The Great Gatsby Monologue

Who is this Gatsby? People are left with an elusive impression about Gatsby’s personality and life. Should I make any judgements based on the party? Should I imagine what I don’t know? No, I will not follow the phonus balonus and stick to my belief of reserving all unnecessary judgements. Gatsby remains a mysterious person. It seems that everybody has got something to say about this guy and his unusual social skills. Oh, well. I know my onions!
“Jordan, you seem to have changed overnight,” I am following her mood, trying to catch myself in the changing nature of this night.
“I feel hotsy-totsy,” she said.
I thought she was lying as she always does. And I always think she is justified to do so.
“What does this mean to you?”
“Nothing,
Jordan is laughing with me.
“Rhatz!”
Jordan seems playful. She is in love with me. I don’t have any doubts about her feelings.
I am honest with myself and don’t know if I am in love with her. We ae simply together, there is no event. We are driving together through Long Island. Our conversation has come to a pause. In the silence of the night, I am deciding to understand my affection for Jordan. I am listening to my heart. Jordan is thinking about Daisy and Gatsby. I am not sure I fully understand the news about Gatsby. I am more delighted to learn about my own feelings and the proper etiquette, involved in this event with Jordan and I.
I am meeting Gatsby tomorrow. My thoughts have wondered from Jordan to Gatsby. The silence of our conversation has created a space for my memory. I am reminded that Gatsby wants to see me tomorrow. I haven’t told Jordan about this meeting. Am I violating my own credo of honesty by not telling her the whole truth about my life?
“Tomorrow I am going to see Gatsby,” I mutter.
“You slay me,” Jordan was laughing, “What are you going to do?”
“We are going to drive in his luxurious yellow car through Long Island, I suppose.”
“When is your
Deep inside my heart, I feel the resonance and movement. I am drawn to Jordan. Her eyes are distracting me from the conversation and the road.
“Do you have an American Dream!?”
All of a sudden, she is asking me about my inner life. “What do you mean?”
“You know, everyone here is for their dreams. We are promised the goodness of fortune here in the Americas, you know. I have my dream, as you may imagine. Every young girl has a dream.”
“I don’t have my own American Dream,” I am still thinking about the meeting tomorrow. Jordan can lie and change topics drastically without any sign of doubt or conscience.
“I am not following you, Jordan,” I think she is trying to probe my soul and see deep into my character. I begin to understand that she is really in love with me.
“What does the American Dream mean to you, Jordan?”
“It is the movement into the upper classes along the social ladder of success. I am a champion, for example. My dream is the reality. Yet I don’t feel like I am living in the dream. I have an inner void that is currently being filled with a new feeling of connection with you. I am inclined to think that you are a part of my dream, Nick. Could it be possible? You make me feel whole within myself and the