Why I saw Jordan Baker before I left

After Gatsby's death the East was haunted for me like that, distorted beyond my eyes' power of correction. So when the blue smoke of brittle leaves was in the air and the wind blew the wet laundry stiff on the line I decided to come back home. There was one thing to be done before I left, and awkward, unpleasant thing that perhaps had better have been let alone. But I wanted to leave things in order and not just trust that obliging and indifferent sea to sweep my refuse away. I saw Jordan Baker and talked over and around what had happened to us together, and what had happened afterward to me, and she lay perfectly still, listening, in a big chair. She was dressed to play golf, and I remember thinking she looked like a good illustration, her chin raised a little jauntily, her hair the color of an autumn leave, her face the same brown tint as the fingerless gloves on her knee. When I had finished she told me without comment that she was engaged to another man. I doubted that, though there were several she could have married at a nod of her head, but I pretended to be surprised. For just a minute I wondered if I wasn't making a mistake, then I thought it all over again quickly and for up to say good-by. Before I left, she said that she did not give a damn about me now and brought up the conversation we had about her driving. She claimed that I was not who she thought I was; therefore making me a bad driver too. Angry, and half in love with her, and tremendously sorry, I turned away.

What I was feeling trying to organize Gatsby's funeral

From the moment I telephoned news of the catastrophe to West Egg Village, every surmise about him, and every practical question, was referred to me. At first I was surprised and confused; then as he lay in his house and didn't move or breathe or speak, hour upon hour, it grew upon me that I was responsible, because no one else was interested--interested, I mean, with that intense personal interest to which every one has some vague right at the end. I had this feeling that I had to get someone for him and he was telling me " Look here, old sport, you've got to get somebody for me. You've got to try hard. I can't go through this alone." I tried my best to get others, contacting Daisy and Meyer Wolfsheim. No one arrived except more police and photographers and newspapermen. I began to have a feeling of defiance, of scornful solidarity between Gatsby and me against them all. It was not until the third day that Gatsby's father, Henry C. Gatz, arrived. Now there were two people to attend Gatsby's funeral. Klipspringer, a friend of Gatsby's, called asking about the funeral. It turns out he was not so interested in the funeral, but rather a pair of shoes he had left at one of the parties. I felt a certain shame for Gatsby---one gentleman to whom I telephoned implied that he had got what he deserved. However, that was my fault, for he was one of those who used to sneer most bitterly at Gatsby on the courage of Gatsby's liquor, and I should have known better than to call him. The morning of the funeral I went up to visit Meyer Wolfsheim since I received no reply about the funeral.  He was Gatsby's closest friend so of course he would want to go to his funeral. To my surprise, Mr. Wolfsheim did not come, saying " Let us learn to show our friendship for a man when he is alive and not after he is dead. After that, my own rule is to let everything alone. "When the time for the funeral came, no one came. I want Gatsby to know I tried and that I am sorry for failing him.

What I was thinking my first time at Gatsby's party

I thought I would never find him that night. I believe that on the first night I went to Gatsby's house I was one of the few guests who had actually been invited.  Most of the guests were introduced to someone who had known Gatsby and were not actually invited. Sometimes they came and went without having met Gatsby at all. I had been actually invited. A chauffeur in a uniform crossed my lawn early that Saturday morning with a surprisingly formal note from his employer: the honor would be entirely Gatsby's, it said, if I would attend his "little party" that night. He had seen me several times, and had intended to call on me long before, but a peculiar combination of circumstances had prevented it --- signed Jay Gatsby, in a majestic hand. So I accepted his invitation and went over to the party dressed in white flannels. As soon as I arrived I made an attempt to find my host, but the two or three people of whom I asked his whereabouts stared at me in such an amazed way, and denied so vehemently any knowledge of his movements, that I slunk off in the direction of the cocktail table. While walking to the bar, I saw Jordan Baker. We advanced toward each other and she took my hand. We walked through the gardens talking about Gatsby and his parties. They both wanted to meet the host. After looking at the bars and the library, Jordan and I took a seat at a table with a man of about my age and a rowdy little girl. The man turned to me and said I looked familiar. He then asked if I was in the Third Division during the war. We went on talking about the war and how he had just brought a hydroplane. He asked if I would like to join him tomorrow when he tried it out in the morning. A very polite fellow was he. He turned out to be Gatsby himself, the man I had spent the night looking for.

What I was feeling about Miss Jordan Baker

I met Miss Baker when I went over to the Buchanan's house for dinner.  I enjoyed looking at her. She was a slender, small-breasted girl, with an erect carriage, which she accentuated by throwing her body backward at the shoulders like a young cadet. Her gray sun-strained eyes looked back at me with polite reciprocal curiosity out of a wan, charming, discontented face. It occurred to me now that I had seen her, or a picture of her, somewhere before.  We did not talk much at the dinner, but at ten o'clock she claimed it was time for her to go to bed. Daisy explained that she was going to play in a tournament the next day. I then realized that she was Jordan Baker, the professional golfer. We exchanged our goodbyes before she left for the night. Daisy jokingly said that she was going to arrange their marriage and that she was going to accidentally lock us in the linen closest and push us out to sea in a boat.  I am not going to lie I was not totally opposed to the idea because I was attracted to her. Once she went upstairs to bed, Tom and Daisy told me more about her. She was from Louisville and her only family member was a very old aunt who was not doing too well.  Daisy said Jordan was going to be spending a lot weekends in East Egg and that she spend sometime with me. I am excited for to get to spend sometime with her and get to know more about her.

What I was thinking at dinner with Daisy, Jordan, and Tom

 I went over to East Egg to have dinner with Tom and Daisy Buchanan. Tom and I met in college and Daisy is my second cousin once removed.  Tom grew up in a very wealthy family and lives in a Georgian Colonial mansion overlooking the bay.  Upon arriving, Tom was waiting at the door. He had changed since his New Heaven years. He now looks even stronger and and more arrogant than he did in his college football days. We were in the same senior society, and while we were never intimate I always had the impression that he approved of me and wanted me to like him with some harsh, defiant wistfulness of his own. After our little reunion, Tom led me through the house and into the white room where Daisy and Jordan Baker were sitting. Daisy was pleased to see him and we talked for a little while until one of the servants told us dinner was ready. We had dinner on the porch with the sunset in the background. During the dinner, the telephone rang. The butler left the porch to answer the phone. When the butler came back, he murmured something close to Tom's ear. Tom frowned as he was listening and removed himself from the table without a word. After sometime, Daisy threw her napkin on the table and went inside to get Tom, leaving me with Miss Baker. During our one on one, I tried to make conversation with her, but she kept telling me she was trying to hear what was happening. I was unaware of what was going on and she seemed surprised that I did not know.  She informed me that Tom has a woman in New York. When Daisy returned with Tom she tried to play it off saying she was looking outside at the beautiful scenery. The telephone rang again. Daisy shook her head at Tom. In that moment, I was trying to make sense of it all and think of what Daisy and Tom were thinking. Miss Baker was too. Even though she seemed to know all about their relationship, she seemed puzzled too.After dinner,  I was able to talk to Daisy alone and tried to take her mind off it, asking her about her daughter. I could tell she had a hard time with all that was going on. I felt bad that I had not tried to contact her sooner, so I could have been there for her.  As I drove away that night, I was confused and a little disgusted. The fact that Tom had another women was not surprising, but the fact that Daisy had no intention of leaving him made me feel a little uneasy.

Why I do not judge others

My father gave me some good advice: never to judge someone. We all have different standards of what is right and what is wrong; therefore, we should not compare each other to others or ourselves. If we all did such a thing, we would fail to understand each other and miss out on what makes that person unique and special. The world would be a boring place. We would only interact with those who look like us, think like us, and have the same lifestyle as us. We would not be open to different people and different cultures. There would be more hate, more discrimination, and more violence. I ask of you to have an open mind and accept those who are different. If you give them a change, I bet you will find that you are not so different, that there is something you both have in common. For example, I live in West Egg in a smaller house surrounded by people of great wealth.  One would think I would be looked down upon or out casted from their social events because I am not at the same importance or I do not meet their first class standard. Rather, I am invited to attend such events and treated fairly. One of my neighbors, Gatsby, is known for having crazy parties. At these parties, I had the chance to get to experience his lifestyle and see is view on life.  We connect on a personal level because we both served in the military and just so happened to be on duty at the same spot. We formed a friendship and he has been one of my closest friends in this life. I want to thank my dad for giving me this advice, which has led me to get to know some of the most fascinating people.