Golden Tears
The rain pounded against the window relentlessly, as if it was trying seep in and drown my spirit. The ominous atmosphere of the heavy rain clouds pressed down on me, forcing me further into a depressive slump. My golf club leaned against the wall, mocking me. The events of the last few weeks had left me with a broken spirit and spiralling out of control. In fact, now I think about it, it started all right here, exactly six weeks ago…
The sunlight filtered through the leaves of the towering oak, so only fragments caressed my skin. Despite the amount of sun pouring into the sitting room, it felt dark. Without the jingle of Daisy's harmonious voice and the booming opinionated baritone that often came from Tom, the room felt empty. It had been a few months since they left and each day I felt more alone. Since I had been living with the Buchanan's I never had a moment to myself, yet it wasn't until I was solitary in the quiet loneliness that I realised company is what I thrived on. There was also no more Gatsby which meant no more fabulous, magnificent parties, no more music inexorably exuding from the lively mansion.
I had rented a small house amongst the extravagant mansions of West Egg, I am sure it was a subconscious sentiment to the summer I had spent there. This was an insolent decision as it was a few doors down from where Nick Carraway had spent the summer shedding his naivety and learning the deceptive traits that occurred within my world. Every time I remember the summer we spent together, I regret how our relationship dissipated. It dissolved into nothingness as Nick grew tired of my ways. In a sense I regret lying to him about an engagement. No matter how hard I try to tell myself that it wouldn't have worked, I can never silence the voice inside of me that whispered, "Maybe, just maybe..." But it was too late, I had recently heard that Nick had gotten married to his childhood sweetheart and was blissfully in love. I didn't care; he fell short of my standards. My main criteria remained unfulfilled as he struggled to pay the measly rent he owed each month. How could I upkeep my elegant lifestyle if I had to support Nick because of the meagre wage he received as deteriorating bonds salesman? Besides, I had found someone more suited to me, or so I had thought.
The day I met Rowan remains clearly in my mind, as if an artist had painted it there brush stroke by brush stroke, the tracks of the bristles forming a familiar pattern. The sun shone generously on the Country Club that day, the warmth resonated around it. The yellow light overwhelmed the shadows as Rowan Ackerman strode confidently through the door. His chestnut hair sat perfectly upon his head, complimented by the brilliant blue of his eyes. Although his physicality was striking, I couldn't help but stare at the sparkling gold wrapped around his wrist. The tiny crown positioned in the middle of the watch indicated a Rolex; it was love at first sight. This endeavour needed no encouragement as he approached me with a charming smile edging across his tanned face. Pleasantries were exchanged as we gazed into each other's eyes, mine occasionally flitting to his wrist where the magnificent aureate specimen perched. After many a conversation, we discovered the many similarities we had, including the same profession. Rowan was a successful, handsome and incredibly wealthy professional golfer, what more could I possibly want? Our whirlwind romance was spent in elegant restaurants, mingling with social royalty and garnished with exquisite necklaces, earrings and bracelets. It had only been four weeks, yet it felt like I was where I was supposed to be, dripping with gold and on the arm of someone almost as perfect as me.
A couple of weeks after our relationship began, I discovered that Rowan fell short of my expectations. The day this revelation occurred was the Women's New York Championship. I had trained for this tournament for months but it only takes one false move to ruin everything. Unfortunately, I drove the ball directly into the bunker, it wedged itself stubbornly in the sand. One swift movement with the golf club corrected this issue, so now the ball simply rested upon the unstable terrain, ready for a recovery. I had mastered the art of, well, correction. I was so hasty no-one ever noticed. It was a harmless technique, I am sure everyone did it. I adjusted my yellow cap, fiddled with my tight-knit vest and continued like nothing had occurred. I was unaware that Rowan had been closely watching and that his morality would get the better of him. His confrontation was filled with anger, who knew that he was such a goody two shoes?
"Jordan, you have to tell someone about what you did, it's not fair to cheat like that!" He lectured.
"Listen Rowan, it's not a big deal, life isn't fair, so what? Plus, people do it all the time, what is your problem?" I tried to grab his hand, as if to diffuse the argument. He quickly recoiled as if he had touched fire.
"No Jordan, I am not going to pretend I'm okay with this! No, I am sorry but it's over."
With one last pitiful look he left and hot tears began to force themselves down my face. I didn't know why I was crying, it wasn't the prospect of losing Rowan or the fact that someone had caught me cheating. I believe it was the injustice of the situation, how dare he leave me? Nick wouldn't… and there it was the real reason my eyes had flowed with rivers of salt water. If I hadn't lied to him about an engagement, he would still be here. Accepting me for, well I wouldn't call them flaws, my quirks. I clambered into the car, turning on the ignition while simultaneously trying to dry the tears of regret from my now blotchy face. I revved the engine menacingly and spun the wheels sending dust flying into the air. Now began the long drive back to West Egg, through the even more depressing valley of monotonous grey. I closed my eyes for a brief second in order to put a stop to the relentless tears, only to open them to catch a glimpse of a speeding blue contortion of metal hurtling towards me. The impact was agonizing as my neck ricocheted; stretching muscles like elastic bands only to have them withdraw immediately. The car tumbled repeatedly, hurling me around like a rag doll. I landed with my leg wedged between the steering wheel and the imploded windscreen. The incessant throbbing of my wrist indicated something sinister had occurred. Just as I thought I had finished fairly unscathed, another careless driver failed to stop and sent my car spinning again. This time I felt the trapped leg snap as the bone protruded through my skin with excruciating precision allowing passage for my hot blood to fill the cavity of the car. I drifted in and out of consciousness, squinting into the distance to see the yellow spectacles of the omni-present and horrendous billboard that I often shot a scathing glare. With that last sentiment, my eyelids felt heavy and forced me into a quiet slumber.
So here I sit, two weeks later, freshly released from hospital. The thunder has started as if to make my headache more unbearable. I have been told that I will never be able to play golf again, my leg is contorted and ruined which is in similar shape to my spirit. My wrist also betrayed me, my tool, my livelihood gone, never again will I be able to swing a golf club. Well, I suppose after something like this happens, an epiphany should happen right? Not in my story. I may be miserable at the present moment, but why should I change the way I see things when it has worked perfectly for the last twenty-three years? I will find another wealthy, Rolex wearing, striking man who will praise me for my dastardly ways and provide me with an excellent social life and a multiplicity of jewellery. Why would I want to live in the past with Nick and Rowan, when I can see an excellent future just on the horizon with a beautiful golden sunset?