If Gatsby was our Narrator

Page 47

The music was feverishly vibrating through walls, almost like the light, and I suppose I should’ve known the guests who were listening. There is nothing much to throwing a party you know. In the beginning it all seemed more than it was, as I felt that I should be acquainted with the strangers in my home. Until I realized I didn’t have to, all that was needed was my name, and the letters would spread like the wine being passed. I don’t mind the popularity –but need it rather. They should all know of me, even if their language is off tangent; perhaps the right person would hear and interest would arise. So much as it would lead them to my wealth and I. Perhaps Daisy.

Curiosity is all that I want to give for now. And a party. And so Nick came, as one of the few guests I actually invited. Although he’s my neighbor, I rarely came in contact with him, but I know he knows of my existence. I’ve waited for time to reveal itself, but all that speaks to me is the past; and now it’s become easy for me to speak of it also. “Your face is familiar,” were first the words of reminisce, and second of intrigue.

“Weren’t you in the Third Division during the war?” I said innocently. Reality is plenty different from the plot, but much has gone my way, so I choose to plot again. “Why, yes. I was in the ninth machine-gun battalion.” Right he was. “I was in the Seventh Infantry until June nineteen-eighteen. I knew I’d seen you somewhere before.” Right I knew. Later on I invited him for a ride in my hydroplane; I also told him that I lived in my house.This house. I told him I lived in this house... which now I suppose was rather vague. Then he said something rather…embarrassing. “This is an unusual party for me. I haven’t even seen the host. I live over there-” Then he directed his hand toward something and continued “and this man Gatsby sent over his chauffeur with an invitation.” I couldn’t hide my expression and just replied “I’m Gatsby.”