The Dead Poets

52

"Where to begin?" Todd muses aloud, his foot tapping anxiously atop the damp pavement.

"The mall?" He ponders, but quickly shakes his head. We both knew the chances of Neil wandering a mall were slim.

"The pub? The Library? The Diner? The—"

"Theatre," I conclude for him. I can't imagine where else he'd go— running lines no doubt.

"Well, it's the most obvious choice. So naturally, that's likely where he is."

I smile, linking my arm in his and attempting to hail the first taxi we can spot.

As we step into the warmth of the theatre, busy bodies run left and right, as they eagerly prepare for their upcoming curtain call.

Our eyes dance anxiously about the theatre, attempting to find Neil.

I spot him in the far back of the room, sat by himself in an empty corner, paper in hand, presumably rehearsing his character's lines.

I nudge Todd with my elbow. Once his eyes fall upon Neil, he instantly releases a relieved sigh.

"Neil?"

His eyes grow wide once they fall on Todd and I, but just as quickly he regains his composure.

"I'm in the play," Neil says matter-of-factly, stating the absolute obvious.

"But what about your father?" I ask incredulously. Todd's face is equally contorted in bemusement.

"Screw him," Neil grins, his lopsided smile making my heart soar in utter joy. I felt like a proud mom. Judging by the smile that fell atop Todd's mouth, I gather he feels the same.

"Well, ok then. I'm just— I'm glad you're happy."

"I am. I really am."

And if his words weren't, Neil's smile was enough to convince me.

"Then I'm happy!" I practically sing, lightening the heavy mood. We had enough heartache and drama in the last few months to last us an entire lifetime. It was moments like these—Neil's play— that we had to enjoy to the fullest.

We ran lines and fitted costumes, until the sun was beginning to set behind the heavy clouds. Todd stayed behind for 'moral support' as he so loving put it, and I ventured back to Welton solo, for my 'not-so-hot' date with Charlie— and all the boys— this evening.

~ ~ ~

Neil was magical onstage. He shone— no glowed.
Despite the stage lights that fell on the other actors, the other props— you only saw Neil.

He quite literally stole the show.

The light from his smile alone was enough to light up the stage and blind its audience. He never forgot a single line, a single cue, a single evocative emotional response.

I realized in that moment, the theatre was Neil's home. Mr. Keating once said that the world was our stage— that we should all contribute a verse.