You and I and Gatsby!

I have found her. My one true love. Her name is M, a girl from Boston who has come here for the summer to work at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The museum's director of security tells me that there are no other employees by the name of M; however, he offers his services as "an unofficial" escort. In addition, he suggests that we take an evening walk around Central Park in order to get to know each other better.

And I met her for the very first time. And liked her as she is!

We pass through the park while conversing about our mutual interests. She tells me how much she loves music and dancing, and I tell her about my passion for jazz and blues and writing. On the way back home, we stop on a quiet street corner where we exchange vows of everlasting devotion.

Though I am still new to this city, I feel as if I have finally felt at home.

And one warm and sunny day when I returned to my apartment; pour a cup of coffee and settle into the sofa with a book. I hear a knock at the door, I open it to find and am amazed to see that M is standing outside. "I came to see what you were reading," she says, smiling warmly. She sits down next to me on the couch.

"What's it called?"

I smiled as she looked down at the book. "It's called 'The Great Gatsby.'"
She nods, but doesn't say anything, so I continue....

"Yes... well..." At the very first place I was hesitating, then I went ahead.

"There was a time when I thought Gatsby's dream would never die."

M looks puzzled.
"But this is the 20th century, right?
And he died in the 1920s."

"No. He didn't die. I think he's still alive. I mean, perhaps I'm wrong, but I don't think so."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because I've seen him. Or someone who looks just like him. At least, that's all I saw. But I was there at night, and it seemed to me that I had only dreamed him up before and been dreaming again."

"Dreamed him up?" M asks.

"Like a character in a story?"

I nod and smiled a bit. I am good at it gal! Making stories that can overwhelm your thoughts. I was happy inside while having this conversation.

"That's exactly what I said. That I'd dreamed him up."

"Are you sure you're not confusing the character with some real person you met?"

"Of course I'm not. No one I ever met could possibly be the man I saw last night. I saw him clearly and distinctly, as clearly as if I were looking at him right now."

"Okay, let's suppose you really did meet someone you knew was dead. How do you explain what happened to his face?"

I shrug.

"I don't know. Maybe he had plastic surgery or something. Perhaps he even died of old age."

"Old age! Gatsby, at twenty-five, was already considered an old man."

"Well, maybe he aged normally. He certainly wasn't young when I first met him. And he looked older than me, anyway."

"And yet you claim to have seen him last night."

"Oh, yes. And I think I'll see him again tonight."

M looks skeptical. Me happy!

"Why would you want to meet a dead man?"

"I'm not sure I do. At any rate, I can't help myself. I keep thinking he might be able to help me. He might know things I need to know."

"Things about what?"

"About my past, mostly. About why I left home and why I ran away from home and all that."

"Why would a ghost from the 1920s have any idea about the problems of a 21st century lad?"

"He might. He may know things that I've forgotten. Things I might have been told but haven't remembered until now. Things I never learned. Or heard."

"Like what?"

"Like the name of my father. Or why my mother abandoned me."

"Your mother abandoned you?" she was like whaaaat! I am so sorry!

"Yes. She took off with another man."

I never saw her again after that."
"Didn't she leave a note?"
"No. I searched everywhere for clues, but couldn't find anything. Not even a fingerprint."

"You mean the police never tracked her down?"
"Not that I know of. They must have tried, though."

"So what happened to you?"

"My aunt and uncle adopted me. They raised me in Massachusetts until I graduated from college and decided to come here. To New York City."

"Why didn't they live in New York themselves?"

"They were from North Carolina originally. They moved to Boston because their daughter had married a man from there, and they wanted to be near him."

"That must have been hard on them."

"Actually, it was pretty easy. It was nice to have a whole new family."

"What about your parents?"

And the conversation goes on. That night I, M and Gatsby were like mingled within a surreal magic realism!

I've written a little stuff since I've been in New York.

"Have you published any?" She asked.

"Not yet, but I'm working on it."
The street lights were going down and two dreamy souls started walking towards nowhere with subtle unknown feelings and care for each other.
And the story continues.....