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[gather-ye-fucking-rosebuds]

Dead Poets Society meetings were the place where Neil seemed most like himself. They scarcely had any during that winter since it was so cold, but patches of pine straw started poking through the snow melting in the woods, and it was the first day of spring, so the poets felt they should celebrate.

Todd arrived last, having had to make up a test he missed due to getting the flu and being in the infirmary for two days. When he walked into the cave, only Pittsie and Meeks said hi to him, but even they were preoccupied a little bit. After having made a radio for their room, they were working on making a more long distance radio to put in the cave (so far they were not successful). Toward the back, Knox sat with his arm wrapped around Chris’s shoulder and they stared into each other’s eyes while having a deep conversation. They were so invested that they didn’t even notice Charlie and Ginny giggling as they tried to throw almonds into Chris’s upside down hat. Neil and Cam leafed through Mr. Keating’s old poetry book, pointing out new poems to read during the session.

“Shall we get it started?” Todd asked enthusiastically, dropping the basket of assorted fruits he had pilfered from meals for this very occasion.

“Captain said he was gonna swing by today,” Neil said, grinning at Todd. “Let’s give him a few minutes.”

“I stopped by his office before I came and he said to start without him,” Todd explained, sitting down and wrapping his coat tighter around himself. “So let’s do this.”

And like clockwork, the poets recited the opening poem in unison, and Neil started the meeting by reading a short and sweet poem about the moon. Cam was in the middle of telling a story when Mr. Keating arrived.

“Captain!” he exclaimed, making everyone turn towards the entrance excitedly. “Here, sit down.”

“No, Mr. Cameron, I’m not staying long,” he said solemnly. The cave got quiet. Mr. Keating cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll, uh, start with the good news,” he said, smiling sadly. “My wife in London is going to come visit for a few months.”

The poets all gasped and tried talking over each other, asking many different questions, like where would she stay? Would they get to meet her? Has he told her about them?

But Todd hung onto the question that haunted the room. “What’s the bad news?” It was just a whisper, but it silenced the whole group.

Mr. Keating looked around at the poets. His students. Hell, he’d even consider them his sons. How did his life come to the point where seven extraordinary young boys looked up to him so much as to sneak out to a cave in the middle of the woods to read poetry of all things? He had to be the luckiest man alive.

“Boys, I-“ he started, his voice breaking. How could he get this across gently? “Remember the first lesson I taught you all?”

They all looked at each other. “Captain, what’s going on?” Charlie asked.

“And I had Pitts read To the Virgins To Make Much of Time?” Mr. Keating chuckled softly as Pitts still blushed, even today. “‘Gather ye rosebuds while ye may’ was the lesson I was trying to teach you all that day.”

“Captain,” Todd mumbled uncertainly, starting to understand what Mr. Keating was getting to.

“Well,” Mr. Keating continued, trying to smile through the tears forming in his eyes. “‘That same flower that smiles today tomorrow will be dying’ is…” His voice trailed away, unable to finish the sentence. He sniffled and wiped away a tear that rolled down his cheek.

“Boys,” he said, voice breaking. “I went to a doctor yesterday. He said I have leukemia. I only have a few months left to live.”