A Conversation with Jay Gatsby

Evelyn’s eyes scanned the bustling crowd of New Yorkers, to and fro they went, busy with their careless lives of raging money and prosperity. But Evelyn had none. She knew the truth, and she knew reality was going to hit these people in a couple years and plunge them into a depression. But none of that now, for she sat and waited for a man whom she has read about, and wanted to speak with. A heart to heart, if you may. Her lavender dress flowed freely at her sides as her scarf wrapped elegantly around her neck. She had to pin her long brown hair back, due to the fashion of the time. But she could not bear to change who she was and what she liked to look like in her time for a simple conversation with a man whom might not even show up.

She sighed helplessly, truly not wanting to relive the memories that she knew she had to share to get her point across.

“Miss Price?” A gentleman-like voice rang from beside her. She looked up into the face of the handsome Jay Gatsby.

“Yes sir, you have the right person,” She smiled brightly as she calmly waved her hand over to the seat in front of her. “Would you like to take a seat?”

“I would be honored in the presence of such a lady, but I must admit, old sport,” He smiled warmly as he sat before her, “I expected you to be much older than your letter led you to be.”

Evelyn laughed slightly, feeling a touch of embarrassment.

“How old are you, young lady?”

“Maturity does not come in the numbers of our age,” She shot her eyes over to him, “but with the experiences you have gone through and endured. But if you must know—I am only seventeen years of age.”

“Dear God!” He exclaimed, “I thought you to be at least in your later teens, maybe even breaching into your early twenties. You are a mere child!”

“I am not a mere child sir,” She felt her voice become sharp, “But young, I shall admit. However, I felt as though I needed to speak to you. We are in similar situations, you know.”

Gatsby leaned back in the chair, a bit enticed in the comment.

“Are we, old sport?”

“Indeed, we are. You are madly in love with Daisy Buchanans, are you not?”

He was taken aback by her comment.

“How did you know that?” His voice had a touch of a panicked hysteria.

“F. Scott Fitzgerald told me.” She said honestly, knowing that he wouldn’t have a clue that she spoke of, but would assume he was some undercover mobster or something ridiculous like that.

“I see.”

She smiled; trying to reassure him she meant no harm, or black mail.

“But how can you relate to me, old sport?” He asked his eyes glancing over her left hand, having her assume he was checking to see if she had a ring on her finger.

“I am madly in love with Daniel Ladan.” She stated matter-of-fact.

“Do I know the fellow?” Gatsby asked as Evelyn felt herself laugh out loud.

“No,” she tried to get a handle on her laughter,” He’s in a bit of a different time then you and me, my friend.”

“Ah.” Was all Gatsby could manage as his face failed to hide his confusion.

“Look, dear,” Evelyn said as she leaned towards him, “Daniel Ladan and I go way back. Not as far as you and Daisy, but we go back about three years—it’ll be four this September.” She felt her shoulders fall as the truth began to roll out like nothing.