The Dead Poets

48

I never imagined I'd say this, but I was glad to be back at Welton. It had quickly become my new home and I received a great deal of comfort knowing all my best friends were constantly around me. 

If I learned one thing at Welton, it's that you can make a family. And no, I don't mean biologically. I mean through shared interests, hopes, dreams, aspirations, fears, experiences, and love. The boys were my family, and I was their's. I couldn't deny I found a certain beauty in that. We are not blood—but we found each other. More like... fate.

Tonight was the first dead poets meeting of the new decade. I vowed to live life more fully as my new year's resolution— or as Mr. Keating would say—Carpe Diem.

Charlie's resolution is to find himself in the principal's office less and less this year. I suppose some things never change.

Neil insisted that as it is the first gathering of the new decade, we must write our own poetry. It was days like this where I silently wished Neil wasn't such a dreamer. I sit, pen to paper, with nothing to write.

'Just write about life,'  he'd say. Though, I'd scoff. Creative work was a gift to Neil. He rarely had to try. He practically spewed poetry every time he opened his mouth to speak. 

~ ~ ~

"Okay, listen," Neil whispers loudly, a lit-candle held tightly in his mitten-clad hand, offering little light to the dark space.

"In accordance with the new year, we will read new poetry," Neil smirks, earning exaggerated groans from Knox and Pitts.

"Who's up first?" Charlie asks, clearly not wanting to take that place himself. I silently chuckle— though it is short-lived by a quiet and unexpected voice.

"I'll go."

Our heads turn incredulously in the direction of the soft voice; Todd.

"O-okay, sure," Neil says kindly, though his surprise is poorly veiled.

Todd stands from his spot on the damp boulder, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he attempts to retrieve his poem scribbled across a crumpled piece of notepad paper.

He clears his throat, his cheeks adopting a crimson hue as he notices the cave has fallen silent, and all eyes stare back at him.

"A new year, perhaps— but the same fear.
Same secrets, same lies, lay behind the eyes.
I shut them— no one can see. Not even me.
Who am I— truly inside?
I battle with the truth behind my eyes but lose again—retreat and hide.
I open them slowly— light seeps through.
The light exposes my secret— it's you."

The cave falls under a deep spell of silence.

Sadness? Confusion? Both?

I stare unblinkingly at Todd, attempting to make sense of his words— his meaning.

Was Todd...

No, no— it couldn't possibly be.

What was I missing?

As I wonder what— or who— the poem is about, I'm yanked from my thoughts by a cheerful and unanimous applause. The boys eagerly clap and holler for a shy Todd. Who seems less content with the standing ovation, and more relieved at their approval— their acceptance.