The Great Gaytsby

Chapter One

 In my younger and more vulnerable days my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my head ever since. "Whenever you feel like criticizing anyone," he said, "just remember that not all the people in the world have had the advantages you've had." I'm not sure if my father fully understood the effect his words would have on me. My character is certainly of a higher caliber than most – I reserve judgment from all, listening attentively to all who tasked me as the keeper of their secrets. I treat every encounter the same, and am always truthful in my responses.

Or, at least as truthful as I think I can be.

While I am honest, and detest those who lie, I also pride myself on withholding judgment. It is not my place to say who does and does not meet the increasingly difficult standards of what constitutes a good American citizen.

That being said, I simply despise those who flaunt wealth in a manner which can only be described as garish; those who lie to make themselves seem better or more important than they are; those who lack upbringing and good education; and those who live solely for the perceptions of others. Besides this, though, I don't judge others at all. It would be unseemly.

I digress. This story starts with me moving from Minnesota to New York to try and break into the bond business. Full disclosure; I was also running from my past. I felt if I could only distance myself enough that perhaps my absence would lead to my hometown forgetting my mistakes. Behind me I left a girl to whom everyone thought I would be engaged to by the end of summer. A girl who could very easily ruin me if she chose it, but a girl kind enough to cut her losses and move on from the pain we caused each other.

It was, I believe, the summer of 1922, in which relationships would be ruined and my trajectory for life turned completely sideways. I rented myself a place in West Egg, where the newly rich spend their nights squandering money on old dreams. My cottage was wedged between two impossibly huge mansions. One was still empty, and the other held an occupant who (though I did not suspect it at the time) would revolutionize my life, in more ways than one.

The cottage was large enough. It had adequate shelving to hold my newly bought stock books, a small kitchen, a welcoming room, and a bed big enough for one – which is all I needed, truthfully enough. I hired a Finnish woman to keep house for me and cook my meals, so I wasn't utterly alone. And, of course, my cousin Daisy Buchanan lived not far away in East Egg. So there was company.

Daisy had insisted I come to dine with her and Tom, her husband, as soon as I was settled in, so I found myself in a cab heading to their place almost immediately. As the cab pulled around the turn, my jaw dropped; Daisy had briefly described her home in letters, but nothing could have prepared me for what I saw.

Now, I knew Tom was wealthy. He wouldn't shut up about it for a second when we were at school. But Daisy and I were also from wealthy families; I had supposed his place would be similar to our childhood homes. I was wrong. His place made us look poor.

Huge, sprawling lawns dotted with flowerbeds; a driveway that seemed to stretch forever lined with gravel; delicate topiaries dotting the lands with a gorgeous gazebo; and the house – a huge, marble porch with greek columns; an elegant door with windows to either side, chiffon curtains fluttering in the gentle breeze which had graced us this hot summer day; and once I stepped through the door, it seemed for an instant I had stepped into a fairyland of sorts. More white chiffon draped the home, dancing to nature's breathy tune.

I was still taking it in when I heard an all too familiar voice

"NICK!" Daisy squeals, grabbing me and spinning me around giddily. I laugh and pick her up to complete the twirl.

"Daisy!" I reply, a tad less enthusiastic, but it was impossible to match Daisy's sheer joy in approaching life. She kisses me on each cheek and grabs my hand to pull me inside to the parlor. She's gabbing on about what they've prepared for the meal, but the sight inside renders me deaf in stunned silence. They have the windows encircling the room propped open and the gorgeous veils of chiffon float around carried by the breeze. There's several graceful pieces of furniture set carefully around, but my eyes are drawn to a bright red one in the center.