'𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐮𝐩𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦'
Neil Perry is completely and utterly infatuated with the juvenile delinquent that attends W...
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"𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞?" Knox repeated, looking at Mr. Keating with confusion evident on his face. The English 12 class is back in session and the newly formed Dead Poets Society members are tired. The eight did not return to their rooms until well passed 2am and were forced to wake up a mere four hours later for breakfast. Will's head is propped up against her hand and her eyes are slowly drooping shut, longing for the black oblivion to welcome her into the world of sleep. But before she has the chance to gain a few more minutes of rest a piece of paper hits the back of her head, courtesy of a grinning Neil.
"Exactly! Morose. Now, language was developed for one endeavor, and that is? Mr. Anderson? Come on! Are you a man or an amoeba? Mr. Perry?" Mr. Keating questioned, pointing to Neil that sits in the second row.
"Uh, to communicate." Neil guessed, not sure if what he says is the right answer.
"No! To woo women. Today we're going to be talking about William Shakespeare." All of the class groans at the mention of the famous poet. Though Will has read a majority of his works she has never been a fan of the writer, finding what he scribes too dreary for her taste. The entire love at first sight plot line that Shakespeare uses is one that Will despises.
"I know. A lot of you looked forward to this about as much as you look forward to root canal work. We're gonna talk about Shakespeare as someone who writes something very interesting. Now, many of you have seen Shakespeare done very much like this, "O Titus, bring your friend hither." But if any of you have seen Mr. Marlon Brando, you know, Shakespeare can be different. "Friend, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears." You can also imagine, maybe, John Wayne as Macbeth going, "Well, is this a dagger I see before me?" "Dogs, sir? Oh, not just now. I do enjoy a good dog once in a while, sir. You can have yourself a three-course meal from one dog. Start with your canine crudites, go to your Fido flambe for main course and for dessert, a Pekingese parfait. And you can pick your teeth with a little paw'." Mr. Keating recited. The class listens to what their teacher says with interest and amusement, smiles on each of their faces and laughter passing through their lips every few moments.
"And when you think of romance a lot would think of James Dean up on the silver screen. But when us poets think of romance we think of Hemingway." Mr. Keating continued, his hand held in front of his heart.
Will scoffs at this, bringing attention to her. "Romantic? Hemingway? He was an abusive, alcoholic misogynist who squandered half of his life hanging around Picasso trying to nail his leftovers." She argued. Most, if not all, of the people in the room have wide eyes by the end of the girl's tirade, but Mr. Keating simply smiles. He nods along with each word she says, listening unlike any of the other professors in the school.
Instead of continuing the debate he stands up on top of his desk and looks down at the group of students beneath him. "Why do I stand up here? Anybody?"
"To feel taller." Charlie answered cheekily, making the class laugh at his response.
"No!" Mr. Keating exclaimed, dinging a bell that sits on his desk with his foot. "Thank you for playing, Mr. Dalton. I stand upon my desk to remind myself that we must constantly look at things in a different way. You see, the world looks very different from up here. You don't believe me? Come see for yourself. Come on. Come on!" Slowly the students rise to their feet, following the orders of their teacher. One by one they line up behind the desk that Mr. Keating stands on and await his next instruction.
