landslide, neil perry

ten.

the next day in class, keating took the students outside once more. "no grades at stake, gentlemen. just take a stroll." he said to pitts, cameron, and knox, who began walking in circles in the middle of the courtyard. after a few moments, their individual paces began to conform, and they marched to the same beat. "there it is." their teacher nodded.

celia joined the other boys in clapping to the beat, laughing as her father began a chant. "i don't know, but i've been told-"

"i don't know, but i've been told-" the group repeated.

"doing poetry is old-"

"doing poetry is old-"

the call and response died out as keating joined the boys, marching with them. "left, left, left-right-left. left, left, left-right-left. left, halt!" the three boys stopped. "thank you, gentlemen. if you noticed, everyone started off with their own stride, their own pace. mr. pitts, taking his time. he knew he'll get there one day. mr. cameron, you could see him thinking, 'is this right? it might be right. it might be right. i know that. maybe not. i don't know.'"

he walked with his groin pushed forward, clearly imitating cameron. (charlie almost fell over at this).

"mr. overstreet," keating continued, "driven by deeper force." the group laughed, thinking back to his poem about chris. "yes. we know that. all right. now, i didn't bring them up here to ridicule them. i brought them up here to illustrate the point of conformity: the difficulty in maintaining your own beliefs in the face of others. now, those of you - i see the look in your eyes like, 'i would've walked differently.' well, ask yourselves why you were clapping."

celia tilted her head to the side, taking in his words.

"now, we all have a great need for acceptance. but you must trust that your beliefs are unique, your own, even though others may think them odd or unpopular, even though the herd may go, 'that's baaaaad.'" he said, making a sort of goat impression that made the group all laugh. "robert frost said, 'two roads diverged in a wood and i, i took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.' now, i want you to find your own walk right now. your own way of striding, pacing. any direction. anything you want. whether it's proud, whether it's silly, anything. the courtyard is yours."

charlie remained leaning on the wall. "mr. dalton? will you be joining us?"

the boy smiled. "exercising the right not to walk."

"thank you, mr. dalton. you just illustrated the point. swim against the stream."

celia laughed as some of the boys made silly walks, but remained composed, casually walking with her posture slightly slouched. as she made her way in a small circle around the courtyard, neil joined her, keeping in stride. though the two were taking different steps, they remained at the same pace, moving together through the yard.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

"thou speakest alright, i am that merry wanderer of the night. i jest to oberon and make him smile, when i a fat and bean-fed horse beguile, neighing in likeness of a filly foal; and sometimes lurk i in a gossip's bowl. in very likeness of a roasted crab, i-" neil stuttered, trying to think of his next line. "i.." he looked to celia for help.

the girl sat across from him, her legs folded as she held his annotated actor's copy of a midsummer night's dream. "and when she drinks," she prompted, looking up at him over the book.

a moment of realization flashed across his eyes as he remembered his line. "and when she drinks, against her lips i bob, and on her withered dewlap pour the ale. the wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale, sometimes for three-foot stool mistaketh me; then slip i from her bum, down topples she, and 'tailor' cries, and falls into a cough; and then the whole choir hold their hips and laugh, and waxen in their mirth, and neeze, and swear. a merrier hour was never wasted there. but, room, fairy!" he stopped quoting his lines, looking over to her. "and then i announce oberon, right, and that's-"