Heart Breaking and Entering

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"Wild nights--wild nights," Mr. Verne mused, poem in hand, "Were I with thee.  Wild nights should be...our luxury."  He pulled off his glasses and leaned against his desk, light eyes searching the room.  "Any guesses?"

The room was thick with silence, each tick of the clock striking like a mallet on a drum.  None of us wanted to speak up in fear of appearing stupid in front of the rest of the AP English class, but somehow the pregnant pause was worse than possible humiliation.

It made my skin crawl with each passing moment, so I opened my mouth to speak, only to have another voice replace mine.

"Dickinson.  Wild nights," a smooth voice chimed in, and I snapped up to find its owner, an unamused, olive-skinned boy in the front row.  He leaned forward in his chair, cocking his head at the teacher.  "It's a classic."

Mr. Verne looked impressed.  "Well done, Ajay.  Care to tell the rest of the class about this poem, since you're so confident?"

The boy let out a small laugh, cracking a half grin.  "Confident is a strong word, sir."

"Go on,"  Mr. Verne smirked, crossing his arms.  "Let's hear it."

Ajay chuckled and shrugged a shoulder.  "Alright."  He adjusted in his seat to face the rows behind him.  Behind long eyelashes, his dark eyes flickered around the room before he continued, "Essentially, it's a commentary on the paradox of love.  The speaker insinuates that being with her beloved is a luxury, but not necessarily one she can afford. For whatever reason, she can't be with them."  He paused a moment, eyes falling onto mine before trailing back up to the teacher.  "Their love is a daydream."

Mr. Verne's lower lip puckered as he nodded, "Very insightful."

From further down in my row, a chuckle sounded, followed by a couple of quiet murmurs.  I looked over to find Declan sporting a cocky grin.  Beside him, Brody Anderson was hiding his laughter with his hand, trying to compose himself. 

The slender teacher pushed off from his desk and locked his gaze on them, hands on his hips.  "Did you have something to add, Mr. President?"

Declan cracked a grin, leaning back in his chair.  "I suppose I had a different interpretation."

"Go right ahead,"  Mr. Verne lifted his palm toward Declan. 

Declan cleared his throat, running a hand through his caramel waves.  "Who's to say whether they can or can't be together?  The speaker doesn't explicitly make that distinction."

"It's implied,"  Ajay cut in, twisting in his seat to face Declan.  "Obviously, something is keeping them apart, or else Dickinson wouldn't have written a poem about it."

"She never says they can't be together."  Declan furrowed his brow, crossing his arms over his chest.  "Maybe they're unable to, or they shouldn't, but it never says they can't."  He shrugged, but I could tell from the twitch on his brow he was slightly annoyed.  "Also, it's a bit presumptuous to say their love is a 'daydream'."

Ajay's brown eyes narrowed.  "I guess if you hadn't read the poem thoroughly, I could see how you'd think that."

Murmurs broke out among our peers, filling the room with a low hiss of whispers and giggles.  Declan paused a moment before letting out a scoff, his grin unfaltering as he eyed the tanned boy with distaste.

Ajay continued, "Dickinson's verb tense and tonality are reminiscent of the past.  She's longing to have more wild nights together, even though those times are gone.  But it's less about what their relationship was, and more about the desperation of not being with the person she loves."