The Great Gatsby-Personal Narrative

Leaning on the black knotted tree a couple yards from the edge of my property, I had a spectacular view of Gatsby’s front lawn. His dark green, perfectly cut lawn stretched out for what looked like acres, with his light grey driveway slicing it in half. Parked there was his shiny black Rolls-Royce. Every Wednesday afternoon, a group of men came to his house to clean it, so that its polished black exterior shone. His car was a frequent sight on weekends, leaving and returning to his house with more and more guests, all with the same aim of partying, gossiping, and drinking. On one weekend in the beginning of July, I decided to attend another of Gatsby’s parties. He had informed me when we’d gone to Coney Island the previous Tuesday night, that I was welcome to come to any one of his parties and needed no formal invitation. As I crossed into his garden that weekend, I saw the familiar sight of clusters of men and women leaning in to each other to whisper secrets and laughing as they had another drink. I spotted Jordan across the lawn, looking beautiful in a long, black dress, and she signaled to me to join her. She was with a man who appeared to be in his late thirties, and his wife, a woman in a pale blue dress who looked around the same age as her husband.
“I heard he threw himself in front of a train,” the woman, who was introduced to me as Lily Hornbeam from East Egg, was saying to Jordan as I approached.
“And it was in Times Square!” her husband exclaimed, leaning across the white tablecloth to insert himself in the
conversation.
I knew instantly they had to be discussing Henry L. Palmetto, a frequent guest at Gatsby’s. I had often seen him by the bar, tossing down another drink as he flirted with every woman who passed by.
Leaning in, Lily lowered her voice to a whisper. “It was because his wife wanted a divorce.”
She said the word darkly, as if to utter it aloud was a sin almost as great as his suicidal act. Her green eyes flashed with secrecy as she waited for our reaction.
I felt a surge of excitement and I could tell Jordan and Mr. Hornbeam did to. We were drawn in, enthralled by this source of secrets. As an honest person, I am shocked and a little repulsed whenever I hear an outright lie, but I am not one to judge and this was a rumor. Besides, Jordan’s focused grey eyes and captivated expression drew me into the circle of wonder and secrecy.
A single note of a violin broke our gossip, and we turned to see the musicians start to play. Jordan lead me away and into the center of the flowering garden, where she laid her head on my shoulder as we began to sway to the song.