It was cold and rainy the day of the funeral. The gray skies seemed to reflect the spirit in the air. Gatsby’s parties had been filled with people and lights; the funeral was the exact opposite. As I turned away from saying my goodbyes, a man in a dark suit approached me. He was holding a mysterious, unidentified envelope.
“Are you Nick Carraway?”
“Yes. Why? Who needs to know?”
He abruptly handed me the envelope.
“I did business with Mr. Gatsby. This was his final request.”
In one swift motion he walked away, leaving me with my thoughts.
I stared at the stiff paper in my hands. My mind raced. What could Gatsby possibly have for me? I never wanted to go into business with him. Tentatively, I peeled back the seal. Gatsby’s letterhead stood out on the crème white page.
I stood frozen, my veins cold as ice. Why would Gatsby choose me, of all the people he knew? I put the envelope in my suit pocket, hoping that once it was out of sight it would be out of mind. Life had become extremely complicated in the past few months. When I moved to West Egg, I was a simple guy working for a bonds company. Now, I don’t even recognize my own life. I went home, poured myself a cup of tea, and sat on the couch staring into endless space. How was I supposed to make sense of this mess?
Gatsby’s house stood tall and pale against the dark, night sky; it was an intimidating structure from this perspective. It no longer looked like the world’s fair; the parties once thrown seemed like a distance past. My life would be completely different if I moved into Gatsby’s home. I could have whatever and whomever I wanted…
I found some old boxes in a closet and began packing up the living room. All of the items in my tiny, modest bungalow seemed insignificant in comparison to the wealth across the yard.
