NINE
"… To live deep and suck out all the marrow of life. To put to rout all that was not life…"
The Poets were gathered in the cave, reciting the traditional opening message by Henry David Thoreau. The five of them had decided to still have one of their meetings, despite Knox – the party-goer – and Charlie's – the AWOL – defection. But suddenly their voices were cut off as an undoubtedly feminine one came from the outside.
"Is this it?"
"Oh my God…" Cameron exhaled. And then Charlie's voice was heard, too.
"Yeah, this is it."
"Are you sure this is a good idea?"
"Positive, don't worry. Go ahead, go on in. It's our cave. Watch your step. Need help?"
"Ha-ha, shut up, Dalton. I'm not gonna slip."
October hopped graciously into the cave, and her skirt billowed out for a second. She was then shot by a shower of disbelieving flashlights, but she looked not bothered at all.
"Hi" she greeted with a joyful smile. The boys quickly stood up to welcome her like proper gentlemen. Pitts hit his head into the low ceiling in the process.
"Hey, beanpole, pay attention" she warned him, amused.
For Pitts, her white legs. For Meeks, her sharp eyes behind the lenses. For Neil, the rose in her long hair. For Todd, her sweet smile. For Cameron, her haunting voice. These would be their answers if questioned regarding the first thing about her they had been struck by. But nobody would confess that she had conquered their hearts with that very first sentence only.
"Hey guys" Charlie chipped in, entering the cave shortly afterward. "Please, meet October Bailey. These are Stephen Meeks, Todd Anderson, Gerard Pitts, Neil Perry and Richard Cameron. The pledge class of the Dead Poets Society."
They all greeted her rather awkwardly, save Neil who was grinning from ear to ear. She beamed in response, trying to hide the bursting mixture of elation and incredulity spreading in her chest. Not an easy business, since that was hands down one of the most amazing moments in her life. She felt the need to cry, but she couldn't. And, after all, why should she? It was all true, and real, and there for her.
"Guys, move, move" Charlie urged his friends, tearing her away from her thoughts. "Come on, folks. It's Friday night. Let's get on with the meeting."
They all moved to let her in, get comfortable and sit.
"So you were with her tonight" Cameron summed up. That was why his roommate had been acting so off the wall lately, he would bet on it.
"No shit, Sherlock" Charlie retorted.
"Where's Knox?" October asked.
"At a party" Charlie filled her in.
"You know Knox?" Meeks questioned.
She promptly nodded, but then seemed to reconsider.
"Well, not exactly, I saw him once some time ago. He was with Darlie here the first time I met him."
"Ooh. Whatcha think of it, Darlie here?" Pitts mocked.
"She's the only one who can call me by that name, Pittsie" Charlie playfully admonished the tall boy, pointing a cigarette held between his index and middle finger at him. "And I might even drop mine, by the way."
Everybody looked confusedly at him. Charlie stood up to elaborate.
"Guys, I have an announcement to make. In keeping with the spirit of passionate experimentation of the Dead Poets, I'm giving up the name Charles Dalton. From now on, call me Nuwanda."
"Nuwanda?" Pitts and Cameron repeated. Some of the others laughed.
"Any make-up, Sibyl?" Charlie whispered to October, who was watching the scene, tickled. She nodded, pulled the eye pencil out of her bag and gave it to the boy, who took it and solemnly put black marks on each of his cheeks. October smiled, shaking her head, while some of the guys emulated the typical Amerindian battle cry. Charlie smirked, looking proudly at her. She stared back at him, a swelled-up and ravenous look on her face. He felt the familiar spurt of heat going from his stomach to somewhere so much below, and reluctantly averted his eyes from her. He lit the cigarette, feeling the sudden need to drink some cool water.
"We gonna have a meeting or what?" he asked, addressing his friends.
"Yeah" the girl interjected. "If you guys don't have a meeting, how can I believe it's true you're so passionate about reading poetry?"
"Well, we are, but…" Cameron started, but Charlie cut him off, leaning towards October.
"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?" he recited, staring at her intensely. "Thou art more lovely and more temperate."
October's eyes burnt with fire. So, that was the game he wanted to play? Fine with her.
"William Shakespeare" she replied, earning an appreciative smile from the boy. She then thought a bit before speaking again, never leaving his eyes. "First time he kissed me, he but only kissed the fingers of this hand wherewith I write; and ever since, it grew more clean and white."
Everybody had fallen silent in amazement by then, witnessing the scene unfolding before their eyes. Charlie grinned, remembering the actual moment between them. She had chosen a very suitable poem.
"Elizabeth Barrett Browning?" he tried. October nodded and beamed, dumbstruck: she hadn't expected him to know that poet. Charlie smirked, satisfied, but he wasn't done yet.
"She walks in beauty like the night" he began, getting a little closer. "She walks in beauty like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies. All that's best, dark and bright, meet in her aspect and her eyes."
"That's Lord Byron" the girl murmured, easily guessing right. She was struggling to keep her composure, but the whole situation was too much to bear: the proximity of his mouth, his low voice, his scent; the way his eyes were digging in hers; the good time just spent together; being in that cave with all of them. She perceived her soul-made armor getting thinner. And suddenly, it felt so right to let him know how she was overflowing with emotion. So she chose another befitting poem for her turn. "How good to be alive. How infinite to be alive. Two-fold: the birth I had and this, besides, in thee." She swallowed before crediting. "Emily Dickinson."
The surroundings had slowly begun to fade minutes before. Everything, from the cave to his friends, was a blurred nothingness in the background at that moment, so unsubstantial and unimportant. She was the only thing before him, on him, inside him. Charlie's heart was racing as hell. Had she meant those words? Did she feel alive because of him, when he had done nothing for her? She had no idea how he himself had been feeling since they had met. But maybe there was a way to let her know. To reciprocate her confession. And it was the only way he knew. Being himself, as she wished. He swallowed. Carpe diem, right?
"In a world that swallows and then spews us endlessly, your dazzling outline stands out fiercely. If you could disrobe all of my inner layers, you'd find the core of a bohemian warrior; drift with me, be my savior: that's the constant content of my new prayers."
October frowned in confusion, a questioning look on her face. Charlie took a deep breath.
"It's from a two-bit author named Nuwanda."
The moment crystallized. The seconds stretched to infinity. The only sound was water drops from the cave itself. The Poets were shifting their eyes from their friend to the girl and back as if in a tennis match. Charlie didn't know about her, but he had stopped breathing, waiting for her reaction.
October was completely lost in his eyes. He could be reckless, he could act as a braggart, but he was so perfectly all-around. In the mere fact he had written those verses for her, in the very reciting in front of the others, even in that last quip there was all of his essence: the self-mockery, the braveness to ignore the predictable teasing, the loyalty to her in behaving as if they were still alone, the passion his soul was so full of, the smartness of the composition itself and, in all their honesty and clearness, his feelings for her. The same she had always had for him, though she had kept them hidden, trying to lessen them. Because he couldn't possibly return them. Because he was so young. Because her time there was doomed. She truly wanted to let the tears flow on her cheeks for the beauty of that. But that was not what she did. Not at all. Rather, she threw herself against him, tightly crossing her arms behind his neck, and crashed her lips on his.
Charlie was thrown off balance, but promptly supported her body. He was so shocked he was actually sure he hadn't been able to sustain her and had hit his head on the rocks, hence he was dreaming. But who cared. Without thinking twice, he roughly molded his lips on hers and wrapped his arms around her figure, clinging as if his life depended on it, completely oblivious to the cheering and whistles from the boys surrounding them.
A/N: As stated in an earlier chapter, October doesn't use any lipstick, but I still had Charlie mark his cheeks. I partially sacrificed the symbolism in favor of the coherence in narration but, don't worry, you'll still find the red paint somewhere ^^
(P.S.: got rid of Gloria and Tina because they're insufferable? Who, me? Nah ;D)