EVERMORE | DEAD POETS SOCIETY

FOUR!

"GENTLEMEN AND LADY, OPEN YOUR TEXT TO PAGE TWENTY-ONE OF THE INTRODUCTION. Mr. Perry, will you read the opening paragraph of the preface, entitled "Understanding Poetry"?" Keating called out.

Rebetta balanced the pencil in her hands as she let Keating's words soak in like a wet sponge. After the first lesson they had, she really thought about it... long and hard. It wasn't like the other classes she had, it made her look at life in a different way.

"Understanding Poetry, by Dr. J. Evans Pritchard, Ph.D." Neil began reading from the textbook. "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."

His voice was as sweet as honey, floating off his tongue so effortlessly. Rebetta did find Neil attractive, who wouldn't? He was a pure gentle soul, one that only had good intentions for other people.

Keating got up and started to write on his chalkboard and Rebetta kept a close eye on what he was writing, just in case it was important. "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."

In the end, Keating was drawing a graph of some sorts. She looked out of the corner of her eye to see Cameron copying everything down.

Jeeze, he seriously was a kiss ass after all.

Neil went on and on, and eventually he put down his book. Keating turned around and smiled at the class.

"Excrement. That's what I think of Mr. J. Evans Pritchard. We're not laying pipe, we're talking about poetry!" Suddenly, the graph that Cameron was writing was now scribbled, and Betta laughed quietly to herself. He looked so angry.

"I mean, how can you describe poetry like American Bandstand? I like Byron, I give him a forty two, but I can't dance to it!" Keating spoke.

There was a moment of silence as Keating looked at his students to do the unthinkable. "Now, I want you to rip out that page!"

Rebetta furrowed her eyebrows. "I'm sorry. You want us to rip out the page? Of the textbook?" She asked curiously.

"I didn't stutter, did I Miss Carmichael? Rip it! Rip out the entire page! Rip it out!"

Rip!

Rebetta turned her head to look at Charlie, holding up the sheet of paper and smiling like he had the biggest dick in the room.  "Thank you, Mr. Dalton! Tell you what, don't just tear out that page, tear out the entire introduction! I want it gone, history. Leave nothing of it."

Rebetta remembered the words that lingered from Keating's lesson. Carpe Diem, seize the day! Her and everyone else slowly started to rip out the pages that were once in the textbook.

"Rip it out. Rip! Begone J. Evans Pritchard, Ph.D. Rip, shred, tear. Rip it out. I want to hear nothing but ripping of Mr. Pritchard!"

As she ripped out the pages, she noticed Meeks unsure of what to do. But he slowly started to rip it apart. Unlike Meeks, Cameron was refusing to rip it out.

"It's not the bible, you're not going to go to hell for this." Keating told Cameron. "Go on, make a clean tear, I want nothing left of it!"

Keating turned to go to his office as Cameron turned back to Rebetta and Neil. "Guys, we shouldn't be doing this." Cameron warned. Rebetta rolled her eyes. Cameron was a big ole prude.