In My Favour | Dead Poets Society

Chapter I: Oeillade

"Now let us sport us while we may,
And now, like amorous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour
Than languish in his slow-chapt power"
-Andrew Marvell

~

"Now," Mr Keating leaned against his desk, crossing his arms. " 'Creeds and schools in abeyance/I permit to speak at every hazard, Nature without check, with original energy'. Who wrote these, may I say, fantastic lines?"

My brain attempted to correlate the words with a distinguishable name but to no avail. I glanced around the room to see if anyone else succeeded. Three seats in front of me, a boy with red hair and glasses; Steven Meeks, raised his hand.

"Walt Whitman, sir?"

"Precisely, Mr Meeks," Mr Keating affirmed. "Ah, but Uncle Walt fails to mention the difficulty of ignoring those creeds and schools; conditioned as we are by our parents, our traditions, and to an extent: by the modern age. How do we, like Whitman, permit our own true natures to speak? Mr Pitts?"

The lanky boy to my left quickly became aware he was the centre of attention. "Umm - removing influences, sir?"

Mr Keating nodded. "Yes, Mr Pitts. Anyone else? Ah- Ms Rhodes?"

A girl with neat, blonde braids lowered her hand, settling it back on her desk. "Eliminating habits, sir?"

"Right on the nose, Ms Rhodes," Mr Keating responded.

I slowly placed my hand in the air. "Strip ourselves of prejudices, sir?"

"Absolutely, Ms Emerson," Mr Keating beamed. "The answer, my dear lads and ladies, is that we must constantly endeavour to find a new perspective."

"Perhaps strip ourselves of other things as well."

I twisted my body around to see none other than Charles Dalton, leaning across his desk as Knox Overstreet chuckled. Almost intrinsically, his eyes were cast in my direction. A nefarious smirk lingered across his lips. His gaze was taunting, skimming up and down my figure. A shiver ran through my bones as he waited for me to play the next move. I only knew Charles Dalton by name and reputation only, and what I knew - though perilous to admit - excited me. I tilted my head slightly and raised an eyebrow. An amused expression passed across his features at my response and he reclined back against his chair.

I directed my attention once again to Mr Keating, who I managed to momentarily forget was even speaking. My mind eventually wandered back to the boy a couple of rows behind. I had never been held captive to such a stare before. Usually, if a stranger catches my eye, I politely cast my attention elsewhere. But not today. Charles Dalton challenged me, and in return, that provoked something in me.

My thoughts were soon discarded as the incessant ringing of the bell commenced. Around me, students began packing up their hymnals and notebooks, and I followed suit. As I rose from my seat, I peered over once more at the boy. I was met with a wink that allowed no question for ambiguity.

~

I closed the door of my dorm and dropped the back-breaking pile of books onto my desk with an ungraceful thump. Sylvia looked over the book in her hands from her bed.

"Hello Avery," she said, a cigarette perched loosely against her lips.

I walked over to my bed and slumped down against the mattress. A sigh of comfort emitted from my throat.