Post by gatsby oscar tanner on Aug 20, 2012 17:27:00 GMT -5
i opened it to find it staring in my face
Gatsby stood very still and listened to every word she said carefully, he wondered if she knew how easily she could make his heart crumble? He look the smallest step towards her, wanting her to hug him, hold him, tell him it didn’t matter anymore and he could be who he was and be who she wanted him to be simultaneously and never the twain shall meet nor contradict one another. Gatsby wanted, more than anything to say, “But I’m not just a father, I’m a rock star, too.” But he realised how stupid and naïve and big headed that would make him sound so he sank his teeth into his bottom lip.
Sally was right. Change was good. Rosie embodied everything about change, about growth, personal development – she was a symbol of everything Gatsby needed to be. He was a part of her. Why couldn’t he follow by her example? Gatsby wondered if he had been nearly that excellent when he was a child. “What is her favourite song?” Gatsby asked softly before Sally had finished speaking. His eyes widened with hurt when Sally told him that he had walked away to be the same as he was. It hurt because it was true. “I never really managed to step up…” Gatsby admitted, bowing his head and looking down at his dirty shoes again.
Gatsby looked up at her with eyes that he hoped held the shame that she was looking for. “Do you even remotely understand what I’m getting at?” She asked him. Gatsby nodded his head rather frantically, as if he was a child who wanted to prove to his teacher that he wasn’t as stupid as his test results had indicated. “I want to try harder.” Gatsby enthused, his eyes shining with his new sense of purpose, “I want another chance.” He added, leaning towards her ever so slightly and taking her hand, “Please, Sally, please give me a chance to fix this.” Gatsby asked.
He had had so many chances but he was hoping for one more. Maybe this time he would not fuck up his chance the first whiff of an after party. Maybe this time he could control himself. Maybe, Gatsby could not believe that he was thinking this about his own daughter, but maybe now that Rosie was more interesting, Gatsby would find her more engaging and would be more motivated to try. He looked at the woman – he supposed Sally was a woman now, where as he was still a boy – with reverence and affection. He had loved this woman for so long that he hardly knew what it was like to not love her. He had taken her for granted so many times, but not this time, not if he could help it.