Ark of the Lost Angels

Misty _{(Credit: Skooksies on DeviantArt)}

This is the 150th regularly scheduled post on this website. I couldn’t imagine I’d keep it going this long when I started this project in February of 2024. For the big milestones like this, I usually try to do something special. For this one, I’m providing an excerpt from a novel I have been working on for a very, very long time.

This project is a lot more autobiographical than other ones. I started this novel in 2013, while I was in high school, and have been scratching at it ever since. It’s evolved several times, but always focuses on a group of close friends trying to navigate the struggles of life together. I’ll have lots more to say about it when I finally finish writing this thing. In all honesty, I have struggled to get this book’s outline and purpose right over the years, but I love these characters so much that they are truly the reason it has been drafted so many times and not abandoned. I have reworked and redrafted to many pieces of it over the years, because I feel like I owe it to these characters who are, in a sense, long term friends of mine.

This excerpt takes place from an alternate perspective than most of the novel. This piece looks from the eyes of a young woman named Gwen Matthews after she leaves a family reunion on Long Island which goes disastrously, and her boyfriend, Ryan Bishop, drives through the night to get her to her grandparents’ house in a little town in Massachusetts called Grantchester. While her grandparents have passed, her family still owns the house as a vacation home.

A little inside baseball, but setting scenes in Grantchester actually came after I developed earlier outlines for October Sun, November Seas. Originally I planned to have some familiar faces cameo in this story, but decided against it due to this novel having specific dates for some of its events and November Seas being much less ambiguous as to what year it takes place.

Anyways, thank you to everyone for reading so far, either joining at some point during the journey or sticking with me since the beginning. Plenty more to come out of the next 150.

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The places that matter the most to you are never the ones where you lived. The places that stick with you, even to your old and dying days, are the ones which felt like home no matter how infrequently you visited. Whose memories warmed your soul and gave you a line to grab ahold of when you’re being tossed about the harshest of storms.

Grantchester, Massachusetts is that place for me. Once upon a long time ago, my father grew up here with his parents. A simple boy in a small coastal town. A boy who never knew he’d grow up to build an empire. A tiny king who enticed and entranced a great princess from a mighty family, who gave up everything to be with him because her heart served as her guide, where the rest of her clan followed their greed and ambition. But they built their kingdom together, expanded their domain, and amassed enough riches to make their only child wonder if her palaces were prisons. Making her wonder if her parents had fallen victim to the very fate which they were running from.

It was here, in this beautiful town that the world forgot, that I felt most corporeal. I drifted through my life as though I were a specter. I could witness events, even have a small effect on the world around me. But I never stayed. I never left a mark. If people noticed me, it was only for a fleeting moment. More often than not, they just looked straight through me. But not here. Here, I have always felt alive. I have always felt as though I belonged in the world.

The sunlight makes its way through the windows on the second floor of this open and airy house, mere steps from the waves breaking gently against the sand. The sun is barely peeking over the horizon, scattering rays of gold and orange across the room. The boy is sleeping peacefully beside me. He was up late last night working on his website. His hair sticks up in several different places, and the sun turns his pale skin to shining gold. I cannot help but marvel at how far we have both come in only a few months together. Two maladjusted nutcases who finally set aside the dysfunctional dance they had been dancing around each other for several years and decided to dance together.

I want to wake him. But it would be of no use. The thoughts that kept me up most of the night cannot be helped by kisses on my forehead and whispered assurances of my soul’s strength and fortitude. This particular battle is mine and mine alone. I will myself out of bed and throw on clothes warm enough for a New England morning. While this place has never been my permanent address, I have visited often enough to know that the ocean brings a certain chill with it, even in the middle of summer.

Usually when my family visited Grantchester, we came in the summertime. My grandparents would often make the trek down for the holidays to visit us in Baltimore, so we would visit when I did not have school. ‘The beach is no place to be in wintertime,’ they would say. I disagreed. You can hear the lessons of the ocean easier in the wintertime. Without the crowds of summer beach goers, splashing in the surf or trying to get that perfect tan. I never cared for getting tanned. I always wanted to hear what the water said, especially whenever I had particularly troublesome questions. This morning, I believe that I am too afraid of the answer.

As I trek down to the beach, I idly twist my fingers around my necklace. It is a dragon encircling a rose which I have had since high school. My parents gave it to me after An Ideal Husband closed.

It was the most thoughtful gift that anyone has ever given me. I was fiddling with my necklace when I suggested we come here to get away from my family. He laughed that laugh of his, the one that never fails to make me smile. The sound of the breeze making windchimes sing on a sweet summer’s day. I only ever visited this place for short periods at a time, but it was the closest to home that I’ve ever felt. I had never taken any partner of mine here before, but I believe this is the right time. The right man.

The surf breaking on the shore provides a familiar rhythm to score my contemplations, ruminations, and reflections. A ways down from my spot is a girl with auburn hair, and an acoustic guitar resting on her knee as she sits in the sand and serenades the sea. The ocean is a pleasant shade of orange thanks to the sun peeking over the horizon. The questions I have been holding back with the last of my might threaten to spill out. The image of myself, straining against scarred and rusting iron doors, in the tattered white dress and bare feet of a tormented Greek princess, refuses to leave my mind. But iron and the fading strength of a mere moral girl cannot hold back the tides forever. Sure enough, as I force myself to take a deep breath to avoid panicking, the iron doors give way and the floodwaters rush over the princess.

Am I good enough?

Will I accomplish anything?

Can I make it without my parents’ protection?

Do I deserve the life I have?

Will I become the hurricane again?

“Hey,” a voice breaks my train of thought before it can run too rampant. I turn to face its source and find myself face to face with the girl from down the surf. Her guitar is a golden Martin, weathered with age in a curiously beautiful way. As though the guitar itself could tell more than enough stories to keep both of us entertained for an evening. “Haven’t seen you around. I’m Piper Carney.”

She extends a hand, which I shake. The oft repeated myth of small town charm and manners bears a striking resemblance to the truth, as I have found. This girl seems to be no exception.

“Gwen Matthews,” I respond. “You haven’t seen me probably because I don’t live here. I just came to visit for a few days. I used to come here when I was younger, with my parents. I guess I felt the need to engage in a little break from my usual.”

“So where’re you coming from?”

“Originally, Baltimore,” I answer honestly before giving the real truth, “I was just on a visit to some family in Long Island and, long story short, I needed to get away from there. We were already halfway here, so I decided to finish the trek.”

“We?”

“My boyfriend did most of the driving. He’s a saint.” My cheeks warm to an uncomfortable temperature when I think of him. The brilliant idea strikes me to change the subject rapidly. “I guess you’re not visiting Grantchester too. Which must make you a local.”

“Yes! I am! Born and raised, right here on this beach practically. Say Gwen Matthews, you wouldn’t happen to have any relation to Joel and Helen Matthews, would you?”

“They were my grandparents.” I look down at the sand beneath my feet. The funeral was the last time I had journeyed this far north. In some manners, I had believed that stepping foot here would be too painful.

“They were good people. I was sad when they passed. Someone owns their house now, but I’m not sure who.”

I look back up at her and smile, shaking my head in disbelief. “You’re looking at her,” I gesture at myself, as if I am much more impressive than I am.

She smiles warmly, as though she approves of the purchase. “Well then, what made you buy property all the way up here?”

“I felt like I needed to keep my grandparents’ house. Sometimes it’s hard to let go when you don’t get real closure.”

Piper nods darkly, as if the sentiment were all too familiar, before turning her gaze towards the ocean, as if she is not completely engaged in the conversation. I do not, however, sense that this lack of attention is borne of rudeness.

“I have been lived here for my whole life.” Now it is her turn to smile and shake her head whilst reflecting on her past. “I always dreamt of making it as a musician. I feel like half of the people in this town want to do that, honestly. I keep growing older and the dream gets farther away. It just takes too much out of me. I get it.” The clipped voice she uses by the end of her statement hints to me that she is not telling me the entire truth. I do not know her well enough to push. I elect to change the subject, whilst acknowledging the truth she chose to share with me.

I straighten my back and adopt a jokingly aristocratic tone. “Well, Piper Carney, since you know the town better than I, and have seen its fair share of triumphs and heartbreaks, perhaps you can answer a question I have. There used to be a most excellent bakery in town. Do you know if it’s still open?”

Piper matches my tone and offers the name in a similar tone of voice, grateful for the distraction. She cannot keep it together for long, and cracks herself up, with a melodic laugh that carries the gentleness of the ocean on it. The memories of the place overwhelm me, and I am unable to keep from smiling. The scent of fresh baked bread, the taste of blueberry muffins gifted from Mount Olympus, or incomparable sensation of drinking true hot chocolate. Cupcakes to celebrate my father on his birthday.

“That would be the one.”

“Then it’s still open!”

“Then I think I’m going to pick up some breakfast and surprise my boyfriend,” I tell her. Piper smiles knowingly, as though she is aware that coming to this place of importance is a critical moment in my relationship.

“The apple cinnamon sugar ones are a perennial favorite of mine. If you’re looking for a recommendation.”

“Thank you, Piper Carney.”

“Hey, if you and your boyfriend are looking for something to do tonight, my band and I are playing at a bar in town, The Wolf’s Lair. It’s cheap, well-loved, got history, the music isn’t half bad.” She offers a sincere and cheesy grin at the conclusion of his invitation.

“We might check it out.”

“All right then.” Piper stands awkwardly for a few moments and looks out at the sun, which has inched higher above the horizon in the few minutes we have conversed. “I’ve got to get back. Promised my best friend that I’d help him with some home improvement projects. I don’t know shit about building things.”

“Then I wish you the best of luck.”

“Thanks, Gwen. Welcome back to Grantchester.” Piper takes her leave, disappearing down the unbroken line of beach into her home.

Piper Carney proved to be a lovely distraction from the tempest roaring around my mind, but it lasted only a few preciously peaceful moments. It is heartwarming to be welcomed back to a place I have always thought of as home.

This year has brought its fair share of challenges. Finally connecting with Ryan, while one of the best things to have happened to me, has brought its fair share of challenges. The flock of family vultures circling has only added to the struggles. To top it off, I have a gut instinct that the next few months will bring about great change, and the future seems less certain than ever. Which is not to say that my future has ever been certain.

The town is humming to life by the time I reach Market Street, which is appropriately named as the main lifeline of the market district. The judgement uttered by my family continues to wreak havoc as a maelstrom in my mind. The disapproval of my mother by her own parents makes my blood boil. The entire family disapproving of my boyfriend instantly vaporizes that already boiling blood in a dramatic flash. How dare they cast judgement on him when they have not seen the care and attention which he has shown towards me when they remained silent and cold and distant? At least my parents approve of him, even if they do not entirely understand our story. There are only two people who need to understand that story: the two who wrote it.

He made the decision to leave when I could not. Victimized by the vindictiveness of my own family, and the boy took charge of the situation and simply told me that we would be leaving to go somewhere that would make me feel better. The only request he made of me was to pick the point on the map. Nobody has ever done such a thing for me before.

His words over the last few months join the unholy chorus in my head, providing the sweet melody of a lifeline in the storm.

“My darling, I love you beyond words. You are so focused on trying to please people who will never accept you as being good enough for their standards. So, screw them, sweetheart. You have that gift of your wonderful heart. You don’t need to do anything for them. Be you. Because I fell in love with the Ice Queen, the girl with sunshine hair and sapphire eyes, the sweet soul that is the first thing on my mind every day. And I will love you every day, from when you choose who you want to be until the day our hearts fail, and we pass on from this earth. And even that won’t stop me from loving you, no matter what. No exceptions.

Gods above, the boy is right. He always has been, I was merely too blind to see his point. I cannot stop myself from being fearful of what might happen under any number of different contingencies. I can stop myself from choosing to live by that fear.

I stop in the bakery and order half a dozen doughnuts. Two of those apple cinnamon sugar ones Piper mentioned earlier, two sprinkles, a cake, and a Boston cream. As I step back out onto Market Street, I revel in just how cozy the town looks in the early spring sunrise. A splash of gold over everything draws my face into a smile. This place feels like home.

By the time I reach the house, he is awake. I can hear him walking on the second floor, only to come sprinting down the stairs when he hears the door shut. I have been thinking of Grantchester as warm all day; it warms my soul to be here. However, it is not the town. It is the boy. As he smiles at me with hair sticking up on the sides of his head, eyes struggling to adjust to daylight, and that groggy smile, I only have one thought.

I love him.