“Dalloway’s World” by Ben Shelby
Mrs. Dalloway’s mail was brought into her room as it was every other day. She opened the contents as she strolled across her room, thinking of a man she saw on the street earlier. He had the strangest expression she could vividly remember. Was it inquisitive she thought? No, there was a certain understanding behind it that made a question impossible. She thought something similar when she opened a letter from Gatsby, as she had known about his party for a while now, and the invitation was more of a formality. She opened it anyways - there was still something fundamentally charming about receiving letters like this to her. The nice paper and elegant type made Mrs. Dalloway feel that golden exclusivity she loved to experience from time to time - just not so much that the magic of this ceremony faded away. How curious it was that things seemed to be fading from Mrs. Dalloway these days - her relationships lacked the excitement they used to, she missed uncertainty and grew tired of people trying to please her. Something unlikely, she thought, that’s what I need! Septimus felt the exact opposite. He woke up the same morning to the sound of a car passing by his apartment. The sound keenly reminded him of something from his past, and he could feel the pressure of not being able to remember it. It felt like a large object was being pushed through a curtain - no doubt it was there, but the details eluded him. He felt blind and grew frustrated with himself, he knew this sound would bother him for the rest of the day. He leapt out of bed and ran to the window, but as he feared there was nothing to sate his discontent. Focusing to gather himself, he saw a letter that had slipped under his door. He opened Gatsby’s message. Gatsby’s invitation puzzled Septimus, he remembered the short conversation they had about the war, but he did not expect to get a letter from him for any purpose, much less a party. Two strange things in one morning he thought, yes today would be unlike the rest. He had a feeling of apprehension toward Gatsby’s party and the day itself. What he was not uncertain about was that he needed to find the source of that sound before the day’s end.
Clarissa got to the party on time, as she always did for things like this. Best to get the full experience she thought. Clarissa had heard things about Gatsby’s parties, but being to many extravagant showings herself, she had often doubted them. But once she stepped foot into Gatsby’s house all uncertainties she had about him disappeared and the golden feeling came to her. She saw a girl yelling in celebration at the top of the stairs holding a bottle of champagne. The girl was blonde and her face was one of pure ecstacy, specific yet open, and she was celebrating her promotion. The blonde woman’s name was Charlotte and she had just flown in from London for her business venture, this party was a fortuitous circumstance. This party was actually a step above what she was used to, but she was happy to go out of her comfort zone. How inviting all the trinkets and luxuries of Gatsby’s house seemed to her as she stood there beaming, though she couldn’t help but remember her quiet family upbringing in some of the pauses in festivity. For her the contrast was both a testament of her achievement and a source of doubt in herself and the lifestyle she was beginning to assume. She yelled out: “Marry me Gatsby!” in jest but the crowd was happy it up. Her face was crimson, eyebrows raised, and she thought they believed her (she knew she was married at home, but the freedom of expression compelled her). As this woman continued her journey, Clarissa wandered and let the saturation of the party fill her mind with thoughts. What kind of man can host a party like this, when did he learn how to do all of this? She knew that every aspect of her experience was tailored to her, so she wound up feeling secluded and alone - crowds got old after a while.
Septimus arrived later, after worrying his door was unlocked and walking back to his apartment to check. He entered the party and was surrounded by strangers, noise, and all the accoutrements of Gatsby’s unusual manor. Septimus felt the same way he did that day on the street when the world seemed to shrink. All of the environment around him, the talking, the drink service, the dancing, the music, because acidic and concentrated. He thought about that odd sound he heard earlier that day as he wandered outside to get some air. There he saw Gatsby. Septimus could finally latch onto something familiar. Gatsby was talking to a woman who looked as elegant as himself, and like she belonged at the party but didn’t need to be there. Septimus enjoyed their last conversation so he joined in by shaking Gatsby’s hand. “Septimus, good to see you old sport!” Gatsby said, to which Septimus replied, “I didn’t know I looked that old.” “You look fabulous tonight, I hope you’re enjoying yourself,” Gatsby replied endearingly. At this point the woman he was talking to introduced herself: “Pleasure to meet you, I’m Clarissa,” they shook hands and she asked, “How did the two of you meet?” Septimus answered, “Gatsby was in the war just like me, he was a great hero.” Gatsby appeared to take offense to what Septimus said, responding “Oh please you are too modest. Septimus is a true veteran.” Septimus was confused why Gatsby opposed what he said, perhaps he was too forward by talking about the war in public like this, he resolved to stop talking about the subject. Suddenly someone close behind Septimus opened a bottle of champagne and sent the cork flying. He felt a gradual but unstoppable force surrounding his skull, condensing him like a rock at the bottom of the ocean, Gatsby’s words were being spoken into a vacuum and that distinct noise that was so ingrained in Septimus’ mind came back to him - the sound was somewhat amorphous, but there was a distinct ticking, or a putting, ripping sound which held Septimus’ thoughts in place during this moment, like writing a note while falling through the air to your death.
Clarissa watched as Septimus teetered and shook until he moved out of sight back into the crowd. She assumed he was drunk, she herself had not had more than one obligatory glass of champagne upon entrance, so she was dangerously perceptive in this environment. She was no longer rapt with Gatsby’s charm, his positivity did seem genuine but it was common enough to be unremarkable after a while. She no longer had the sense that this was a special experience, everything around her became common and predictable. She wandered until she spilled someone's drink as they were walking around a corner in front of her. “Watch where you walk lady!” the stranger said. Clarissa responded angrily, “Hold onto your drink next time!” The two of them had an argument. Clarissa had a sense of simplicity at this moment, and said her angry words like they were to be inscribed in stone after she said them. After the argument subsided she walked out of the party and walked home. She was angry as she walked out, angry as she turned the corner toward her residence, but as she walked a little longer she was greeted with a sensation of simplicity and uniqueness. The golden feeling was gone but it was replaced with something real, and she smiled as she opened her door.
Ben Shelby is from Los Angeles and in the class of 2024 at the University of Michigan. He has always liked to use writing and art as a way to relax and express himself.
