Painting a Little, Things for Myself Only

"NO ENTRY"

The day that  I learned Gatsby trusted me above anyone else, was a crisp October day, when colorful leaves were falling to the ground like confetti, to mark the ending of the three month long celebration that is known to us as summer.  

We had gotten a late start that morning, due to the fact that neither of us wanted to leave the warm embrace of the other, and venture out of bed into the chilly morning air. But, at around ten o'clock we decided that we'd best get out of bed before we wasted our Sunday away.

Throughout our brunch of fried eggs, sausage, and buttered toast, Gatsby was oddly quiet. A thoughtful kind of quiet, like he was taking something into serious consideration. But what, I did not know. I was about to ask him with a curious smile what he was thinking about, but he suddenly threw down the napkin he was fidgeting with onto the table and stood up. 

"Come with me, Nick, I'd like to show you something." He flashed me his one-of-a-kind smile. 

"Oh, okay," I said, mouth still full of toast as I stood up and brushed the crumbs off of my, or actually, Gatsby's borrowed shirt. He took my hand and guided me up a flight of stairs and down several hallways until we reached a door marked "NO ENTRY." I had seen this door before and figured it was simply a collection of personal items that he didn't want anyone to be fooling around with. But as I watched him shift nervously on his feet in front of the door, I started to think there must be something drastically more important being kept secret and locked behind it. 

I looked at him carefully, patiently waiting for him to do or say something, anything. After a minute or so, he took up my other hand as well, and looking anywhere but my face he said, "You remember that little spiel I gave you, on the way to lunch with Wolfsheim?" 

"Why, yes I believe I do."

"Well, old sport, not all of the story was from my imagination only."

"Oh?" At this point I was both confused and intrigued, which part of the story could he possibly mean? Gatsby must have read these thoughts on my face when he finally looked at me, because he laughed gently. He released one of my hands and dug into his  pants pocket, out of which he pulled a small silver key. Now, he released my other hand as well and took a hesitant step towards the door, as if it would bite him if he weren't careful enough. He didn't open it right away, in fact I had the impression that he was going to change his mind and I would be left forever wondering about the mystery behind the "NO ENTRY" door. 

Finally, though, he took the key up, inserted it into the lock and turned it, all at a snails pace.  After taking a deep breath, he turned the silver knob in his nervous  hands and pushed the door open. Stepping aside, he gestured for me to enter the room first. My heard was beating fast with suspense as I finally stepped inside the forbidden room. 

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Writers Note: Sorry this was so short! I haven't written fiction in forever, and that alone took me awhile. More to the story will come very soon!