Page 109 of The Great Disillusionment of Nick and Jay

Daisy removed the final safe and set off for her freedom, taking after our grandma. Inside just like I’d hoped was the $15,000 we so sorely needed.

With the money Jay had taken from his father’s safe, Daisy and Jay reassembled the $30,000 Gatsby and Buchanan had conspired to obtain and redistributed it among the Blue House boys. Jay sent a mass of letters to every prominent paper in New York, including theManhattan QuarterlyandThe Saturday Evening Post, outlining Tom Buchanan’s crimes. He tipped off local authorities on where to find more proof of Buchanan’s true intentions at Pierre’s tenement. That way, his prejudiced aims would be clear. There would be no more pretending to be a charitable man, and everyone would know who he was.

And so, our road to Greenwood was long and full of stops but paved in victory, nonetheless. We returned to rebuild, with allthe money we earned from our time in Harlem. And we found that because of the work of its remaining residents, half the place had already sprouted anew!

I took a horse to Isaiah’s home in the morning, down the old road I knew so well. I stepped down just beneath a tree, brushed dust from my jacket, and saw him as he emerged from his home and went to slide into the back of a black Model T. I watched through the window as he laughed softly at something the driver said. His smile hadn’t changed, though time had added weariness to his eyes. He glanced around, not seeing me, then the car took off.

I froze where I stood, gripping the reins and watching him go. I thought of calling his name, jumping out, making a big scene for the rearview mirror, but something stopped me.

He didn’t look like someone carrying the weight of old memory. He didn’t look like someone waiting on his friend to come back. He moved easy and sure, like someone going to work, keeping track of the niceties, moving on with life.

The departing car left an ache in my chest. It spread to my fingers and toes and rooted me in place for a while. And with it came a dull acceptance. Life would keep moving. Our story would take up space in a corner of history’s library.

I took in the crisp morning air, my breath shaky in my ears, and looked to the sky, feeling thankful for my present.

We’d outgrown each other separately. But at least now I had someone who wouldn’t push me away when I kissed them.

I left Isaiah’s and made my way over to my old house. Theliving room had remained largely untouched. Things were kicked over, some glass was broken, but after the invasion, the house remained.

Standing there between the kitchen table and the living room, I realized I could sit in the ashes and feel sad about my past or help light a new fire, and I had the freedom to decide which.

I looked around at the remnants, the shadows of what had been. And I realized starting over was about more than just rebuilding a house. It was about rebuilding a life—and maybe this time, I wouldn’t have to do it alone.

Jay had been with me through it all. No matter how much we’d pushed each other away, Jay was there, unwavering. Even when we were worlds apart, I could feel him in my bones. There was a new kind of stability in that. He wasn’t a piece of the past I needed to walk away from. He was someone I could count on.

Some days, I wanted no more memories, only static where my memory should be. Some days, my memories were all that soothed me.

Pa told me once you couldn’t cry no more after twelve, that you had to be a man. But at eighteen I made my own decisions about what it means to be a man!

I cried laughing when I thought about Jordan’s off-the-cuff jokes! And with joyful remembrance when I thought of Zihan’s loyalty. I cried happily when I heard my mother’s singing voice faintly down a tunnel in my memory. It would always be there.

I cried for the place I’d left, for the ones I meant to say goodbye to, and the ones meant to be revisited. Auntie’s cooking,Uncle’s sure-footed calm, Mr. Wallace’s wise smile, Mr. Kirby’s endurance—they all lingered in my chest. New York was temporary, but I was at peace with my memories. The smell of the Wash ’N’ Fold flew through my nostrils like a lavender-scented wind. The music of The Green Light rattled the walls of my brain. I held those moments like sand escaping through my fingers, their minerals sticking to my skin like crystalline glitter.

Now, when I hear a mail train whistle in the distance, it reminds me life goes on. And when I stand in the sun, I love the way that heat beats on me and browns my skin. I am proud of where I came from! Proud to be back, and making my own decisions, and proud of the life I have with Jay. A life that consists of giving whatever I earn back to the cities that shape me, and, in turn, shaping cities entirely new.

Daisy, alongside Jay and me, gets her hands dirty in the rubble. She isn’t the kind of woman to fade into the background, nor to leave a pile of dust where there was hope of rebuilding something beautiful. She’d help map out stronger foundations for our homes, design new businesses to fill the streets. And on the days when Jay and I feel the weight of what we’d lost, the possibility we’d lose more, Daisy would keep us focused on the future.

“Just keep building,” she’d say, her eyes bright with determination. “Build it better!” she’d croon, as she lay down the new bricks of our world.

The new Greenwood would be even more prepared for an attack! We’d build our houses stronger, our businesses bigger, our hospitals with more rooms. We’d build hotels for touristsand parks for neighborhoods of kids! How many foreigners could we gather here in one hundred years? How much color and noise could fill our streets?

Perhaps a mob would come for us again and kill me for real next time. And so be it! I do not fear death. It would stretch the bounds of my body so far that I could live in every country at once. There’d be much to look forward to, even after the ending! Like saying hello to the folks I lost!

We’ll be the stars that salt the night with light, the dogwood shedding petals in a brutal hurricane. Our tears will wet the earth like rain in the fall, when it’s time for a season to start anew.