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thursday, december 15, 1960. 6:30 AM
A soft blue light emerged its way into Charlie and Knox’s shared dorm room. Last year, the two had practically begged administration to let them room together come the new school year. They were sick of having random boys as their roommates, especially after having to hear nearly a hundred too many sorry for your loss -es, or can’t believe those two would do that, how stupid could they be? -es. Stick had always treated Charlie like he could break at any moment after it happened, most likely worried one day he’d walk into their dorm and see Charlie dead on the floor. But Charlie knew better than to do that, he’d decided that on the day he saw Todd’s body being driven away in an ambulance, the telling lack of sirens proving what he’d wished that morning to be false.
Knox laid on his bed snoring like usual. It was one of the downsides of rooming with him, but after 3 months of living together, and many other times of impromptu Dead Poets sleepovers in each others dorms, he’d grown used to it enough to block it out completely. Well, almost, nothing would compare to his ability to block out Knox’s endless rambles over different girls he’d met from Henley Hall.
Charlie sat at his desk, staring at the dark, chipped wood. It’d been a year since the two of them died, and since then he’d kept the promise he made the day he found Todd. He’d continued to live deliberately, to make every moment he had, every breath he took in memory of them, even if the others wouldn’t. He guessed he did, and tonight would be no exception. Seniors were excused from classes for the day to give them the time for one of the most important events of the winter season.
The Welton-Henley Winter Ball.
It wass a formal dance reserved for only the seniors to attend. It wasn’t treated like most school dances, with lousy drinks and snacks, but more like an event filled with the richest people in all of Vermont. The boys at Welton were expected to ask out a girl who attends Henley Hall, the all-girls school down the road. The two schools went hand-in-hand, even being opened around the same time. Charlie and Neil had been preparing for this dance for years. Planning what they would wear, who they would go with, what would happen, everything. The two were so excited to go together, they’d been planning since seventh grade.
But now Charlie was a senior, having to prepare for the dance without Neil. The year had been filled with things like that.
Having to watch the sunrise, sitting on the blanket on the lawn by himself.
Having to show around the freshmen with some random kid he didn’t even remember the name of.
Having to watch Knox win homecoming royalty again , and cheer like it wasn’t the fourth year in a row.
Having his senior night and speech, looking everyone in the eye trying to find a piece of Neil in all of them.
It’s something he does a lot. He tries to find scraps of everyone he’s lost in people and things he knows now. He sees Todd in the falling snow, Neil in the street lights, Keating in the books piled high on his desk. He would write poems upon poems about it if he were good with words. But he wasn’t. He could certainly try, though. Charlie dragged his bag from the foot of his bed over to his chair. Rummaging through it, he pulled out a random notebook and tore a page out. He set it on his desk and tossed the notebook on the floor. Grabbing a pen from the cup that was… once filled with them ( where did all his pens go? ) he got to work.
Or, tried to, at least. Charlie sat and stared at the blank sheet a paper, not a word coming to mind. For the amount of poetry he read, he surely couldn’t write it. How could he even call himself a poet? (oh, right, he couldn’t. The Dead Poets Society didn’t exist much now that they lost half their members.)
Either way, the page stayed blank.
Charlie turned around as he heard shuffling behind him. Knox woke up slowly, Charlie checked the time. It read 7:14, he’d been sitting at his desk doing nothing for over half an hour. It really puts into perspective how fast time moves when you’re not paying attention. He had to pay attention. Carpe diem, carpe diem, carpe die-
“Charlie..?” Knox said, voice groggy. He pulled his head up and squinted his eyes.
Charlie blinked, he hadn’t noticed he was staring. “Good morning, Knoxious,” Charlie replied, the familiar lilt in his voice absent. The words were there, but the emotion was not.
Knox pulled himself up. His hair was messy and his plaid sleep shirt was hanging loosely off his frame. He slid a hand over his face. “What are you doing?”
Charlie glanced his eyes over the desk. The blank page still laid on the table, placed on top of it his pen, which was one of his favourites. It wasn’t special by any means, if anything he could probably just walk downtown and find a hundred of the same ones, he just had a funny story of how he’d found it (long story short, he was skipping class and found a brand new desk set on the field under the bridge. He’d heard Todd and Neil joke about the world’s first aerodynamic desk set for weeks after. He never knew if they were correlated, for some reason he hoped they were). At the corner of his desk there was the pen holder he had, which was once overflowing with different types of pens and pencils he’d scavenged from around campus. There was a stack of books piled on top of each other, filled with information for finals week that he should’ve started studying weeks ago.
That was an excuse he could get behind.
Charlie coughed. “Studying,” he said swiftly.
“Charlie, I know you don’t study unless either someone forces you or we’re studying as a group. You’d rather get expelled than have to study on your own.”
“Well maybe I’ve had a change of heart after almost getting expelled last year. ”
Knox stared at him. “That was different,” he mumbled. And that was that.
Charlie stood up from his desk. He was still dressed in his pajamas. A grey sweater reading WELTON ACADEMY in bold maroon letters with a pair of dark red and black sweatpants. He grabbed a pair of discarded socks off the floor by his bed and put them on.
“What are you doing now? ”
“Going out.”
“Looking like that?”
Charlie stopped tying his shoes to look up at Knox, who was still sitting in bed. “Oh, like you look any better when you go out.”
“Oh shut up!”
Charlie grinned, but didn’t reply. His shoes were tied and he nodded to Knox before opening the door. “Go back to sleep, Knoxious.” He walked out the door and shut it behind him.
Charlie walked past a few of the underclassmen getting ready for classes for the day. A few of them stared at him in envy, but most were focused on making themselves look mighty presentable in front of Nolan. Neil used to be like that, constantly worried about how he looked towards the teachers. It was something Charlie had always made fun of him for until the end of sophomore year, when Neil just stopped caring about it.
Oh, there he went again, thinking about the past. Live in the present, carpe diem , Charlie reminded himself.
Charlie finally reached the big double-doors that led outside of the dormitory. The cool air smacked Charlie in the face, and reminded him why he typically wore a few layers this time of year. It was bright outside, but not sunny. The morning light casting a light-blue tone over everything, and mixed with the bare trees, he was sure winter had come a week early. He breathed out and a wisp of white came out along with it. Despite the cold, Charlie kept walking.
He didn’t know why he left, really. It just felt suffocating in that room; sitting in his chair, stuck in his thoughts until Knox had interrupted, though only to make it ten times worse. It wasn’t his fault, Charlie wouldn’t blame him for his sour mood, he’d blame it on the day, the weather, classes, a lack of sleep, anything other than what it was.
But what he didn’t want to admit was that all of those were true. His heart dropped looking at the calendar the night before, seeing that it was ‘that time of year again’, the weather was cold and looking at the bare treetops and the dock made him think of Todd, his classes were stressful with finals week coming up, and they were going over poetry in English, it wouldn’t be the same without Keating– their Captain– there. As a result of all of this he hadn’t been sleeping well at night, staring at the ceiling or climbing onto the windowsill to look at the snowfall, the moon shining, or the cars passing by under the streetlights nearby.
But none of those were connected, not in the slightest.
Charlie continued his walk, soggy leaves getting pressed into the pavement with every step. He walked past a pair of freshmen talking excitedly about something. The blond one pushed the other, who tripped and they burst out laughing. Charlie had to fight a bittersweet smile from rising to his face. It reminded him of him a few years back.
Charlie and Neil sat on the ledge of the bridge overseeing the field. It was their lunch break, and the two of them had managed to sneak out of the teachers’ views for long enough to escape the dining hall. It’d taken a lot of convincing on Charlie’s part to get Neil to come along with him. They were thirteen, only in seventh grade and their second year at Welton Academy. Despite that, they were close enough to may as well have been friends for years. Neil was showing Charlie some random comic he’d found in his closet, presumably left from whoever had his dorm before him.
It was a Captain America comic, by the front cover. Neither of the two had ever read the story before, so neither of them knew what half of the characters were referencing half of the time. Though they sat together and enjoyed the pictures and laughed at the jokes or the funny voices they did for each character.
Neil stood up on the ledge and dramatically acted out one of the scenes from the pages. He did high-pitched voices for the girls and a prideful, comically low voice for Captain America himself. Neil would occasionally pause to let Charlie fill in the lines for Bucky Barnes, who they’ve learned is the Captain’s sidekick, though he stayed sitting. They kept going back and forth, getting to practically the end of the comic, Neil fully in character and Charlie moreso there just for the ride of it all, before–
“Neil watch ou-” Charlie started.
Neil had gotten a little too close to the ledge while playing his part. He tripped and stumbled off the side, luckily not falling down off the bridge entirely, but definitely scraping his hands on the concrete. From the ground he burst out laughing and rolled onto his back. He turned his head to Charlie who was starting to fall into his own fit of laughter. The comic laid on Neil’s chest, the page they were on lost from Neil trying to break his fall.
“Quite the fight you’ve had, Mr America.” Charlie smirked.
Neil rolled his eyes at the other. “Real nice of you to help, Barnes.”
Charlie could vaguely hear their laughter circle around his head. It mixes with the chatter of the two boys behind him and he walks faster. His heart picks up in speed, and not in the way all the romantics he read about meant. A few boys glanced at him as he rushed past, but he felt as if everyone in the world was looking at him. Maybe last year he would’ve liked that attention, and maybe last week he’d laugh it off, but he certainly couldn’t today.
He quickly turned a corner, and just barely missed crashing into someone. Charlie nearly just ignored it and carried on his way until he heard the boy’s voice.
“Watch it, Dalton.”
Charlie looked up. Red hair, freckles, looking as sharp as he always did. Richard Cameron. He had a scowl on his face as he looked Charlie up and down, looking almost disgusted that Charlie was even near him. But Charlie could see through it, they’d been friends for too long for him to not. Cameron wasn’t mad, or disgusted, or anything that anyone from an outside view would think.
Despite Cameron’s nicely done hair, or nicely put-together outfit, he was still once one of the poets, and was once friends with Neil. He maybe wasn’t outwardly as emotional about it as Charlie was, or as sleepily-ignorant as Knox, but it was just barely noticeable in his demeanor, in the way his eyes flickered when he looked Charlie in the eye.
Charlie swore he could almost see the same hurt he saw when he shoved Cameron to the ground and tried to beat him within an inch of his life. The same hurt when Knox and Meeks had to drag him off. The same hurt when Cameron walked in after talking to Nolan.
Charlie only just realised Cameron didn’t speak up about the poets to hurt them. He did what he thought was right. He’d never been as close to Cameron, even when they were in the same friend group, the two of them always having something to argue about, but for once he maybe thought of him as someone equal to him. Not lower for his morality or loyalty to the poets, or higher for his outstanding record at Welton, but equal in the sense that they were two teenagers in the same situation.
It wasn’t until a few moments later Charlie realised he was staring. “Uh, sorry,” he mumbled. He stepped out of the way and continued on his wandering path. When had he become such a fucking coward?
He found himself at the library. He rarely ever went there, but he supposed it could be a good idea. It’d be quiet, and a place where he could sit in an aisle of books by himself and let himself sort out whatever mess he’d been in for the past week. The librarian greeted him with a concise nod as he walked in. Charlie gave a faint smile in return.
Charlie wandered around the library, it was surprisingly big for a school. He reached an empty section of books and took a seat on the floor, his back pressed against some of them. He only realised now he didn’t have anything to act like he was doing. He didn’t bring his bag or anything. Charlie sat and picked at his fingernails and the skin around them. He could hear two people from a table a bit away from him talking. Two chairs scraped against the ground and he heard footsteps coming his way.
“Charlie?” He glanced up, it was Pitts and Meeks. Meeks looked at him with a concerned expression on his face. “What are you doing? Are you okay?”
“Uh, yeah, um,” Charlie said. No, he wasn’t, really. “Why do you ask?”
Pitts crossed his arms. “Well you’re just sitting here like an absolute loser,” he joked. Meeks passed a glare at him, shooting Pitt’s smirk off his face.
“Want to come study with us? We were just barely getting started and it doesn’t hurt to have more people. It’ll be like our study groups again, I really miss those. I could help you with your Lati–” Meeks rambled before getting cut off.
“I don’t take Latin anymore, Meeks. Remember?” Charlie said flatly.
“Oh.. Right. Either way the offer still stands.”
Charlie sat and considered it. It’d get his mind off of things, help him with his upcoming tests, give him a sense of normalcy… He nodded and stood up. As he followed Meeks and Pitts back to their table. Textbooks, notebooks, pens, and highlighters laid scattered across their section. It made Charlie remember he didn’t have his things.
Meeks seemed to sense his problem before he said anything, though. “Hey, we’re taking the same classes just with different periods, right? Just use our stuff, Char, it’s alright.”
“Thanks, saves me the trouble of having to go all the way back to my dorm.” Charlie let out an awkward laugh.
“What were you even doing? Waiting for someone?” Pitts asked while sliding back into his chair.
Charlie took a seat across from Meeks. “No. I don't know.” He looked at the subject they already had out; English. The 4th-year edition poetry textbook written by none other than Dr. Pritchard. Meeks handed him an extra copy they’d found in the library.
Upon opening the book, he saw some notes written in pen around the margins left by an unknown student. CARPE DIEM, it read. Carpe diem, seize the day. Charlie smiled, he wondered who wrote it. It was on the first page of the introduction, where it reintroduced the concept of rhyme and meter. Two of the most insignificant things within poetry , Charlie thought. He skipped past it towards some of the other poems they had to analyze for the test.
Time flew by as the trio skimmed through each subject. Charlie edited his essay for history while Meeks and Pitts worked through their Latin. Charlie never thought he’d voluntarily be doing school work on a day he had off from classes. Of course, though, there was the reason on why they had today off, anyway.
“Are either of you guys going to the thing tonight?” Pitts asked while messily writing a quick note in his calculus notes. He placed his pen down and looked at the two others at the table.
Meeks nodded, his hand skimming through a textbook. “Yeah, I’ll be there. I have to go help Noah set up for it, actually.”
Charlie bit the inside of his cheek. He’d been planning to go for years, and he’d been telling people he’d be there, but without Neil, did he really want to go? It’d been all they’d talked about for years, so why wouldn’t he go? He should go to honor Neil, and to experience it for him, just as he’d promised, but this felt different. It felt almost sacred, in a way. Despite how miniscule the event really was in his life, it’d felt huge for years and too important to experience without his right-hand man with him.
“Charlie?” Pitts said, “What about you?”
He hummed and shrugged his shoulders. He kept his eyes on the corner of the piece of paper Meeks had lent to him. He mindlessly drew circles within the margin. He fell into thought, he distantly thought he could hear Pitts say something, but he couldn’t place it.
“Oh, oh! And we could wear matching suits,” Neil added to the list of things they had to do at their Senior Ball.
“And have our dates wear matching dresses,” Charlie said smoothly. He added both of their ideas to the already multi-page list they’d created and revised many times already.
It didn’t matter if they were only in their freshman year, and they still had three years until they could actually attend the dance, they were going to be extra prepared for the night it came. Everything would go according to plan, and nothing was to be different. They’d heard multiple classes of seniors talk about how beautiful the venue looked, and how much freedom they got that night, so Charlie and Neil had to have everything planned to make the most of it. The dance this year had happened only a few days ago, and each year it always have them the spark of inspiration to remind them of it and to revisit their plans (and never fail to completely change them).
“Can you guys actually focus on your work? Like come on, we have forever to figure this out,” Cameron complained from beside them. It was study hall, afterall, not party-planning hall.
“Oh piss off Mr Goody-two-shoes,” Charlie rerorts. Neil laughs. Cameron scoffs and turns around to his own work.
They continued planning each step. Where they would eat afterwards– if they had to (“Even if we don’t have to, we should! We’re free for the night, Neil!” Charlie exclaimed, a little too loudly considering the few glances and glares he’d gotten from those around him.), extra details about their clothing, keeping track of their extravagant ideas of suits with shades of blues and grays, practically anything you could name, they’d planned. It was the most thorough thing either of them had ever put any thought into. They made sure it’d be the best night of their lives– or at least high school careers.
It wasn’t until they got all but screamed at by Mr McHolland, their study hall teacher, that they eventually put the paper away and kept their dreaming until later.
“Charlie?” Pitts snapped in front of Charlie’s eyes.
Charlie turned his head to the two. They were all packed up, ready to leave. They’d even put away Charlie’s borrowed library textbooks for him. His hand had stilled on his paper a while ago, the lead holding on for dear life.
“Oh shit- Sorry.” Charlie stood up from the table and folded the sheet. He went to put the paper into his pocket, only to remember he was still wearing his pajama pants, and that they didn’t have pockets. He sighed and held it stiffly at his side.
Meeks looked at him. “You sure you’re okay, Char? Are you feeling sick?”
“I’m fine, Meeks. Thank you,” Charlie insisted.
Pitts and Meeks glanced at each other. Charlie hated how everyone could seem to have telepathic conversations with eachother other than him. Todd and Neil were able to do it all the time, and so did Knox and Chris when she was still hanging around them. Sometimes it all felt like an odd, elaborate joke he’d never been part of. Meeks shrugged at Pitts before offering a kind, disingenuous smile to Charlie. The trio walked towards the exit of the library before eventually making their way outside.
“See you later?” Pitts offered.
Charlie nodded. “Yeah, see ya.”
They split ways, Pitts and Meeks going one way while Charlie went the other. He could hear them talking quietly amongst themselves about something, and a small voice in Charlie’s mind went off to say it was about him. He pushed the thought away, even if it was true, why should it matter?
The clock overseeing the courtyard read 10:54 PM. God, had he really been out for that long? Knox was probably concerned about him. Charlie finally decided to suck up whatever issues his brain was having and go back to his dorm. Nobody was out, all the underclassmen being in school and the seniors either in the library, dorms, or off campus.
Charlie turned the knob on the door. He fully expected it to be locked, but it was just ritual by this point. Though he almost tripped over his own feet as the handle turned completely and the door opened. Knox looked up from where he was sitting criss-cross on his bed.
“Welcome back. I knew you’d forget your keys,” Knox greeted. “Where have you been? You’ve been gone nearly four hours, Charlie.”
“Oh, I’ve been,” Charlie paused, “…around. Out and about, if you may.” He made his way through the dorm to flop down onto his own bed. Things didn’t feel so suffocating anymore. Still bad, a sense of dread he couldn’t shake, but not suffocating.
“ Out and about,” Knox repeated, grumbling. He rolled his eyes and returned to the book that was lying on his lap.
They had hours to spare, the time just barely reaching eleven. He stared at the ceiling as he heard pages flip every few minutes, along with Knox muttering to himself. Charlie turned to face the wall, maybe if he willed himself enough he could go back to sleep. He closed his eyes and tried, but it wouldn’t happen. He sighed and sat up and looked around the room. The paper and pen from earlier still laid on his desk. Through a few thoughts of consideration he stood up and walked to his desk again. He picked up the pen and sat down.
He thought he could feel Knox spare a glance at him, but he didn’t turn around to look back. Charlie looked at the pen, the paper, then went to write. Though he hesitated. His pen circled the air above the paper, suddenly many thoughts of how to start wandering around his head, but not one he deemed ‘good enough’ to write. Line after line his mind conjured up, yet had absolutely no way to connect them. How was he supposed to woo women with his writing if he couldn’t even get his thoughts in order to put down a word? Maybe this poetry thing was hopeless after all, maybe it was for the better he’d strayed from it after last year, he wouldn’t have gotten far anyway. Charlie sighed and wrote down the first thing that came to mind:
We are dreaming of tomorrow and tomorrow isn’t coming,
And immediately scribbled it out. How could the only line he could think of not even be his own, better yet, his own dead friend’s?
“What’re ‘ya writing?” Knox asked from across the room. Charlie turned his head, the boy was now sitting with his knees up and leaning against the metal bedframe, the poles most certainly digging into his back.
Charlie hummed. “Mmh, don’t know,” he mumbled. He sighed and put down the pen again. Better luck next time, he supposed.
SKIPPPP TO DANCE PART
Basic rundown: Charlie is there, standing wtv wtv. Everyone else is doing their own thing. It like flashes through him being there/past things with Neil. Then it like flashes to junior year, right after the dance would’ve happened and when Neil and Charlie would be ‘planning’ for it yk, but Neil had just died. it’s Charlie like laying in bed and just being generally. Depressed. Motivated, and wanting to do so much more but barely being able to do anything. Past him pictures Neil’s death ‘scene’, then it flashes forward to Charlie at the dance, and he starts picturing it too. Then it’s like past and it’s saying “charlie feels sick” then forward “charlie feels sick” then past “charlie feels sick” then forward “charlie feels sick” then past “charlie feels sick” then forward “charlie runs.” and he runs to his dorm and stuff!!!!! (lonesome town is playing somepart through this). in general it’s quick, like flashes.
(later bc i came up w this idea in the middle of the night)
“Charlie?” A light, cautious voice called out.
Soft, warm light grew into the room. Charlie didn’t dare turn his head from the window, only leaning further to knock it against the cold glass. The window fogged up against his warm breath.
Charlie looked at Knox directly in the eyes. His knees were tucked into his chest, and something in Charlie’s eyes looked almost fearful. He’s the funny friend, the one that always has something dumb to do, a witty response, the ability to snap back anytime he wanted. So why couldn’t he talk? Respond, respond respond respond re-