Sora Journal

Daisy's Chapter

By Keona N.

For the Expedition "Roaring 20s," focused on The Great Gatsby and the political, social, and economic state of America at the time, I wrote this chapter from the perspective of Daisy Buchanan.

Daisy's Chapter

The night air is thick with the scent of magnolias as I sit by the window of my grand mansion, a glass of champagne in my hand, the bubbles fizzing against the crystal. From my vantage point, I can see the twinkling lights of West Egg, a reminder of the world outside this opulent bubble that Tom and I inhabit. Yet, despite the grandeur, there’s melancholy in my heart, something elusive that I cannot grasp. I look back on my life and my accomplishments throughout the years, and I cannot help but wonder if I had led a fulfilling life.

Back in Louisville, I was the talk of the town. Boys from school, and military officers stationed by the city marveled at my beauty. The girls were envious of my status. Being a young debutante, the world around me had expected such grand things for me; all the adults would ever talk to me about was my future as a wife, having children, and living to serve my husband.

And I thought I had found that in Jay Gatsby.

I remember the first time I laid eyes on Jay Gatsby, his smile like a beacon, its warmth gleaming onto me. It was a sweltering summer day, the air thick with the promise of forbidden desires. He left a mark on my heart that I would never forget, and I reminisced about our days together, in his absence. 

Mischief and laughter filled the air as we adventured the city, Gatsby giving me small, and grand romantic gestures every day.

It was not long before Tom Buchanan had swept into my life. Proper and polished, he promised me security in all things I had dreamed of. His presence filled the void that Gatsby had left, and again, I found myself falling.

He was everything that I had deemed acceptable - wealthy, powerful, and utterly predictable. And so, I made the choice that seemed the safest, trading the allure of Gatsby’s dreams for the security that Tom offered.

Tom's love and his ability to grant my every wish had me over the moon! I found each day with him easy, my heart finally healed and lifted from Gatsby’s hold. 

However, it wasn’t long before I had to deal with the harsh realities of life. Bearing Tom’s child, the days grew lonelier, meanwhile, Tom had been staying late at work every night. Inside this grand house of ours, along with everything I could ever dream of owning, with all the servants and maids ready to follow any order from the snap of my fingers, still, something inside me wept desperately. 

I spent most of my lonely days lazing around our mansion, commanding servers to complete my requests. Other days, I went into the city and passed time by watching movies. I enrolled us into our local country club, but spending time with fellow wives who seemed overjoyed with their lives, offering me help throughout my pregnancy, sickened me to my core. Carrying a child was not the privilege wives throughout my life had promised me, and being a wife was far from meeting my expectations. The world around you promises that a family is the ultimate goal; the thing that makes you complete. but how can that be when your husband is never home? 

Romance, gifts, and safety are all I could ever expect of Tom, but night after night, he spends hours late at work. Once it became a regular occurrence, Tom became sloppy in hiding his shame. Hours after the servants had made dinner, Tom would make his appearance in the house. Tie and hair wrecked, faint lipstick marks throughout his neck, and the faint smell of perfume, I then learned what he had been doing. A philander. My husband.

The first night it happened, it was so vivid. I hugged Tom after he entered the living room, and my nose filled with the citrus and floral notes of what could only be Chanel no. 5. Almost instantly, I was nauseous. My stomach turned painfully, the room spun and I began to swelter. Just as I began to let myself be lost by the tragedy of his betrayal, I knew I refused to let go just yet of what we have created. That night, I swallowed my pride and pretended all was well and happy in the name of love. In the name of status. After Tom went to sleep, I had our maid run a bath for me, lying in the warm, bubbly water as I sobbed inconsolably.

This night was also the first in years in which I yearned for Jay Gatsby and his devotion to me.

The morning after, I was awoken by Tom pecking my face goodbye. My head and eyes throbbing from the mournful tears of last night, I had only one goal for the day: find Jay Gatsby.

I knew that in order to find him, I had to be discreet. Mine and Tom’s servants must not be aware of my search for another man, for I knew that no matter how much we may pay them, disloyalty always paid more. So, I traveled up to the city and paid a visit to a private investigator.

The office of the private investigator was less than pleasant, the wooden walls wretched. The investigator dressed in ragged clothes, suspenders awkwardly resting on his shoulders. He looked at me almost in shock, and slowly eyed me up and down. Despite his skepticism, he accepted my case.

Days later, my maid called me into our kitchen. With the telephone in one hand, she covered the microphone with her other. Upon grabbing it, I was met with the poor private investigator's voice once again. Though he was unpleasant, he handed me the most exhilarating news I have heard in forever, “I found him.” My heart twirled, pounding out from my chest. Jay Gatsby was a fabulously wealthy man, holding weekly parties in his lavish mansion in West Egg. Once again, I was healed, and finally, I could breathe.

How I would see him again, I did not know. Certainly, he could not see me in my pregnant state. Yet, he gave me hope once more.

Although our fate together was uncertain, every day I imagined him. And I knew that we would find a way to be together again.