Incandescently | Dead Poets Society

Fourteen

"Perhaps one did not want to be loved so much as to be understood." George Orwell

"Elizabeth, are you alright, my darling?" I hear Father ask, and when I glance up from the pages of my novel, I see a deep concern in his eyes. 

It has been almost two weeks since the funeral, and I have not recovered. I experienced a lot of emotions back home, especially having to see my mother being lowered into the ground in a wooden coffin, and they have started to get the better of me. I do not like what it is doing to me, but I know that I would be a fool to not acknowledge the changes to my emotional and mental being, and to attempt to deny that it is really happening.

"Fine, Father," I answer, trying to sound as genuine and convincing as I possibly can, "just a little anxious about how much work I will have to catch up on, I suppose."

He seems to buy my white lie because he turns his attention back to the front of Welton Academy, which we have just arrived at. With a deepened sigh, I bookmark my current page, tuck my book away into my leather book bag, and then I push open the car door, making sure to grab my suitcase before shutting it again.

"You must be excited to see the boys," Father asks as we walk into the school, "I mean, I know that they're all excited to see you, based off of how much they called you whilst we were gone."

Honestly, I do want to see the group again and feel that sense of familiarity again, but I feel sort of... apprehensive. I do not like the idea that if I come across as different, they will immediately notice and will point it out to me. I doubt that they would because of how they are as friends to me - kind, caring and considerate - but it is just a fear.

"Of course," I end up answering, "I am very excited to see them. I do need to unpack first, and then I will try to see them all."

"And I need to get to my meeting with Mr. McAllister to go over everything I missed whilst we were gone," he replies, "so you go unpack, and I'll talk to you later. Are you sure that you're alright, darling?"

"I am fine, Father, honestly."

He nods his head and, before walking away to head to Mr. McAllister's office, he presses a loving kiss to my forehead. A shaky breath falls from my lips as I begin to head towards my dormitory room, pulling my suitcase along with me. Nerves start to build up the closer I get to my room, especially as I begin to pass the doors to different rooms, not particularly wanting anyone to come out and greet me.

Thankfully, no one does, so I assume that they are all currently at the Indian Cave for a Dead Poets meeting as it's early evening, which have become more infrequent due to the article in the school paper, but also because Cameron has practically cut himself off from the group now. Knox called me a few days after the funeral to tell me that he no longer rooms with Cameron, who requested a change of roommates. 

But it ended up being a blessing, as Knox now rooms with Charlie.

I unlock my dormitory room, and I do not know why it is so, but there is a distinct coldness that has taken over my room. Lighting my scented candles does not make much of a difference apart from lighting up the room, and my discomfort only seems to strengthen. Unpacking my belongings takes no more than ten or fifteen minutes, and the moment I finish, I feel terrible feelings begin to bubble up underneath my skin. My hands slowly begin to shake as I flick through my small record collection, searching for something to play. Just as I find my Elvis Presley record, there's a faint knocking at my door, which startles me ever so slightly.