What I was feeling... when George had me trapped

What I was feeling when George had me trapped...

    

    I’ve never been happy here in this little flat above the repair shop. However, as I found myself in our shabby bedroom that evening, I felt differently then I ever have before. I was scared. The door was locked and my limp frame was crumbled and frail on the cold bedroom floor. My body ached from the bruises that had resulted from the numerous beatings I’d received throughout the past couple of days. I’d never seen George like this. The way he choked me and screamed in my face is unlike anything I’d ever experienced. I’m not new to violence from men. I’m used to it and I can take care of myself. Besides, it’s often times just their way of showing affection, and I should be grateful for that. However, the look that George had in his eyes was something I’ve never witnessed in any man before. Even Tom. The crazed expression that played across my husband’s features was truly the most terrifying thing I’d ever witnessed.

    It’s ironic. I’d prayed for countless nights for George to get up and do something. Especially something for me. It didn’t have to be huge. My expectations were rock bottom, yet he couldn’t even meet those. I wished desperately that he would show some passion and effort within his actions. However, I never would’ve expected this. George was hardly ever angry. The worst I’d seen from him was perhaps a bit of coldness after a rude customer or a hint of frustration in his voice when he couldn’t get a car to start. But the feeling I had when he slammed me against the windowsill and said those spine-chilling words about how God sees everything.

    I no longer was wondering about whether or not George knew or ever would know about the affair. It was very clear now that he did. Now, all I had left to wonder was what he was going to do with me now.

Most Affectionately,

Myrtle

What I was feeling... when Tom hit me

What I was feeling when Tom hit me...

    The feeling I felt when Tom hit me is one of the most horrible things I’ve ever felt. I wish I could say it was the first time I felt that way, but it’s happened before. The familiar sting from his blow lingered on my skin. It was amazing how ironic the situation was. The most recent incident was at my party in Tom and I’s apartment. It’s almost comical how his touch made me feel like I was floating off the ground when we were alone together, but how only minutes later, that same touch shattered my heart, broke my nose, and left me a bruised, bleeding, crying mess.

    One word. It only took one word for him to hit me. A name: Daisy. That was one rule that was made very clear from the beginning of our “relationship” (if one would call it that) and had been reinforced ever since. I was never to speak of her. I could never fully grasp the intention. Was it from a place of love to protect her from my criticisms? Or perhaps it stemmed from a place of shame as he was doing things with me that he should really only be doing with his wife. Or maybe… just maybe… he was so infatuated with me, that he couldn’t bear to think about another woman. That had to be it. It was because he loves me. It was for the same reason that he struck me that night in front of everyone. It was my fault anyway. It was always my fault. Tom doesn’t want to hurt me. He only does it because he cares about me. The more I thought about it, I realized just how unjustified my actions were. He never made a comment about me cheating on George, he always made sure I was comfortable, and he had bought me so many things. I had no reason to treat him the way I did.

    I’ve thought about this moment a lot, and it all makes sense now. Despite what Catherine says, Tom loves me. I know he does. So when I was screaming Daisy name, he must’ve been thinking about her. He wanted to hit her, not me. The same goes all the other times he’s laid a hand on me. It’s just his way of showing love. I’m so foolish to have not realized that sooner. I really should apologize to him for my horrible actions.

Most Affectionately,

-Myrtle

What I was thinking... when I threw the party

  What I was thinking when I threw the party...

  “Another party Myrtle? Again?”

    That’s what my sister Catherine asked me when I phoned her up to come over since Tom was in town. I’m sure it’s what a lot of you are wondering as well. I’ve always been drawn to the extravagant. Part of it is just my own personal preferences, but I also think that my desire for embellishment and excessiveness was only made stronger when I realized I couldn’t have them while married to George. I longed to be a woman, frequently lusted after, and admired for her wealth, beauty and parties. But with George, I was simply Myrtle Wilson: The car mechanic’s wife. I was hardly known. Half the time I felt as if I were just shoved up in that damn apartment flat above the shop. I craved excitement, passion, lust, and merriment, so when Tom showed up with his friend, I was anxious to show them a good time.

    I can’t remember Tom’s friend’s name. Nate? Nick? Noah? Well, it was something along those lines. He wasn’t much fun at first though. I remember that. I invited my sister Catherine over to hopefully ‘loosen him up’ a bit, but by the time she arrived, he was no longer of interest to me. I also invited the McKees from downstairs to liven up the joint. Not long after they arrived though, Tom and I snuck away.

    By the time the evening finally ended, the place was a mess, and everyone was passed out except for Nick and Mr. McKee, who I assume left. Though there was a small altercation with Tom, which is completely my fault, the night was wonderful. It was filled with drinking and wild stories and laughter and love. Tom had once again proven his affections for me, but I knew that almost immediately after he left, I’d be longing for him once again. Some people call me recklessly spontaneous and irresponsible. Many have asked me what the hell I was thinking causing that much commotion at that time of night. But I know exactly what I was thinking. I throw these parties because nights like these are previews into my future. The life of wealth and happiness I’ll share with Tom where we’re wild and free. These aid the overwhelming hunger I feel for us to both get away and begin our new life. I’ll finally be having the parties I’ve always wanted, living with the man I’ve always dreamed of, and living the lifestyle I’ve always longed for. For now, I’ll just settle for these little nights of heaven.

Most affectionately,

-Myrtle

What I was thinking... when I asked Tom to buy me a dog

What I was thinking when I asked Tom to buy me a dog...

        

       Love. It’s such a strange word. The meaning has been so blurred and confused within my life that I’m not quite sure that I even know what it means anymore. At one point I thought I loved George. I know I love Tom. But… I don’t know if Tom loves Daisy. His affections for me are obvious. I mean he got us a secret flat to live in together and buys a train ticket to visit me and so much more… but he always goes back. I try to hammer it into my head that he doesn’t love Daisy, and that he only loves me. However, my subconscious sneaks in every time, whispering to me, “But Myrtle… if he truly didn’t love her. Then he’d leave her. In fact, he would’ve left her long ago. But he hasn’t.”

       I hate these thoughts. I have them far more often than I’d like to. I wish I could push them aside, but they’re right. The more I think about it, the more obvious it becomes. I’ve never been allowed to visit him. He only comes to visit me. He’s told me before never to mention Daisy. Occasionally I have out of anger or spite or even pure curiosity, but it never ends well. Some people find it random that I had him buy me a dog. As pathetic as it sounds, sometimes I need little reminders that’s even though he’s still married to Daisy, he loves me. The little investments he makes are the only things that keep my doubt from overtaking me. The apartment, the dog, the countless other gifts he’s bought me. It’s not that he’s buying my love… it’s just that I occasionally need a small investment as a physical reminder of his love. Is that really so bad?

Most affectionately,

-Myrtle

Why I... had an affair with Tom

Why I had an affair with Tom...

I’m not a horrible person. Really, I’m not. Or at least I don’t like to think so. George was never what I needed nor wanted, and he never could be. I’ve known for years now. Catherine insists I was just smitten with him in the beginning, but she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. I told everyone about how much I truly detested the man in which I was married to while we were at the party in Tom and I’s apartment. People only judged me because they didn’t understand. George had tricked me into marrying him. It’s true. He led me on to believe he was so much more than he was. Or, at least, that’s how I remember. In any case he should’ve known what I wanted. I remember I said to our guests, “‘I married him because I thought he was a gentleman. I thought he knew something about breeding, but he wasn’t fit to lick my shoe.” The day we were wed, I found out that he had borrowed a suit from his friend. He couldn’t even afford buy his own. How utterly pitiful.

But Tom… well Tom was everything I’d ever dreamed of for a husband as a little girl. Wealthy, respected, strong. He was everything that George could never give me, and that’s why I had the affair with him. It made me giggle whenever I watched George cower under Tom’s commanding stare when he’d visit the shop. The two men were so different, but it was clear to me which one I truly belonged with. I know I’m still married to George, but how much meaning does that word even hold? I may legally be his wife, but I know I don’t love him as a wife should. And that’s not my fault. He doesn’t give me that spark of excitement and risk that I feel when Tom whisks me away and holds me in his arms.

I know he’ll leave Daisy sooner or later, and then I’ll be able to leave George. And we’ll run away from this godforsaken town and start our new life; free of wives that bicker over tea, and away from husbands that always reek of oil and gasoline. We’re going to be happy, Tom and I. Real soon.

Most affectionately,

-Myrtle

Why I... ran out in front of the car

Why I ran out in front of the car...

Many have wondered why I ran out in front of the car that fateful night. You see, there were countless individuals at my funeral that misunderstood my intention. I wasn’t trying to end my life, despite my unfortunate situation which would’ve justified said actions. My husband (or really, my sad excuse for a husband) George had me locked up in our flat above the garage. He’d finally become aware of the affair. Hmph… Took him long enough. He’d lost his top after he discovered the dog collar Tom had bought. I remember the aching pain I felt when he hit me, and the feeling of anger that bubbled within me when he’d saunter downstairs to the shop and nonchalantly tell his customers about how he was going to “take me away and go west” as if he really cared about me… as if he really loved me. George would never fulfill the expectations and dreams of the “perfect husband” that I’d stirred up as a child. I knew that when I married him. But Tom… my Tom… he would. He would take care of me. I just needed to get him away from Daisy.

              These hopes helped cloud the pain that came with each blow from George. He had grabbed me harshly, with one hand on my neck and one square on my jaw and had dragged me to the window. His eyes were fixed on the blue chipping paint that made up Dr. T.J. Eckleberg’s gaze as he screamed at me, “God knows what you’ve been doing, everything you’ve been doing. You may fool me but you can’t fool God!” But my gaze was fixed on something else: a passing car, with Tom, my Tom in the driver’s seat. It wasn’t his normal blue automobile… but it was him that sped down the road. As George screamed that God would have his wrath, I instead thanked God for the sign of hope he had given me. If I could just hold on until evening, Tom would return and I could get out of this god-awful hell.

              After another spew of endless accusations and a new array of bruises, I heard the roar of a car engine from a few miles away. I was able to break free of George’s grip and run outside to meet the approaching headlights. My salvation was approaching and growing brighter and brighter with every passing moment. I called for Tom… my Tom as my feet met with the cold pavement beneath my stride. The chilled air whipped against my battered skin, and the hum of the motor only grew louder. I remember watching Dr. Eckleberg’s eyes in those final moments… staring at me as I starred at Daisy, an she stared back at me. She was white knuckling the wheel with a spine-chilling look of fear, desperation, and heartbreak that contrasted her usually beautiful expression. Dr. Eckleberg was unmoving and still as he observed my last moments. I too was stuck in place as I realized that my calls for Tom were falling upon the wrong ears. Everything around me, including myself, was frozen… except for Daisy. She didn’t stop. And that’s when I felt the ripping pain in my chest before everything was gone.

Most Affectionately,

-Myrtle