Disclaimer: I don't own the characters in this fic. Otherwise, I'd have Charlie all to myself! MUAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Peters smiled at Charlie as he walked in the door. "Your Mr. Keating is a good guy. I can see why you hero worshipped him."
"He taught us to find our own voices, Peters." Charlie grabbed his flashlight, checking it. "Mr. Keating's visit gave me just the oomph I need. We meet tonight."
"We have this test tomorrow in Latin and…"
"We meet. Either you're there or you're not." Charlie sighed as he sat at his desk. "Find your voice, Peters. I may have only been here a couple weeks, but I see that you let everyone else live your life for you and let them speak for you. I know you're a lover of Thoreau, right?"
"Yeah. Why?" Peters faced Charlie, memorizing his features.
"In one class, Mr. Keating had us walking around and while I remember that class as though it were yesterday, the one thing that stuck out in my head was when Mr. Keating quoted Thoreau: Most men lead lives of quiet desperation. He told us to find our voices now because the longer we wait, the harder it will be. Don't be afraid to find your own voice, Peters." Charlie turned around and faced his roommate. "Don't be afraid to suck the marrow out of life." A smirk formed on Charlie's lips. "But, don't choke on the bone. And…" He pointed at Peters. "If you ever decide to have a phone call from God to Mr. Douglas, make it collect." He winked and returned to his homework.
Dean laughed as Haldon and Stephen tried to light a fire. "Think the sticks are too wet."
"Maybe we should just burn you." Davies smarted back.
"Forget the fire, then." Charlie called the meeting to order. "I know we just met last night and we have this test, but seeing Mr. Keating today after class gave me the encouragement I needed to come back out and find my voice." He unfolded his trademark centerfold writing pad, bringing with it the whistles and claps that accompany every young man's raging hormones. "Ahem." He coughed before reading "CLEOPATRA" by Algernon Charles Swinburne "Her mouth is fragrant as a vine, A vine with birds in all its boughs; Serpent and scarab for a sign Between the beauty of her brows And the amorous deep lids divine"
"Fits the picture, Charlie." Neal laughed.
"Such was the point, Neal." Charlie laughed back. "Now, who's next?"
Peters stood up and took a piece of paper from his pocket. "I wrote this for that girl I was telling you about, Dalton."
"Read!" Charlie bellowed.
Peters sighed as he looked at the poem. He prayed that Charlie wouldn't see it was really written for him. "I kinda borrowed some lines from Byron's 'She walks in beauty' because that's such a lovely poem."
"Just read it already, Peters." Singleton puffed on his cigarette.
"She walks in Beauty, like the night; Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes; Thus mellowed; to that tender light; Which Heaven to gaudy day denies; I feel my heart pound as she passes by; Hoping she'll notice the want in my eyes; But she never stops, just hurries on her way; And I hold out to see her on another day; But, what would I, could I, ever say; To this beauty, full of wonder and of grace; Dare I tell her what's lying in the depths of my soul; Do I take a chance…do I let the dice just roll; Yes, she walks in beauty like the night; And in my dreams I'll see her one more time." Peters sighed as he sat back down, now certain Charlie knew.
"Like I said. Sissy boy." Singleton sneered.
Charlie was beat by Neal to Singleton's remark. "Think you can do better? At least he knew who the first part of the poem was by, which is better than you." Neal puffed his cigarette. "I think you should turn that in for the English assignment."
"I can't. It…I just can't." Peters stammered. He looked quickly around the cave. "It's really a stupid poem, written for someone that I can never have." His eyes stared intently at his feet.
"And we all know who that someone is." Brooks smiled.
Peters quickly looked up, hoping he wasn't apparent. "Do you?"
Haldon smiled. "Yeah. It's for Ava Hansen. She's got a thing for you, Davey-boy. She has a thing for EVERY BOY! And don't think it's gone unnoticed the way you look at her. Send her what you wrote." He puffed his cigarette, reveling in the fact that he was able to, for once, step away from his parents expectations of him and let loose. One night, I'll sneak some whiskey in and see what happens. He smiled at Charlie.
Charlie knew Ava Hansen all too well. At the dance held just a couple days after his enrollment in Albany, she had hung all over him all night, ignoring all the others. While this would have created enemies for some, with Charlie Dalton, it only served to create friends. Boys who were thankful there was a new guy for Ava to dig her claws into. Charlie had refused her advances, but Ava was not one to be so easily deterred. If Charlie Dalton didn't want her, someone else would and that someone was David Peters.
The boys began to laugh and exchange stories. "I think the only one she hasn't set her eyes on is Singleton." Davies laughed.
Singleton sighed. "She did. At last year's Christmas Dance."
"OOO! Spill." Neal playfully squealed.
Dean squirmed a little bit before saying anything. "She, uh, kissed me."
"Was that all?" Davies took Haldon's cigarette and took a puff.
"Uh, no." Singleton smiled. "We went behind the dance hall and we, well, you know."
"Liar." Jeffery spoke softly.
"I ain't lying." Dean smirked in such a manner that Charlie wanted to belt him. "She's pretty damn good too."
"Gentlemen! Gentlemen!" Charlie tapped his knuckles on a rock. "Let's get this meeting back to what it was about." He looked at Peters. "Good job. Now…" He focused his attention on Dean Singleton. "Let's hear what you've got, Singleton."
"It's not mine, that's for sure, but I do like it." He unfolded a sheet of paper. "It's sick, twisted and rather disgusting…"
"Just like you, eh?" Neal poked.
Dean laughed. "Yep. Just like me." He looked around and after he 'ahemed', he began to read. "In a mean abode on the Skankill Road Lived a man named William Bloat; He had a wife, the curse of his life, Who continually got his goat; So one day at dawn, with her nightdress on; He cut her bloody throat."
Charlie choked on the cigarette he was smoking. Pittsie had read that poem at one of their meetings and read it with such passion and disgust that you almost felt he, not Raymond Calvert, had written it. "That seems to be a Dead Poet favorite." He grinned. "Anyone else?"
"I'll read something." Mr. Crocelli's voice scared them.
Charlie stood up so fast he hit his head on the roof of the cave. "Mr. Crocelli, I can…I mean…"
"I shall be telling this with a sigh; Somewhere ages and ages hence; Two roads diverged in a wood, And I-I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference." Mr. Crocelli smiled at the boys. "Here I thought you were studying for your test tomorrow." His eyes settled on the now unsettled Charlie Dalton. "You have no fears. You forget, Mr. Dalton, that I was a charter member of the now infamous Dead Poets Society. The founder, as a matter of fact." He made himself comfortable on a jagged rock. "I am proud that each of you have chosen to take the road less traveled by and find yourselves. But, boys, I must implore that you be careful and discreet. Especially you, Mr. Dalton. Be there no smoking or drinking or women here, but be there your voices." He smiled as Haldon Brooks nonchalantly put a cigarette out. "Find yourselves, but don't lose sight of what's important gentlemen. A good education is the way to find who you are. You don't have to follow blindly like lemmings. Just learn. Learn enough to find yourself." He stood up, patting Charlie's shoulder. "Your voices will be heard one day and we will all fear them. Be sure you know your stuff. Time, tide, and tests wait for no man." He smiled and left, leaving the boys speechless.
Charlie laughed nervously as he sat back down, rubbing the top of his head. "Well, if that's not one for the books, gentlemen, I don't know what is. Now," He looked around. "Where were we?" He leaned back and lit up another cigarette.