What I was thinking when I met Gatsby

            When I stumbled into Gatsby’s house on accident during one of my riding sessions at West Egg, I was surprised to know he lived right next door to Nick, and even more surprised Nick was at his house. He seemed a respectable man, and he showed a bit of interest and knowledge in me despite me not knowing him very well or having any reason to know me. He was quite odd in the past handful of times I saw him, so this was nothing knew, but it was still interesting nonetheless. Gatsby’s money was very prominently displayed in the quality of his surroundings, and it made me question some of Nick’s connections considering I knew Nick was not very wealthy. We stayed for a little bit to chat and drink, but then insisted we needed to go so as to not be late for dinner, as the ride back was a bit long. One of my riding partners was quite drunk however, and insisted that Gatsby come to our dinner party, despite not knowing anyone there, because she thought the party would like him. Her husband kept trying to make sure we left on time and made it very clear that Gatsby did not need to attend the dinner party, but Gatsby seemed to think that he should attend on the request of a drunk woman anyways. Gatsby stepped out to get ready to leave, and my opinion of Gatsby dropped a bit further as he very clearly failed to see that he was not welcome at the party. I asked Nick if Gatsby really was going to come, and Nick seemed to think that Gatsby would. I managed to get my riding partners out of Gatsby’s house and leaving before Gatsby came back, and we avoided him coming to the dinner party. I understood that Gatsby was eccentric, but his interest in me and his obvious lack of understanding of social cues are making me quite dislike him.

What I was thinking when I attended Gatsby's party

Gatsby’s party was a drunken mess. Not to say my parties are not drunken, but at least they had purpose, to see friends and spend time with them. It looked like people from everywhere had just shown up in Gatsby’s backyard and pool with out of nowhere, like they just waltzed in and decided to have a party, and Gatsby’s servants had no choice but to capitulate and help. At my parties you know the people there, even if there are few, and can have meaningful conversation. Everyone at this party was drunk, and although most of the guests were interesting in title, we did not know any of them, and I did not talk to much of anyone that night besides Nick. At some point Daisy disappeared, and so did Gatsby coincidentally, although Gatsby is the host of the party and obviously has business to attend to on a regular basis. I did some research into Gatsby before his party, and did not find much, except that he has some connections to some unscrupulous people, and I have concluded rightly that his fortune most likely comes from bootlegging, and other illegal business. The night was like a swirling mess of color, chatter, and constant noise, from either people or the music. It was a grand party, even great by standards of size, but the organization of it, as if everything was thrown together…. The party was a blur, a mess, and I began missing Daisy. I did not like this type of party Gatsby threw, with hundreds of people, some more wish-wash than others, none of which you knew. The rabble and the rich may have come together in a party like this, and no one would have known the difference. It might have been better if I knew more people at it, but this type of party did not seem representative of Gatsby’s personality, even if I did not really know the man. I asked Nick if he would make sure to tell Daisy I wanted to go if he saw her, and a little while later we left the party.

How I felt when Gatsby told me Daisy didn't love me

When Gatsby told me Daisy didn’t love me, I thought he was crazy. Then Gatsby said that Daisy only ever loved him. At first, I just felt disbelief, but then Daisy started to support him, and the feeling of ridicule and the disbelief faded. Gatsby had to be lying, there was no possible way what he said was true. But Gatsby said Daisy didn’t love me, and that she was leaving me. I believed him even less then, but then Daisy supported him again. The poor girl was torn, and she didn’t know what she was saying. So, I reminded her of the times we had together, those special times where I knew she loved me just as I loved her. Daisy said she did love me those times, but she also loved Gatsby. Now I was mad and worried, mad because Gatsby came here only to take away the person I love most, and worried because Daisy was slipping out of my fingers. Then I told them what Gatsby really does to earn his money, why he is so rich even though he was raised dirt poor, why he is not good enough for Daisy, and then Gatsby was mad too. Mad enough that he yelled at me and tried to hurt me. Seeing Daisy’s face after his outburst, I felt confident that I had won. I was on the verge of laughing at the prospect of Gatsby’s whole plan coming to pieces to win my wife, simply because he could not contain his anger. I even let Gatsby drive Daisy home, just so that they would dislike each other more. I knew there was no chance Daisy would run away with him now. The whole rest of the night I was cheerful, because I knew everything was under my control again, and I had nothing to fear.

How I felt when I found out Myrtle was dead

After the hectic night where I ended Gatsby’s chances of taking Daisy from me, I also received the second worst shock of my life. Myrtle Wilson was dead, as she had been hit by a car. We did not know who it was, just that something had happened near George’s gas station, and I was a bit concerned so I decided to stop in. After hearing that Myrtle had gotten hit, I had to see for myself. I went up to the covered corpse, lifted up the cover, and saw it was Myrtle. Even though it hurt so badly to see her dead like that, I held it in for the most part. Even though I did not really want to see Myrtle again, I did not think she deserved to die. I even considered giving my coupe to George so Myrtle could have it to make up for breaking her nose just days before. A bystander said that the car that hit her was yellow, and that she seemed to be rushing out to it to talk to someone. I knew at once that it was Gatsby, that poor Myrtle saw the car thinking it was me, rushed out to it to talk to me, to run away with me, and that Gatsby hit her with the car. He didn’t even stop. Gatsby simply drove away, not a care in the world. I could feel the anger boiling in me. Gatsby failed to get one of the women I loved, and he had inevitably killed another. When I approached George to talk to him, he accused me, but I quickly cleared myself, telling everyone my car was blue, and was parked out front. I had so much hate for Gatsby in that moment, but I knew I couldn’t confront him directly anyways. I just wanted him out of my life. I told George what I knew, and although he didn’t really seem to believe me, I got some of his friends to stay with him. Gatsby’s time would come, and he would pay for his crimes. I left the gas station feeling cold, but knowing that my future would be secure.

Why I told Wilson where to find Gatsby

I was enjoying a book in my study, a new one about a study done showing how blacks and lower races are rising in the ranks of society, and how to combat this so whites can maintain their place at the top of the world. Daisy needed some time alone, as the night before was quite hectic for her because of that Jay Gatsby, and she had slept in as well. As I was sitting in my chair, I heard soft footsteps behind me. I call out, assuming it is Daisy, but the voice that replies is not hers. The man said, “You killed Myrtle, didn’t you.” It was George Wilson, Myrtle’s husband. Another reason I was reading was because I was trying to take my mind off of the night before, as that damned Gatsby hit Myrtle with his car, racing home from the city. I think it is one of the reasons Daisy was so shaken in the morning. I stood out of my chair and turned to face Wilson, only to see him shakily pointing a gun at my chest. Wilson told me not to move, and I obligingly put my hands in the air. Wilson looked like he hadn’t slept for a while and had traveled halfway across the country to get to me. He accused me again of killing Myrtle, which I denied, and then reminded him what I had explained to him last night. He didn’t believe me, so I convinced him to come to the garage to see the car, which was not yellow. After this Wilson believed me and asked me how to find the Jay Gatsby. I explained to him where Gatsby lived, because I didn’t want Wilson to shoot me or hurt Daisy, and Wilson left after that. I also did this because it solved two problems with one bullet. If Wilson killed Gatsby, then I would have no worries of him trying to take my Daisy away from me. Wilson would then be a convicted killer and would not be able to find out who was having an affair with his wife. Even if he did find out my connection, then no one would believe him on account of his criminal record. I went back to my study to continue reading my book, confident my problems were solved.

Why I punched Myrtle

Today I broke up with Myrtle, because I could not deal with her talking about Daisy in the way she did. We were having a swell time at our secret apartment, with Nick, Myrtle’s sister Catherine, and the McKees. We were all quite drunk, and having a grand time, and then Myrtle went and ruined the whole night, talking about Daisy. She talked to me, telling me how I should forget Daisy, leave Daisy, and then come and live with her in the city, in our secret apartment in Manhattan. As much as I want to, I cannot, because I love Daisy and will not leave her. Myrtle, in the end, just wants to use me for my money, even a fool could see that. I asked Myrtle not to speak about Daisy, because I cannot stand her talking about Daisy, how she knows nothing about the girl, and assumes she is better. All I wanted that night was a time out with some friends, Myrtle, and maybe some drinking. But Myrtle had to go and bring up Daisy, to talk about the one thing that would break the mood. I asked her, time and time again, to stop talking about her, but Myrtle insisted. She continued on and on, berating my beautiful Daisy and telling me she was nothing. We were at the point of yelling, and I stormed out of the bedroom in a mad rage. Myrtle, being her annoying self, said she could say Daisy’s name all she wanted, and followed me out of the room saying her name. I could not take it anymore, I tell you. I spun around and punched her right in the nose. I broke it, broke her nose. There was blood everywhere. While the McKees and Catherine fussed over her I walked back into the bedroom, then eventually left because I couldn’t stand the insufferable crying and sniveling. If Myrtle is too weak to take deal with me when I’m mad, then we shouldn’t be together at all, I though. Nick left in the chaos, and so did Mr. McKee, but I didn’t ask where they had gone, and was done with the whole thing. I took the train back home, to Daisy, and slept off the drinks. I have no intention of seeing Myrtle again or giving that George Wilson my car.