Disclaimer: I don't own the characters in this fic…If I DID own the characters I'd have Charlie all to myself! And Neil would still be alive…and Charlie would be mine…and Mr. Keating would still have his job…and Chet Danbury would have had his butt kicked by Knox…and did I mention Charlie would be mine? I did? Oh, okay! LoL Italics are quotes taken right from the movie. Thanks to the brilliant writers for wonderful quotes and scenes to write fabulous stories around!

The poem is, bolded and italicized, 'WALDEN or LIFE IN THE WOODS' By Henry David Thoreau.

This will be a 7 or 8 chapter story. After Mr. Keating leaves Welton, he sits at a coffee shop and thinks of each boy and what difference he made or could have made in each young man. Next up…Charlie Dalton. His will have a made scene since he didn't have much 'one on one' with Mr. Keating that we saw

Remembering Charlie:

I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die discover I had not lived.

'Seize the day. Gather ye rosebuds while ye may. Why does the writer use these lines?' I asked the class.

A dark haired boy standing well behind the class answered, with a smirk. 'Because he's in a hurry.'

'No, ding!' I put my hand down on an imaginary buzzer. 'Thank you for playing anyway. Because we are food for worms lads. Because, believe it or not, each and every one of us in this room is one day going to stop breathing, turn cold, and die.' Each boy just stared at me. But I wanted them to understand that they needed to do something for themselves today.

I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary...

It was only a couple days later, we were studying J. Evans Pritchard. Not my favorite subject, but I had to teach them Pritchard. It was my duty as a teacher, after all. 'Gentlemen, open your text to page twenty-one of the introduction. Mr. Perry, will you read the opening paragraph of the preface, entitled "Understanding Poetry"?'

Mr. Perry starts to read. 'Understanding Poetry, by Dr. J. Evans Pritchard, Ph.D. To fully understand poetry, we must first be fluent with its meter, rhyme, and figures of speech. Then ask two questions: One, how artfully has the objective of the poem been rendered, and two, how important is that objective. Question one rates the poem's perfection, question two rates its importance. And once these questions have been answered, determining a poem's greatest becomes a relatively simple matter.'

I stand up and prepare to draw on the chalk board.

Mr. Perry continues. '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 draw a corresponding graph on the board and my students dutifully copy it down. 'A sonnet by Byron may score high on the vertical, but only average on the horizontal. A Shakespearean sonnet, on the other hand, would score high both horizontally and vertically, yielding a massive total area, thereby revealing the poem to be truly great. As you proceed through the poetry in this book, practice this rating method. As your ability to evaluate poems in this matter grows, so will - so will your enjoyment and understanding of poetry.

Neil set the book down. I turn away from the chalkboard with a smile. 'Excrement. That's what I think of Mr. J. Evans Pritchard.' The boys look at me in shock. 'We're not laying pipe, we're talking about poetry. 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.' I notice Charlie suddenly appear to become interested in the class. 'Now I want you to rip out that page.' They look at me as if I has just gone mad. 'Go on, rip out the entire page. You heard me, rip it out. Rip it out!' None of them were listening. 'Go on, rip it out.' Suddenly, I hear a rip. I look to the back of the room. 'Thank you Mr. Dalton. Gentlemen, tell you what, don't just tear out that page, tear out the entire introduction. I want it gone, history. Leave nothing of it. Rip it out. Rip! Be gone J. Evans Pritchard, Ph.D. Rip, shred, tear. Rip it out. I want to hear nothing but ripping of Mr. Pritchard.' I could tell some of the boys were hesitant in ripping, so I look at them. ' It's not the bible, you're not going to go to hell for this. Go on, make a clean tear, I want nothing left of it.' I retreated to my room to gather a waste basket, which I did. I held it up in front of Mr. Dalton, who spat out a wad of paper. '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. No matter what anybody tells you, words and ideas can change the world.'

I hoped I was making a difference.

'Mr. Keating?' A small voice greeted me after class.

I was surprised that the small voice belonged to Charlie. 'Mr. Dalton. How may I be of service to you?"

'Do you mean it?'

'You need to be more specific, Mr. Dalton. I am no mind reader.'

'That ideas and words…my ideas and words can change the world?'

I smiled. 'Mr. Dalton, what do you want to change?'

I saw his trademark smirk. 'A lot of things, Captain.'

'Name one.' I urged.

'My parents, mostly my father, want me to be a banker.'

'Is that what you want?'

'No.' He sighed.

'What is it that you want?

He smiled broadly. 'I want to dance!' He spun around, making both of us laugh. Leave it to Charlie to make something silly out of something serious. I thought as I laughed.

'Then you must.' I wiped a tear from my eye.

'Seriously, Captain, I want to be a doctor. I don't know…just blood and helping people…my dad's a banker, so he thinks I should follow in his footsteps. But I'm not banker material.'

I smiled. 'Then change that.' (1)

I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms…

The next day, we gathered as a class, the boys in their gym uniforms, and began to read poetry. It was a silly class, but it was to prove a point. The boys were rather confused and made half hearted attempts. When Charlie reached the line, I had to urge him on, though, it seemed to be unnecessary. 'Come on, Charlie. Let it fill your soul!'

Charlie raised his hands over his head, looked to the sky, and shouted at the top of his lungs. 'To indeed be a god!' and kicked the ball, thus setting the standard for all the boys as to what I expected.

…and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and to be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion.

'No grades at stake, gentlemen. Just take a stroll.' After a few moments, the three boys began to march to the same beat. 'There it is.' I said and the he other boys start clapping to the rhythm of their steps.

I began to do a cadence as I walked alongside the three young men. 'I don't know, but I've been told --'

The boys of the class echoed me. 'I don't know, but I've been told --'

'Doing poetry is bold --

'Doing poetry is bold --'

'Left, left, left-right-left. Left, left, left-right-left. Left, halt!' The boys came to a halt. 'Thank you, gentlemen. If you noticed, everyone started off with their own stride, their own pace.' I began walking very slowly, imitating the boys' walks. 'Mr. Pitts, taking his time. He knew he'll get there one day. Mr. Cameron, you could see him thinking, "Is this right? It might be right. It might be right. I know that. Maybe not. I don't know."' I then imitate Mr. Overstreet's walk, with my groin pushed forward. 'Mr. Overstreet, driven by deeper force. Yes. We know that. All right. Now, I didn't bring them up here to ridicule them. I brought them up here to illustrate the point of conformity: the difficulty in maintaining your own beliefs in the face of others. Now, those of you -- I see the look in your eyes like, "I would've walked differently." Well, ask yourselves why you were clapping. Now, we all have a great need for acceptance. But you must trust that your beliefs are unique, your own, even though others may think them odd or unpopular, even though the herd may go, "That's baaaaad." Robert Frost said, "Two roads diverged in a wood and I, I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference." Now, I want you to find your own walk right now. Your own way of striding, pacing. Any direction. Anything you want. Whether it's proud, whether it's silly, anything. Gentlemen, the courtyard is yours.

The students begin walking about, some walking casually, others making up silly walks. Keating notices that Charlie is still leaning up against one of the pillars.

'You don't have to perform. Just make it for yourself. Mr. Dalton? Will you be joining us?'

'Exercising the right not to walk.' He smirked, still leaning against the pillar.

'Thank you, Mr. Dalton. You just illustrated the point. Swim against the stream.'

I was not prepared for Charlie's next stunt. I stopped writing for a moment and sipped my coffee. He was one that sought trouble, not just for trouble's sake, but Charlie Dalton wanted people to know that he had an idea of who he was and what he wanted. He didn't want to just be somebody's puppet, changing his life without asking him what he felt he wanted. That's what I so admired…it's what we all, those who had the privilege to know Charlie Dalton, so admired about him. He didn't just take the road less traveled, he claimed it as his. But, his stunt…the one that brought down the newest chapter of The Dead Poets Society…was one that none of us expected.

'In this week of Welton's Honor there appeared a profane and unauthorized article. Rather than spend my valuable time ferreting out the guilty persons -- and let me assure you I will find them -- I'm asking any and all students who knows anything about this article to make themselves known here and now. Whoever the guilty persons are, this is your only chance to avoid expulsion from this school.' Mr. Nolan's voice was serious.

We didn't have to wait long to find out who the guilty party was. The sound of a phone ringing was heard.

'Welton Academy. Hello. Yes, he is. Just a moment.' Charlie stood up, holding a phone and bell in his hands. With no fear, Charlie looks up at Mr. Nolan, holing the receiver out to the headmaster. 'Mr. Nolan, it's for you. It's God. He says we should have girls at Welton.' While some students laugh, I shake my head in disbelief. I knew Charlie Dalton would push issues, but this? Never.

I open the door to the student lounge and many of the boys get up from their seats. 'It's all right, gentlemen.' I remark.

Charlie seems surprised to see me. 'Mr. Keating.'

I try to hide my disappointment in him. 'Mr. Dalton. That was a pretty lame stunt you pulled today.'

'You're siding with Mr. Nolan? What about "Carpe diem" and sucking all the marrow out of life and all that?'

I can not help but be impressed by him, but it still didn't excuse what he did. 'Sucking the marrow out of life doesn't mean choking on the bone. Sure there's a time for daring and there's a time for caution, and a wise man understands which is called for.

Charlie seemed defeated. 'But I thought you'd like that.'

'No. You being expelled from school is not daring to me. It's stupid, 'cause you'll miss some golden opportunities.

Charlie huffed. 'Yeah. Like what?'

I smile. 'Like, if nothing else, the opportunity to attend my classes. Got it, Ace?'

It finally sunk in and Charlie smiled. 'Aye, aye, Captain.'

'Keep your head about you. That goes for the lot of you.'

All the boys responded 'Yes, Captain.'

Still, I couldn't help being impressed. 'Phone call from God. If it had been collect, that would have been daring.'

I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to put to rout all that was not life… when I came to die, to discover that I had not lived.

Maybe Charlie Dalton will discover, when he comes to die, that he indeed lived.

(1) This is a completely made up scene. Hope you like!