, who was also running ahead of me.
I suddenly felt this cramping pain in my side and I almost fell down, finding myself unable to run.
"What happened?" Todd asked, running up to me.
"I'm alright…just get moving!" I said, slightly exasperated at the looks the team were giving me. By the time I'd recovered, Neil and Charlie had both scored goals.
I needed more practice.
Night time had all of us, except Todd and Knox, slaving away at Trig in the common room. I was busy trying not to get lost in the tangle of numbers and variables, when Knox entered the room and closed the door.
"How was dinner?" Charlie asked. Knox gave an inaudible reply, forcing Charlie to repeat his question.
"Terrible, awful" Knox said.
"Why?" I asked, feeling rather sympathetic, sort of guessing the company he might've had to put up with.
Knox sat down at the table and a smile spread across his face. "Tonight, I met the most beautiful girl in my entire life" he said slowly.
"Are you crazy? What's wrong with that?" Neil asked. The rest of us exchanged confused looks at what Knox had said.
"She's practically engaged. To Chet Danburry" Knox said.
"Ouch" I whistled.
"That guy could eat a football" Charlie scoffed.
'That's too bad" Pitts said from another table.
"Too bad? It's worse than too bad, Pittsie…a girl this beautiful in love with such a jerk" Knox sighed.
"All the good ones go for jerks, you know that" Pitts pointed out. I begged to disagree, but I held my tongue.
"Forget her. Open your trig book and try to figure out problem number 5" Cameron piped up unsympathetically.
"I can't just forget her, Cameron. And I can't think about Trig" Knox protested.
"Who can? What's her name?" I asked. For all my brashness, I loved a good romance story, more so if it was real life.
Knox smiled as if he was dreaming. "Chris" he said simply.
A squeal came from the radio Meeks and Pitts were working on. "We got it!" Meeks said, trying to contain his excitement. Suddenly, Hager came in.
"Alright gentlemen, ladies, five minutes" he said as Pitts stashed the radio under the table on his lap.
"Did you see her naked?" Charlie asked Knox.
"Very funny, Dalton" Knox said sarcastically as I gathered up my books. I caught up with Cameron and Neil on the way upstairs.
"Did you figure out problem number 5?" Cameron asked Neil.
"I think I ought to sleep on it" Neil replied. "Did you, Van?"
I shook my head. "I'm lost" I murmured.
Neil looked at my face, as if he was studying it intensely. "I know, I know I have a bruise from soccer" I said, trying to laugh off what I could feel was a bruise on my face from having fallen during practice. I was wondering why was it I could feel my cheeks growing warm.
"No, it wasn't that" he said, smiling mischievously.
"Oh come on, what is it?" I laughed.
"Nothing" he said as he reached his door. "Good night"
"Good night" I said before entering my room. I closed the door behind me and took a deep breath. I needed to find some way to stay sane. If the schoolwork wouldn't drive me crazy, the boys' antics might.
I was going to have to ask Neil in the morning what did he see.
"Gentlemen, lady, open your textbooks to page 21 of the introduction. Mr. Perry, will you read the opening paragraph of the preface entitled "Understanding Poetry"?" Mr. Keating instructed the next day.
English had, thankfully, happened to be one of the first subjects for the day. However, seeing the essay in my book dampened my rising spirits and I just stared at the page, not comprehending anything, as Neil began to read.
"If the poem's score for perfection is plotted along the horizontal of a graph, and its importance is plotted on the vertical, then calculating the total area of the poem yields the measure of its greatness"
I'd seen these words on the paper by the time Neil had read them out, and I was wondering, "What…was Pritchard mad when he wrote this?!"
I saw Mr. Keating draw the corresponding graph on the blackboard, and the rest of the class began copying it. I was seated near the front then, and had a good view of most everything in the room. Sighing, I reached for my ruler, just when Neil finished the selection.
"Excrement. That's what I think of Mr. J. Evans Pritchard. We're not laying pipe, we're talking about poetry" Mr. Keating said, breaking the silence.
I let go of my ruler, and it hit the floor with a clatter as Mr. Keating said, "I mean, how can you describe poetry like American Bandstand? 'I like Byron, I give him a 42, but I can't dance to it"
"Now I want you to rip out that page" he finished. From my seat, I could see Cameron's horrified expression, and I had to contain my snickering.
"Go on, rip out the entire page. You heard me, rip it out. Rip it out!" Mr. Keating said. I was afraid that he was really serious about this.
A ripping sound from the back just proved my gut feeling. I looked to see Charlie holding up page 21!
"Thank you, Mr. Dalton. Tell you what, don't just rip out that page, rip out the entire introduction" Mr. Keating said.
I grabbed two pages and ripped them haphazardly, followed by the next, and the next. I wadded up a page and tossed it at Cameron, who was still not doing anything.
"We shouldn't be doing this!" he complained to Neil, who was seated behind him.
"Rip, rip, rip!" Neil urged him, turning him back around. He began hesitating, so I lobbed another Pritchard missile at him.
"You heard him! Now get on with it!" I said. Cameron got a ruler and began tearing them out, then a voice was heard that made all of us jump.
"What hell is going on in here?!" McAllister bellowed.
"I don't hear enough rip!" Mr. Keating said, coming out of the side room with a wastebasket.
"Mr. Keating" McAllister said, half-shocked.
"Mr. McAllister" Mr. Keating said calmly.
"I'm sorry. I thought you weren't here" McAllister said, obviously embarrassed. Some of the boys were suppressing their laughter.
"I am" Mr. Keating smiled. McAllister hurriedly retreated and Mr. Keating began passing around the wastebasket.
"Keep ripping. This is a battle, a war, and the casualties could be your hearts and souls" Mr. Keating said as he passed by the back. Charlie spat a wad of paper into the basket.
"Thank you, Mr. Dalton. Armies of academics, going forward, measuring poetry. No we will not have that here. No more of Mr. J Evans Pritchard. Now in my class, you will learn to think for yourselves again. You will learn to savor words and language." he continued.
"No matter what anybody tells you, words and ideas can change the world. I see that look in Mr. Pitt's eye, like nineteenth century literature has nothing to do with going to business school or medical school. Right? Maybe" he added.
My thoughts drifted to what little I had overheard about Neil and his father, and wondered what Mr. Perry would have thought of this.
"Mr. Hopkins, you may agree with him, thinking "Yes, we should simply study our Mr. Pritchard and learn our rhyme and meter and go quietly about the business of achieving other ambitions."" Mr Keating continued in a mock-lethargic tone. "I have a little secret for ya. Huddle up. Huddle up!" he said loudly.
I scrambled past some of the boys and managed to secure a spot near the center of the circle, sandwiched between Neil and another student.
"We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. Medicine, law, business, engineering, these are all noble pursuits, and necessary to sustain life' Mr. Keating said in a serious tone.
"But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for" he said, putting emphasis on this.
"To quote from Whitman, "O me, o life, of the questions of these recurring, of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities filled with the foolish. What good amid these, o me, o life? The answer: that you are here, and life exists, and identity. That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse."
"That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse" Mr. Keating repeated. Everyone was silent. A smile spread on Neil's face, Charlie's eyes widened, Knox and I held our breath.
"What will your verse be?" Mr. Keating concluded, looking at Todd.
When the lunch bell rang, the boys made a mad dash to the dining room. To my surprise, I saw Neil going in the opposite direction.
"Neil! Where are you going?" I called.
"To the library. I'm looking for the Captain's annual" he said.
"The Captain?" I asked, perplexed.
"Mr. Keating said we could call him 'oh captain, my captain!', if you recall. You want to come?" Neil said.
I looked over my shoulder, wondering if anyone else was there. "Sure" I said as we both ran to the library in the other end of the building.
This library was ancient. It had that pleasant smell of old paper hanging in the air. Dust motes danced in a ray of light from a large window near a tall shelf of books all with red binding and golden lettering on the spines.
"How old do you think he is?" I whispered.
"Try the ones from the late 30's or early 40's" Neil suggested as we began rummaging through the shelf. At last, we came up with one from 1944.
Sure enough, when we opened it, we found Mr. Keating's picture and a short write-up.
"You know, most write-ups hardly do justice to the person" Neil pointed out as I began reading silently.
"Thigh man…man most likely to do anything…Dead Poets' Society?" I said. Neil peered over my shoulder and began looking through some of the other annuals on the shelf.
"No mention of it" he said. "Let's go ask him later"
"Agreed" I said as Neil took the annual and hid it in his jacket as we hurried out of the library.