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 Charlie would be mine...and Chet Danbury would have his but kicked by Knox...and Charlie would be mine...and it would have been Cameron that would have been expelled...and Charlie would be mine...and Todd would have a back bone...and did I mention Charlie would be mine? I did? Oh...Okay! Well then. It's settled. Charlie would be mine if I owned the characters. 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, 'THE INDIAN SERENADE' By Percy Blythe Shelley.

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…Knox Overstreet. His will some made up scenes since he didn't have much 'one on one' with Mr. Keating that we saw.

Memories of Knox:

I arise from dreams of thee

In the first sweet sleep of night,

When the winds are breathing low,

And the stars are shining bright;

I arise from dreams of thee,

I used to think it was alcohol that made you sick with nostalgia. NO! I find it's coffee. As I remain seated at the booth, drinking my coffee, I find I become more and more nostalgic. Funny, since it was just this morning I left Hell-ton. I chuckle at this thought, drinking coffee that seems to never end. The ceaseless flow of coffee. YES!

I find my nostalgia is turned to Knox Overstreet.

A neurotic obsessive mole.

"So, Mr. Overstreet, you have no desire to be lawyer?" I ask.

He nods. "My dad's a hotshot lawyer and everyone expects me to be as well. I mean, there are aspects of law that are appealing and interesting, but I don't know if I could do it." He sighed heavily.

"What is it, Mr. Overstreet?" I position myself on the desk in front of him.

He looked up at me. "I…I…uh," he paused.

"Spit it out. What is it?" I nudged.

"I want to make a difference. Like you said, words and ideas can change the world."

I have a feeling of déjà vu. I half expect him to break out in song and dance like Mr. Dalton and joke about how he wants to be a dancer. "Go on."

"I see the difference you've made and it really…my family won't approve, of course…but I think I'd like to be an English teacher, teaching young kids that their voices can be heard." He smiles his crooked smile at me. "I want to be like you, Cap'n." (1)

And a spirit in my feet

Hath led me - who knows how?

To thy chamber-window, sweet!

The wandering airs, they faint

On the dark, the silent stream;

The champak odors fail

Like sweet thoughts in a dream;

The nightingale's complaint,

"Mr. Keating?" I hear a young female voice call my name.

I turned around and saw Mr. Overstreet's obsession walking to me. "Chris. Hi." I politely stand up.

"Knox told me what happened. I'm sorry." Her face shows worry.

"It's alright." I point to the empty bench across from me. "Care to join me?"

She smiles. "I don't know. Knox may think I'm trying to get his teacher." She scoots in and orders a soda.

"Things going well with you two?" I sipped my now-hot-again-bottomless coffee.

Her smile turns soft. "Yeah. He's…I don't know. So different from Chet." She looked at me. "He's a bit of a romantic." She leaned in and whispered.

I smiled as I remembered telling them about the Dead Poets Society that I was a pledge member of.

It started with Neil Perry asking "What was the Dead Poets Society?"

I hesitated before answering. "I doubt the present administration would look too favorably upon that." I reason.

"Why? What was it?" I felt the boys wouldn't give up until they had answer. Mr. Perry's eyes told me so.

So, I gave in. "Gentlemen, can you keep a secret?" They all nod and assure me they can. So, I tell them what the Dead Poets Society was. "The Dead Poets were dedicated to sucking the marrow out of life. That's a phrase from Thoreau that we'd invoke at the beginning of each meeting. You see we'd gather at the old Indian cave and take turns reading from Thoreau, Whitman, Shelley; the biggies. Even some of our own verse. And in the enchantment of the moment we'd let poetry work its magic."

Mr. Overstreet looked confused at me. "You mean it was a bunch of guys sitting around reading poetry?"

"No Mr. Overstreet, it wasn't just 'guys'. We weren't a Greek organization. We were romantics. We didn't just read poetry, we let it drip from our tongues like honey. Spirits soared, women swooned, and gods were created, gentlemen, Not a bad way to spend an evening eh?"

I see Mr. Overstreet taking it all in.

"Mr. Keating?" Chris' voice rang again. "What do you think?"

"I'm sorry. About what?" I snapped out of my reverie.

"Me and Knox." She sipped her soda.

I merely smile. If any two young people were meant for each other, it was Knox and Chris.

It dies upon her heart,

As I must die on thine,

Oh, beloved as thou art!

I sat out on a bench, letting the soft snowfall cover as much of me as it could. Everything seemed like a dream. None of it could really be happening. I couldn't have been dismissed. It couldn't have been my fault. I know class is in session, but I want to leave as soon as possible, telling myself that I must catch a bus. A bus to wherever. A bus I didn't have a ticket for.

I hesitantly make my way to the class, stopping and looking at the faces I made the boys pay attention to on my first day. I studied them. Their features. Their smiles. Them. I hear Mr. Nolan teaching. I walked slowly to the door and knock.

Oh, lift me from the grass!

I die! I faint! I fail!

Let thy love in kisses rain

On my lips and eyelids pale.

I hear Mr. Nolan yell. "Come"

I slowly open the door, aware that the boys quickly turn away when they see it's me. "Excuse me. I came for my personals. Should I come back after class?"

"Get them now, Mr. Keating." Mr. Nolan's voice is sharp and short. As I gather some of my things, I hear Mr. Nolan ask them to turn to "page 21 of the introduction. Mr. Cameron, read aloud the excellent essay by Dr. Pritchard on 'Understanding Poetry.'"

Reading is stopped as I make my way back out the way I came from. I felt as unwanted as snow on the Fourth of July. Mr. Anderson says something, and I believe him. He started the whole thing.

A couple minutes after Todd Anderson stood on his desk, I hear Mr. Overstreet. "Oh Captain, MY Captain."

I am touched and moved beyond words. The only words I have to say to the young men on their desks, getting yelled at is "Thank you, boys. Thank you.

My cheek is cold and white, alas!

My heart beats loud and fast:

Oh! Press it close to thine again,

Where it will break at last!

(1) Of course a made up scene. But, I thought it would be nice if one of the boys told him that he's making a difference and they want to strive to be like him. I don't know. Knox just seemed to be the one. –Shrugs–

I wasn't sure what all to put for Knox, so I thought it would be kinda cool to bring Chris into the mix, a chance meeting at the coffee shop. It work? I also hoped it would allow you (the reader) to see that Knox and Chris started to date (as well ALL knew they would). Please let me know what you think.

And the story wanted Mr. Keating to mention the ending in Knox's story because Knox stood on his desk. What the story wants...the story gets. Now...if only it could get me Charlie.