Essay #6b
Six months later, upon their return from Europe, Tom and Daisy debarked from the luxury liner in New York City. Tom's face was more lined now, and it was obvious that what had happened at Long Island had taken a toll on him. He seemed wary, eyeing the other people on the docks suspiciously. Daisy, standing beside him, looked resigned. I noticed how close Tom held her to him, as if he were daring anyone to try and take her away from him. I hated Tom – it was his fault Gatsby had died – but I rather pitied Daisy. I started to go forward to meet them, and then stopped. I didn't want to see Tom. Maybe I'd catch Daisy alone later and find out how her trip had been. As I watched Tom called a cab, and I climbed into my car and followed. I was careful to keep at least one car between them and me the whole time. I wanted to find out where they were staying, because I had heard that they'd sold their house in West Egg. The two of them were dropped off at a garage – not the one Wilson used to run – and Tom came out with their old blue car. Daisy got in, and it occurred to me suddenly that they hadn't said a word to each other the whole time. Tom swung the car onto the road and tore off, gravel snapping off of the wheels. I continued to follow.
After driving about fifteen miles, Tom pulled up in front of a blue house. He stopped the car, and then turned to Daisy. "You'll be staying here with my sisters for a while. I have to...go away, and it's better if you don't come."
Daisy pouted. "You should take me with you." She complained. "I don't see why..."
"Enough." Tom snapped. "Get out of the car. You're staying here and that's final." Daisy got up and left, scowling, without a goodbye. As Tom watched her get into the house a strange expression crossed his face. As soon as she had gone into the door he tore away at top speed. By now I was really worried about him so I continued to follow him. He drove to the river, near the old wooden bridge, and stopped the car. He walked to the middle of the bridge and leaned against the rail. For a few minutes he just gazed into the water. "So." He said finally. "So I'm not a good enough husband for you huh? You ----!" He punched the rail and swore again. I crouched down lower behind the shrub I was using to conceal myself. Tom continued to rant. "I took you to a whole different country to prove to you I was a good husband! And how do you repay me? By moaning about your 'lost love'! Well ----- you. ----- you all." The last was said in a kind of a sob. Tom climbed carefully over the railing and paused for a moment. Too late, I saw what he was about to do.
"NO!" I ran toward him, but he'd already jumped. He hit the water and I froze, shocked. "Tom!" I dove in after him. The water was murky and it was difficult to see – the grit stung my eyes – but after a few seconds I saw him, a darker shape sinking slowly toward the bottom. I grabbed him by his shirt collar and dragged him up onto the shore. I checked for a pulse. There was none. I took a deep breath and began CPR. I must have tried to revive him for fifteen minutes before I finally gave up. I stood up slowly, not taking my eyes off of Tom. "What were you thinking? What on earth were you trying to accomplish?" I hissed at deaf ears. "What was the point? Don't you realize this is going to kill Daisy?"
Tom was a big man, and too heavy for me to lift on my own, so I reluctantly covered the body with my coat and got into the car to go tell Daisy the news.
The funeral was held a few days later. It was much larger than Gatsby's; I guess Tom had more friends. Daisy was still in shock over the double loss – her lover and her husband, both in less than a year. It had been decided that she would stay with me for the time being. As I watched the casket being lowered slowly into the ground I closed my eyes, saying goodbye to an old chapter in my life, and hello to a new one.
Yeah, it's short. If anyone wants, I may lengthen it. But I will definitely not do anything with it unless you review. Now.
spunkiegirl