𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐩𝗼𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐬𝗼𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲✩

v. DR. J. EVANS PRITCHARD, PH.D

It was such a chore getting up in the morning to get ready. Welton required the girls to shower in the mornings and the boys to shower at night. Not only that, but Welton also required the girls to wear their hair in tight medium-high ponytails all day long. Waking Knox up had become a daily ritual at this point, but today you put less care into it. You shook him by the shoulder.

"Knox. Get up." You walked toward your desk to grab your toiletries. You went out the door with a slam, hoping to wake him up. After you showered you came back to the room to see Knox combing his hair. 

"Morning," he said. 

"Yeah," you said back. He made a perplexed face but didn't say anything. You went down to the dining hall without saying anything. You didn't fully understand why you were mad at him. Today you sat next to Neil who was having a conversation with Todd you couldn't hear. Charlie beat Knox to the spot next to you, and you were grateful for that. Knox sat across from Charlie, next to Cameron. Knox was about to say something when Charlie cut him off. 

"So, Y/N, how do you like Mr. Keating. I mean, the Captain." Charlie looked at you, his face close to the side of your head as you continued to look at your plate. 

"I think he's wonderful. He's the only teacher that still has hair." You stated. Charlie and Neil smiled. You continued with your meal. After breakfast you walked alone up to your room to grab your books. Before you were about to leave the room you noticed a ribbon poking out from under Knox's pillow. It was a bouquet of flowers, and it was beautiful. It had butterfly milkweed, cardinal flowers, and small white roses. Your eyes began to well again with jealousy. This was the moment you realized you had feelings for Knox. You wanted so badly for those flowers to be for you. You opened the door to see Knox was was about to enter. He saw your teary eyes but you raced away before he could say anything. Finally, it was English. A place where you could finally feel free and let the burdens that rested on your shoulders slip away. Today, Captain started class quickly. When everyone was seated he said,

"Gentlemen, lady, please turn your textbooks to page twenty one of the introduction. Mr. Perry, would you read the opening paragraph of the preface entitled 'Understanding Poetry' for us?" 

Neil put on his glasses. "'Understanding Poetry by Dr. J. Evans Pritchard, Ph.D. To fully understand poetry, we must first be fluent with its meter, rhyme, and figures of speech. Then ask two questions: One, how artfully has the objective of the poem been rendered, and two, how important is that objective. Question one rates the poem's perfection. Question two rates its importance. And once these questions have been answered, determining a poem's greatness becomes a relatively simple matter. If the poem's score for perfection is plotted along the horizontal of a graph, and its importance is plotted on the vertical, then calculating the total area of the poem yields the measure of its greatness. A sonnet by Byron might score high on the vertical, but only average on the horizontal. A Shakespearean sonnet, on the other hand, would score both high horizontally and vertically, yielding a massive total area, thereby revealing the poem to be truly great. As you proceed through the poetry in this book, practice this rating method. As your ability to evaluate poems in this matter grows, so will- so will your enjoyment and understanding of poetry." Neil removed his glasses. While Neil read, Keating drew the graph that was explained in the paragraph. Most of the student's copied it on their own notebooks. 

"Excrement," the word was uttered by none other than the Captain himself. You all were shocked. None of the teachers had ever uttered 'improper' language, as they called it. "That is what I think of Mr. J. Evans Pritchard. We're not laying pipe, we're talking about poetry." Captain was Smiling. "I mean, how can you describe poetry like American Bandstand? Oh well I like Byron, I give him a 42 but I can't dance to it." The class laughed. Charlie was looking at him in a way you never saw him look at anyone before. 

"Now, I want you to rip out that page." The class was silent. "Go on, rip out the entire page." he said loudly. "You heard me. Rip it out. Rip it out!" There was a pause until finally the sound of ripping paper tore through the silence, and it came from no where else but Charlie Dalton, right beside you. He smiled and tipped his head at the Captain as the whole classed gawked at him.

"Thank you, Mr. Dalton. Students, tell you what. Don't just tear out that page, tear out the entire introduction. I want it gone, history. Rip it out, rip! Begone J. Evans Pritchard Ph.D! Rip, shred, tear. Rip it out! I want to hear nothing but the ripping of Mr. Pritchard!" Keating almost screamed. Almost Everyone the class was now ripping excitedly. When ripping the paper too, you felt something you had never before felt at Welton. Joy.

"We'll perforate it, put it on a roll! It's not the bible, you're not going to hell for this. Go on; make a clean tear, I want nothing left of it!" Cameron was the only one who hadn't begun ripping, but eventually he did it just like the rest of you. Keating ducked into his office to get the bin. While he was in his office the door was pushed open forcefully.

"What the hell is going on in here!?" It was the Latin teacher, Mr. McAllister. The class was silent except for Mr. Keating, who was still in his office. 

"I don't hear enough rips!" Mr. Keating appeared with the bin. He spotted Mr. McAllister but the smile on his face did not fade away like yours did. His eyes still shown brightly.

"Mr. Keating," Mr. McAllister said, embarrassed.

"Mr. McAllister," replied Captain.

"I'm sorry I.. didn't know you were here," Mr. McAllister explained.

"I am," Mr. Keating smile enlarged. 

"So you are. Excuse me," he left without waiting for a response from Mr. Keating. He went on like nothing had happened, and the ripping and laugher started up again. 

"Keep ripping! This is a battle, a war! The casualties could be your hearts and souls," He boomed. He passed the bin to the students who passed it around to each other. Charlie spit out a ball of paper he had put into his mouth when Mr. McAllister entered.

"Thank you, Mr. Dalton," Keating said, sarcastically. Charlie smirked again. It was almost like he couldn't go five seconds without looking mischievous.  Keating continued, "Armies of academics going forward, measuring poetry," he scoffed, "No we will not have that here. No more J. Evans Pritchard. Now in my class, you will learn to think for yourselves again. You will learn to savor words and language. No matter what anybody tells you, words and ideas can change the world. I see the look in Mr. Pitts' eye, like nineteenth-century literature has nothing to do with going to business school or medical school. Right? Maybe. Mr. Hopkins, you may agree with him, thinking 'yes, we should simply study our Mr. Pritchard and learn our rhyme and meter and go quietly about the business of achieving other ambitions.' I have a little secret for you. Huddle up. Huddle up!" You all went to the center of the classroom and knelt around him. Knox was right next to you and stole a glance at your expression. Keating went on, "We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. Medicine, law, business, engineering, these are all noble pursuits, and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for." Knox was looking at you thoughtfully now, and you noticed Charlie snuck a glance at you as well. "To quote from Whitman: 'O me, o life of the questions of these recurring, of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities filled with the foolish. What good amid these, o me, o life? Answer: that you are here. That life exists, and identity. that the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?" 

The silence that followed was beautiful. You could sense the dreams floating about the air. The smell of rain drifted through the open windows. You all stood there for what felt like a lifetime until the bell brought you back to reality.