Jay Gatsby, my close friend and neighbor was a successful bachelor who created an aura of mystery. Gatsby, a man in his mid thirties, died an unexpected death. A car repairman, George Wilson, from the Valley of Ashes, murdered Mr. Gatsby. During the last moments of Mr. Gatsby’s life, he was lying on a mat in his pool. It was the first time he had been in his pool the whole summer. While relaxing on his pool mat, he was shot to death. The scene was described as a “holocaust.” It is unknown what Mr. Wilson’s motive was to murder Mr. Gatsby.
Mr. Gatsby preferred not to share his personal life with the people around him. He once told me that he was from the Middle West and his family was deceased. He said he served in the military during World War One as a dedicated captain. Mr. Gatsby received a medal in the Great War, which says, “Major Jay Gatsby, For Valour Extraordinary.” He told people and myself he was an Oxford man who came back to the United States to pursue an entrepreneurial business. Although Mr. Gatsby never shared his business dealings, he maintained a luxurious lifestyle and was known for his extravagant parties. Gatsby welcomed everyone to his soirées to enjoy his hospitality; that is how we met and we became close ever since. As I was reflecting on his death I thought, “Gatsby turned out all right at the end; it [was] what preyed on Gatsby, what foul dust floated in the wake of his dreams that temporarily closed out my interest in the abortive sorrows and short winded elations of men” (2).
Mr. Gatsby’s funeral was a private service held in a graveyard on the north shore of Long Island, New York. The party was officially over.