Dead Poets and Dying Roses

Twelfth Chapter

(AN: own plot idea)

A few days later I find myself staring at a letter with incredible joy. "What is it?" My uncle asks. Damn it, he always sneaks up behind me. "It's an invitation. To the museum. I asked for a tour for a paper I have to write.", I brabble. "Oh, please, uncle! You have to let me go! I beg you!" He almost rips the letter out of my hand. Luckily it has been written very vague and doesn't reveal anything about its real intent. Mr. Perry's eyes follow the few lines with an intense look on his face. "Please, it would really help me with my research." I try to look as desperate and innocent as I can manage. "I mean, it is your decision. I will do as you say. If you want me to stay, than I will do so." And that's it. That's the key. Obedience. I have worked hard the last few weeks to keep up the facade of the good girl that will follow every order. Now that is my reward. My words have flattered him and reassured him of his control. He is getting weak, I can see it. After a long time debating in his mind my uncle finally gives in. "Okay, fine. But this is just an exception because it is for your school work." I hold myself back from screaming. "Thank you! I won't do anything stupid, I promise!", I screech out. "I was not finished.", Mr. Perry interupts my celebration. "I will drive you there and get you again. And if you won't be there on time or if I hear anything from you strolling around elsewhere-" He leaves the sentence open. "I understand. I won't disappoint you, uncle.", I swear to him. "No, you won't.", he says, the silent threat swinging in his tone. I look at the letter in my hand again.

Dear Rosalie Parks-Dubois,

I would like to have your expertise and view on some interesting objects of art in the museum in the next city.

Therefor I want to invite you, to join us in our tour to analyse and learn more about the matter of literature, language and art.

I'm sure your opinion and participation will be a big contribution to our process of learning.

Respectfully yours,
Mr. Williams

I'm glad that Mr. Keating used my nickname. He must have known that otherwise my uncle wouldn't have let me go. The more I get to know about this teacher, the more do I get why the boys worship him. This is going to be a funny trip.

One day later I'm stepping up the white steps of the art museum, Mr. Perry at my side. He really doesn't trust me a bit. And I can't even blame him for it. He accompanies my to the checkout. "Remember, we meet here again at six." As always his voice is harsh, but I'm used to it. "Of course. I will be there." He nods one last time and then walks away, shooting back some glances from now and then. Finally he is out of sight and it doesn't take me long to find the group of Welton pupil's standing in a circle. Mr. Keating is in the middle of it explaining something, when he notices me. "Ah, there she is, Ms. Parks-Dubois." He presents me to his class like I'm some kind of trophy. "Gentleman, this is Rosalie. She will be our special guest today and will function as my secretary." While the other boys look confused, my friends are already widely smiling. One of the boys I don't know raises his hand. "But she is a girl.", he nonchalantly blurts out. "Fascinating observation, Mr. Watson. You are right." Chuckles spread across the group and I have to hold back my laughter myself. This conversation reminds me of the one I have had with Charlie back when he has begged my to bring some girls. "So as we have a lady in our rows, I expect you to bring out your best behaviour." "Yes, oh Captain, my Captain!", they answer. As the tour begins I walk up to Mr. Keating. "Well, I hope I won't disappoint you as your assistant." He smiles at me friendly. "Oh, you could never do that. The only way to disappoint me, would be to doubt yourself." His words are like a medicine after all I have heard from Mr. Perry.

We walk from room to room and Mr. Keating explains to us the connection of different types of art. That painters, writers and singers all share the same vein of creativity and are inspired by the same muses. The only real difference is the way it is represented. He talks about how one type of expression can contain more than one art style. A song can tell a story, a story can create a picture and a painting of this picture can be object of a song text. It all is connected. Then he gives us an assignment. He leads us to different paintings and wants us to first describe the obvious facts and then create a background story to it. But the clue is, it should be something utterly different from the aesthetic that is already shown. One by one Mr. Keating calls some of the boys to the front and let them interpret something into the object before them. Many of them struggle to really find a storyline that is contrary to the painting. We stand before a picture of a woman with a baby carriage. The setting is a beautiful park in spring and painted with bright colours. "Rosalie, would you like to try?", he waves me forward. I take a few steps out of the group. I really want to impress Mr. Keating, show him that I'm not only some reckless girl that breaks into schools. "Don't pressure yourself." It's like he can read my mind. "Just let your thoughts run free." I close my eyes for a second and let go of all my surroundings. Just focus on the assignment. I take another look at the picture. "The woman and her baby enjoy a sunny day in the park." Mr. Keating nods. "Winter has been cruel to them. She has lost her mother, her greatest support after her man went to war, to sickness." I try to think of the most opposite things to the one portrayed. Sadness, bitterness. A silent tragedy. "Even though she is in grief, she is happy. Today is the day, the father of the child will finally get to meet his daughter for the first time." Emotion is the most important point when creating a story. Without feeling them it doesn't work. "The baby giggles and she smiles at it with adoration and unconditional love." Everyone stares at me in silence. "She sees so much of her loved one in their child. Neither does she know that her husband's comrades are already awaiting her at home. He has died on his last day of service.", I finish the story. No one says anything for a moment, then Mr. Keating speaks up. "Now, Mr. Pitts, how do you feel looking at this picture after you heard its background." "Sad.", Pitts answers. The teacher points to Todd. "Shaken.", the blond boy whispers. Mr. Keating calls another boy. "I feel sorry for them. For the woman and her baby", this one states. Mr. Keating takes the answers in and then proceeds explaining. "See, this is the perfect example of how the right choice of words can change the whole way of perceiving something. A story always has the layer that is visible and easy to comprehend, but there is also a layer underneath that. And to really understand it you have to dig deeper and think free of all things you already know." He looks at his watch. "Well, I guess that is enough to take in for today. I suggest you now go your own ways and explore some more artworks. Have fun." With that he dismisses us. We gather as quickly as possible to use the time. "I really liked your story.", Todd admits to me. "Thank you, but I liked your analysation of the greek statue as well.", I give back, trying to build up his confidence more. I just need him to realize, that he is as good as any other boy in this class. "So, where does everybody want to go?", Neil asks us all. "Science apartment.", Meeks immedeatly shouts out. "Me too.", Pitts adds. "Are you two ever seperated?", I laugh at them. But, of course, there is just one answer.
"Negative." "Not possible." They both give back. Cameron also holds up his hand for the sience department. "Are you serious? That's so lame.", Charlie obviously complains. "Well, I would rather go to the greek statues again.", Knox throws another option in. "Please, no!", I exclaim. "If I see another naked man today, I'm going to throw up." "What about we go back to the Age of Romanticism?" It's Todd's suggestion. "I come with you.", Neil walks over to him. "So, we split up then.", Knox finds the solution and the group does as he says, until it's just me and Charlie left. "Where do you want to go?", he signals me to choose one of the directions. "You know, I'm not really that much into art and could use a guide." His smile is just poison for my resitance. I grab his hand and pull him after me. "Follow me then." I'm happy, he let's me choose. Normally I'm the last one being asked about what I would like to see. It's exiting to show him the things that mean something to me.