The Gay Gatsby

Chapter 4: Cha and the Neutral Milk Hotel Cult

Chapter 4: Cha and the Neutral Milk Hotel Cult

"There is no confusion like the confusion of a simple mind..."

       - F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

Chance

As Callaway and I finally reached my place, I was relieved.

Sure, I hadn't have to live through the endless stream of insults and snarky remarks as I had predicted, but the silence brought on by Callaway listening to music while he, as he had said, " thoroughly ignored" me, was almost worse than the awaited rude comments about my face or whatever subject he decided he wanted to mock.

The few times I had tried to make conversation, Callaway had intently frowned and squinted his eyes at me from under his red beanie, and then continued to be silent.

The only times I got a few words out of him were when I had asked him what music he was listening to. Even then, it was just vague murmurs of "Neutral Milk Hotel", "MGMT" and "The Wombats".

Like what the hell is a "Neutral Milk Hotel"?

I asked Callaway this and I was actually capable of gaining a smile and a few extra words, but other than that small achievement, the rest of the 15-minute walk was silent.

As I lead Callaway through the door of my apartment, I checked my phone to verify if I had any messages. I had 3 missed calls, but I decided I would call back later.

As I was scrolling through my phone, I could practically feel Callaway's judgment coming off, not in ripples, but in tidal waves.

I knew that my house wasn't very much, but I did only live with my dad, if you weren't counting the pet fish we have.

My house consisted of a one-floor apartment, with 4 rooms and a bathroom. The rooms included; a crowded living room to the left of the main entrance with a medium sized TV, a worn couch, and a treadmill found in a garage sale; a kitchen to the right of the main entrance with all of the significant necessities; my rather small room, located at the end of the hallway between the kitchen and the living room; and lastly, my dad's room, which was about the same size as my room was and could be found across from the bathroom.

I showed all of this to Callaway and we then made our way to kitchen. I led him to the little round table in the middle of the room. Callaway took the spot closest to the window at the back of the room, while I took the spot closest to the entrance.

While we got our supplies from our bags, Callaway took another look around and spoke an uncertain "It's...quaint."

Which was essentially code for " Your house is disappointing but I don't want to offend you so I'll call it cute".

I voiced this thought to Callaway but he just shrugged and said, " Your feelings and emotions never terminated my insults before, so why do you think I would restrain from doing so now?"

I suppose he was right, but I was not going to admit defeat.

" Do you always talk like you're reciting random words from a dictionary, Cal?" I retorted.

With this remark, Callaway looked at me oddly from across the table.

" What?" he said, seeming sincerely confused.

" It's just you, uh, use really weird and fancy sounding wor-"

" No, I meant why did you call me 'Cal'?" Callaway spoke impatiently.

I looked at him, feeling a little at loss for words.

" Because Callaway's kinda a mouthful and every time I hear it, it just makes me think of golf?" I spoke as if asking a question, because I didn't know what he wanted me to say. " Do you not like it?"