My Gatsby

The Great Gatsby.

Two mesmerizing eyes in a royal blue background, story that stays with you, a character that deeply touches you, memories that haunts your past.

A classic book most of us have read containing an exciting romance that ends tragically, a great American drama. When I read this book a LOT of years ago I remember finishing the last page and questioning what the hell was all the fuss about. A mentally unstable man has trouble letting go of the past; and ends up screwing up his life even further dedicating all his time, energy, and money to convince this pretty ditzy girl to love him again. In the end, I felt Gatsby got his karma right back where it was deserved; and old sport Nick got a great story from it. I moved on with my life and into other books right away.

Watching the 1974 Coppola classic movie was but a mere strike of luck between laundry being ready to fold and Netlix having it available. Again, a lovely story, a good ending, and a damn handsome actor. Let’s move on to dishes and maybe some Family Guy later. Tonight, an hour after watching the 2013 version of Baz Luhrman, I am transformed.

It was not the special effects, the selection of music, the great acting, or the glass of wine I had before.  

It was that moment. In Nick’s cottage, a dream of cascading white orchids and the constant splatter of a summer rain. That striking moment when Daisy and Gatsby lock eyes. I felt my heart skip a beat with hers, a tremble in the lips and the memories course by.

 “I am certainly glad to see you again”

These words she bravely speaks; I don’t know if my brain is smart enough to come up with or my heart foolish enough to allow. This moment of reencounter, I don’t know if destiny has it in my plans. But pretending life is actually a great novel, and mine were to be a tragedy, I only ask for there to be orchids please.

Gatsby with his lies, Gatsby with his secret past, Gatsby with his childhood, Gatsby with his extravagance, Gatsby with his passion, Gatsby with his love. I tried to refuse my theories and see past it, see nothing but Leonardo DiCaptio playing the role of a sick millionaire; but those flashes would reappear: nights, wine, screaming, and pleading; feeling perfectly safe and completely lost at the same time.

“You can’t repeat the past”

I had to smile and exit the theatre with the other people, wondering if we had all felt the same. If nights were reminiscent and words reinvaded in our brains. Maybe I understand Daisy better now, when she smiled and agreed on returning to the past? or when she hung up the phone and left forever? I am not sure. All I know right now is that if it happens, let there be white orchids.