Gatsby’s Green Light

He looked at the sign.

“Resident permit needed. All vehicles with no permit will be towed.”

Aw, fuck, he thought to himself. He walked to his dark blue Chevrolet, got in, and backed out of the parking spot. Then he went into a nearby parking lot, where this time, the parking space was open to anybody.

He checked the time. She was already here, and he was five minutes late. “Will be there ASAP!” he texted to her.

He checked the car mirror, looking at his face. Not bad, he thought. Well presented, he said. He got out of the car and headed to the restaurant.

I’m outside, she texted.

He went to the front and saw her, dressed in Joseph’s multicolored coat in tight jeans. She didn’t notice he was here, and some thoughts came to his mind.

Is this just a friendly hangout, he thought. Or is there something more? He didn’t know. She had initiated wanting to get drinks, but he was under 21. So it was now a dinner.

He went up, and said hi. Her moon-lit face turned, emotionless, thinking, out of focus but at the same time very present. Hey, she smiled. Let’s go up, she said. She floated up like a ghost into the outdoor balcony, and he followed after her.

“For two?” the waiter asked. Yes, she said. The two sat down in the humid night, boats and yachts in the distance. “Any drinks?” the waiter asked. Vodka, she said. They came back with the vodka, and she offered him a sip. It tasted like nothing.

They both ordered calamari, because he was craving calamari. Why she ordered the same thing, he would never know.

“So, how’s work?” he asked.

A lot of drama, she said. She didn’t know if she wanted to work at the company, but she still hoped for a job offer. The old boss of her department had some sexual harassment issues, she said. In short, all a mess.

“Dam, I don’t think the newsroom part has that type of drama,” he said, prodding the squid around his plate. So was she.

Music began playing over the radio. Oh, she said, mentioning all the artists she recognized and listened to. He didn’t pay attention; he forgot what names she said. But, it was more like they were living on different dimensions.

He would talk about some deep stuff, about wrapping up his internship and moving back to Missouri in two days, about societal pressures, and she would respond about the food. He couldn’t fit the puzzle pieces together.

“So, how do you like this area? You travel downtown much here? Friends?” he asked. Not much, she said. 

“My boyfriend lives down that street.”

He pursed his lips. Looked into the distance. Drank his glass of water like it was a glass of wine, unthinking. Wondered in all their past conversations, why she never brought him up. Realized this cute white girl would of course have someone in her life.

She kept on talking, and he simply nodded. The bill came; they split the bill.

Then she excitedly got up, almost nervously, and asked to get ice cream with him. “Oh” was all he could muster. 

He followed her to the ice cream shop, as she talked all about the town she grew up in, the town they were now walking through. He couldn’t help but notice how cute she was, or that she was shorter than him. Or how nice it was to walk with a stunning girl in the dark, getting ice cream almost as if it was like a date. The sight of an Asian guy and white girl hanging alone, he asked himself, how would other people see that?

But of course, it wasn’t a date.

She picked a flavor, but he couldn’t remember what it was. He only remembered he paid for her ice cream. Thanks, she said cutely. Let’s go to a park, she said.

They walked with ice cream cones in hand along the north shore of Long Island. The Gold Coast, it’s called. A strip of coast where insanely wealthy people live in mansions and hang out in luxurious boats. Where the Great Gatsby was filmed.

“You ever read that book?” he asked. No, she answered. But I know of it.

The night ocean filled the presence, the far-off lights shining their paths of light across the water. She was devouring her ice cream quick; his was melting all over his hand. 

They leaned across a railing looking out at the ocean, which was making him feel moody. He began spilling out all his insecurities, how he struggled with being close to his family, how he felt as an Asian guy in the romance field, how he was thinking of dying young rather than growing old and single.

Yea, I feel you, she said. It’s nice being with someone. 

“Also, to be completely honest, I think you’re cute,” he said. “I know you have a boyfriend, so I won’t do anything about it.”

She looked at him, as he continued talking, not letting her respond. She took her empty cone and began dumping whatever residue of ice cream was left over the railing. It’s wet, she said of the cone.

The waves grew louder, and they looked towards the light shining from across the other side of the bay. 

“Hope,” he said. “That must be what Gatsby thought. So far away, yet so close.”

No idea what you’re talking about, she said, I didn’t read Gatsby.

He turned his face and took a look at her. She was still dumping the residue out her cone, maybe trying to look preoccupied with something. He smiled and laughed inside at how cute she looked doing that, that kind of quirky personality.

He remembered when she first asked for his phone number, when they first hung out, when he decided to text her first. Sure, she has a boyfriend, he thought, but it was nice to feel some interest from someone. After all, it had been a long while.

Hey, she said. Let’s look at the minnows.

They threw the cones away, and walked toward a hole that looked downward at the shallow waters where the ocean met the shore. Small fish were swimming around. Tourists came by to look at it.

They conversed again, each sharing deep parts of their lives with one another. Then, they said their goodbyes.

But he waited at the North Shore for a bit, looking at the far-away lights. He walked into the ocean, toward the lights — and he did not stop.