Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
❝i am just a kid i never use my brain i only use my heart and my imagination❞
—kids, current joys
—
FLORENCE'S PRIVATE CLASSES ended early today since her teacher wasn't feeling well. One thing about Florence Keating was that she'd do anything to miss a day at school — stupid excuses such as "I had cramps" would easily scare the headmaster into giving her a day off. It was one of the perks of staying in an all-boys academy, but this time, she was glad Ms. Elrod could give her a free day.
The chill breeze entered her open window as she sat at her wide desk, scattered with dents and engravings of previous students who resided in her dorm. She scribbled the final sentence of her short essay before sighing and leaning back on her uncomfortable chair. Looking at the clock sitting by her bedside table, it was still early morning. However, her uncle was teaching a class — her friends' class. It wouldn't hurt to stop by, she thought.
Florence opened the door, a quiet creak echoing through the hallways as she silently shut it. Holding her hand-knitted cardigan around her arm, she strolled around before visiting.
She never got a good look at the campus because her other peers constantly bothered her. Sure, Charlie, Neil, Knox, Meeks, and the rest of her enthusiastic group of friends were a dream, but the rest weren't ideal.
As expected, someone would try to ask for her number or flirt with her. The Welton boys had horrible skills, probably because they grew up around men their whole school lives. They'd constantly stare and whisper about her, but they were loud. Sometimes, Florence would feel embarrassed by them.
But when she was around her friends, she felt happy — or comfortable. They didn't treat her like some alien but like a real human being. She appreciated them so much, even if she hadn't known them that long.
Before she knew it, Florence arrived at her uncle's classroom. With her two hands, she cupped them against the window and peeked through, attempting to see what silly thing he was doing with his students.
Mr. Keating sat in the middle of the students, asking them to come together. The rest of them huddled around her uncle, curiously wanting to know what he would say. Florence quietly opened the door enough to make out the conversation. She noticed all her friends sitting in the class.
"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, and engineering. These are all noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. 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." Her uncle said so passionately it inspired Florence.
