Whisper of Broken Things

Chapter 4

Halle walks out of the gift shop, her ocean-made curls bouncing off her shoulders as she races across the street. I follow shyly behind her. Their contemplating looks piercing into me. I know they probably feel as if I am going to judge them. Like I'm too rich and too privileged to spend time in downtown Bar Harbor with a group of kids who don't have daddy's money to spend. Truth is, I don't even want daddy's money to spend. I don't care about my status, or where I live, or how much money I have to spend on materialistic things. But they don't see that. They just know that my last name holds importance in this town, and because of it, I'll probably never be forced to work a day in my life. And, if they knew where I grew up, the type of neighborhood I lived in back in Washington. They'd probably laugh in my face for even thinking I could relate to them, and be their friend. 

Halle makes a point of not making me feel unwanted. When we get to the ice cream shop, she talks the most, looking to me every so often to let me know she's talking to me too. She order's a vanilla waffle cone with rainbow sprinkles, and then looks to me for my order. When I tell her the same thing she laughs and tells me "It's ok to order your own thing, we aren't gonna judge you". I can tell she notices how small I've made myself around her group of undeciding friends. "I swear that's my normal order," I say back. "I like the simplicity". She gives me a look as if she's searching my eyes for any hint that I wasn't being truthful. After a few seconds, she chuckles softly and turns her attention back to the young boy working the register. 

I sit quietly at a table while everyone takes their turns ordering their ice cream cones. Once everyone is dealt with, they all make their way over. Halle plops down in the seat vertical to me, "So what's your story?" she asks, making a well around her cone to stop the ice cream from melting down the side. "I don't have one," I say, afraid to tell her anything about where I came from. "Everyone's got a story.", Connar says, looking up from his cotton candy sundae. Halle looks over at me, her hazel eyes begging me to tell her anything about myself. "My parents divorced", I say, halfway regretting it, and afraid they will think I'm looking for pity points. "And?", Cassidy asks. I can tell she's looking for a reason to not hate me. "And, my mom sucks, so I moved over here with my dad.", I continue. "My grandparents died and that's how he inherited half the town." "Where are you from?" Dylan asks, a lot less hostile than before, in the gift shop. "Washington", I respond. "But I use to come to bar harbor for a month every summer when I was little, right up until that kid was murdered." 

The whole table goes cold. I can feel the energy shift as everyone throws a glance towards Halle. I quickly try to search through what I said that could have possibly caused this aversion. Halle shifts her attention towards me just as quickly as the silence came, "So did you make any friends while you were here? We might know them." she asks, obviously trying to mask whatever it was that I missed. "Ya," I say, still trying to comprehend what I said wrong a few minutes ago, and bury it with my words. I begin to remember the childhood friends I made here, I haven't thought about them in a long time. After my grandparents died my life sort of went downhill and the time I spent in Bar Harbor seemed so far away. "I can't remember their names, but there was this little boy who always wore these dolphin floaties no matter what body of water we were in, and this girl who always had those feathers in her hair. We were super close as kids but I never kept in touch with them after I left". "No fucking way," Halle says, cutting me off. She and Dylan exchange looks and abrupt into laughter, melting into each other. As soon as they begin laughing Connar, and Cassidy join them as if they understand the reasoning. I just sit there, letting out a confused chuckle. Halle tries her best to center herself, holding onto Dylan.

 "Mathew as in Matty? Did you use to go by Matty? And have this strange obsession with the Beatles even when we were far too young to comprehend what good music was?", she asks. The question catches me off guard before, it hits me. The reason Halle had caught my attention earlier in the gift shop. She was the little girl who would line her auburn hair with feathers every summer, and Dylan was the boy that would wear those ridiculous dolphin floaties at all times. I remember Cassidy, and Connar too. They were the group of friends I had always seemed to gravitate towards each summer. "It was you guys", I say, completely behind on the realization. "No shit", Dylan jokes, his tone now completely changed from earlier. "We had wondered where you went for years," Cassidy says. "You haven't come to visit since we were all like 11". "I can't believe I never knew you were Adele and Jack's grandson," Halle says, trying to connect the dots. "You knew my grandparents?" I ask her. "Everyone knew the Van Doren's, they were super sweet to everyone they crossed paths with," Cassidy says.

 I feel a sense of relief as I realize that the whole group has slowly opened themselves up to me. The strange, alienated feeling I felt before had vanished, and we spend the next 2 hours trading stories from when we were kids. We talk about the days we would spend on the beach. How we would sneak away from our parents, watching 4th of July fireworks, and getting our faces painted to match each other. I knew, in the gift shop that they felt familiar, but a lot can change from 11 to 17. So much has happened in my life since then, Bar Harbor had become a distant memory to me. 

My phone buzzes. Drawing my attention away from the conversation, only then, do I realize how long we have been talking for, hanging out. Butterflies swarm my stomach as I think about how long I've wanted a group of friends like this. I open my phone to a message from my dad asking if I'm "All set?". I tell him I've met some friends and I'll let him know when I'm ready. "Okie Dokie" he responds. If it were my mother, she would be infuriated at my request for more time out. 

"Ok, so we are going to take Matty to the outlet mall, and then I vote for the park". Halle says, looking to me for confirmation. I kind of like being called Matty again. It was usually only my dad and Grandparents who chose Matty over Mathew. My mom hated it. Hearing Halle, and everyone here call me Matty feels like a reset button being pressed, washing away everything from my previous life in Washington. Matty, not Mathew, or mat, like my mom preferred to call me, but Matty. It carries a whole lot less baggage.