Sometimes the wrong person says the right thing, and it makes all the difference.
In this coming-of-age memoir we meet Richard, a handsome, charming, mischievous, great guy with a fondness for the 1980s party drug of choice, cocaine. Yvonne is 11 years younger, awkward, terrified of her own shadow and even more frightened by the idea of disappointing anyone in her life.
Their attraction makes no sense.
Despite obstacles beyond their control, they are exactly what each other is drawn to as they set about doing the best they can, in all four seasons of their beautiful, one season town, Provincetown, MA. Their connection remains the one thing that can save Yvonne from herself, even while Richard struggles under the weight of his own self-imposed demons.
What they develop is a relationship that unbeknownst to both of them, would last a lifetime and change Yvonne in ways she never thought possible.
They were not supposed to be together.
Yet, they refused to stay apart.
Sometimes the wrong person says the right thing, and it makes all the difference.
In this coming-of-age memoir we meet Richard, a handsome, charming, mischievous, great guy with a fondness for the 1980s party drug of choice, cocaine. Yvonne is 11 years younger, awkward, terrified of her own shadow and even more frightened by the idea of disappointing anyone in her life.
Their attraction makes no sense.
Despite obstacles beyond their control, they are exactly what each other is drawn to as they set about doing the best they can, in all four seasons of their beautiful, one season town, Provincetown, MA. Their connection remains the one thing that can save Yvonne from herself, even while Richard struggles under the weight of his own self-imposed demons.
What they develop is a relationship that unbeknownst to both of them, would last a lifetime and change Yvonne in ways she never thought possible.
They were not supposed to be together.
Yet, they refused to stay apart.
He was gorgeous, everyone thought so. I thought so. My taste usually ran to blonde, scrawny guys, but what did I know? I’d many crushes but never really dated. Unless you counted my buddy Glen and I telling people we were dating when we were 13. Since we did the same things on “dates” as we did when we were just hanging out, it didn’t really count.
Richard was anything but blonde and scrawny. His dark brown hair and brown eyes perfectly matched his olive complexion. He wasn’t built in the way of the huge weightlifter types who grossed me out. His body was that of someone who worked hard for a living, with strong arms that I imagined could wrap you up and hold you forever. With thoughts like these it was amazing I could even exist in his presence. I did everything I could not to notice him. Which, of course, was so obvious I wound up looking like a fool; a silly 17-year-old fool trying desperately not to be noticed by the mysterious man in the room. Luckily, no one was paying attention. I had only recently gotten comfortable talking to Andy, and he had been in my life for years. No wonder I could barely breathe when I was in the same room with Richard.
The room was actually the living room in the apartment my sister Laurie shared with her boyfriend Andy. Laurie and I were close, and I hung out with them often. At their place I could deal with whatever teen angst I was succumbing to. It didn’t hurt that one of my friends (whose parents traveled all the time, leaving her with the ultimate party spot,) lived in the same complex. I would hang at my sister’s for a bit, and then head to the party at Sue’s place. Visiting at Laurie’s made me feel grown up. Until Andy’s best friend Richard moved into their spare bedroom and, that quickly, I was the lame kid again.
Richard was 11 years older than me, and despite his dark features he was anything but dark. He seemed funny and mischievous, yet never mean or vicious. He wasn’t just handsome but also appeared kind. Once Richard moved in, I continued to hang out at Laurie’s. But on these visits, I sat quietly trying to make myself invisible, which was the way I felt most comfortable when my insecurities set in. Then one time I couldn’t help myself.
I was sitting cross legged on the floor, alongside the speakers, when the song Must of Got Lost came on the radio. Inadvertently, I started swaying to the chorus. When Laurie looked my way, I immediately stopped and stammered that I really liked the J. Geils Band. The seventies song was from their generation, not mine.
Andy told me I had the band wrong. I said I didn’t.
Laurie spoke up, “Andy, I wouldn’t argue with Yvonne when it comes to music. She really knows her stuff.”
“Eighties music maybe. But this is my era and there’s no way the J. Geils Band sings this. Give me a second and I’ll come up with the right group.”
Andy was a bit of a know-it-all, and it could get annoying. “Take all the time you want, but it’s J. Geils,” I responded. “Lead singer, Peter Wolf.”
“Yvonne, no offense, but you’re wrong. I’d put money on it. Wolf though, that’s familiar. Maybe it’s Steppenwolf, or something like that,” he said. “Bad Company possibly?”
“It’s J. Geils,” I said as the deejay came on the radio and read back the playlist. “And finishing up this last set were our local boys from Worcester, the J. Geils Band.”
Andy said nothing but turned a particular shade of red that clashed with his strawberry blonde hair. I smiled but didn’t say anything either. I did not want to seem like a show-off, and it was not a big deal. It was just a good song I happened to like.
But I felt eyes on me. I turned, and it was the first time I was the focus of Richard’s grin. Some people call the famous expression ‘the cat who ate the canary’ grin or, in crude circles, a ‘shit-eating grin.’ It was a look Richard was known for but neither of those sayings fit. It was not quite a smirk either. It was direct, teasing, and a little roguish. It was not a full-on smile, but his eyes sparkled and if he was flashing you his grin, he was radiating delight directly at you. So why flash it at me, at that moment of me showing up his cocky friend over the name of a band? In the past few visits, all he had ever seen of Laurie’s little sister was shyness. Did my silly debate with Andy show him a glimpse of something more?
After that I could not stop thinking about Richard. And evenings at Laurie’s were different. Richard made a point of including me in conversations and he appeared interested in what I had to say. His attention was both exhilarating and horrifying. It was all I could do to respond. That is why I surprised myself two weeks after the J. Geils conversation when I reached out to him. True, I needed a favor. And I was egged on by my far more brazen friends. Still, calling him seemed fitting, even as it was crazy.
It was a cold night in January, the first Friday after my friends and I had completed Christmas break. As soon as school started back up, Sue’s parents escaped the dreary winter by heading south, again. Their latest departure was fine with us. We were seniors, officially counting down the days to graduation and excited to celebrate our future freedom with a small party. We weren’t 21 though and a party wasn’t a party without alcohol. For one reason or another, we could not get in touch with the folks who usually helped us in this particular dilemma and the start to the weekend looked bleak unless we could figure out this problem.
Laurie and Andy weren’t home, and it was questionable how much Laurie would approve. She had begrudgingly bought for us in the past, but made it clear she did not enjoy supporting our drinking. As a result, I only asked her to buy for us in what seemed like dire party emergencies. Richard’s work truck was parked in their visitor spot. I thought he was cool enough that he might not care about the legality/illegality of underage drinking. Asking him was an appropriate (ok, technically inappropriate) excuse for contacting him. Before I had thought it through, I voiced this option out loud. Immediately my friends began to encourage, pressure, and dare me into trying it.
Slightly terrified at the idea of talking to Richard without the guise of hanging with my sister as a safety net, I nervously dialed the number and held my breath. My voice cracked when he answered, and I stumbled over the reason for my call.
“I, um, really just need something at the liquor store and thought maybe if you needed something too and if um, I gave you money then, um, maybe you could pick up something for me?”
“So basically, you need me to buy for you?” he asked.
“Um, I guess so, kind of….”
Heather and Sue could hear his laughter on the other end of the line. It wasn’t condescending; it was just laughter.
“Alright,” he said, still sounding amused. “Come on over.”
I shivered on the short walk across the parking lot. I had thrown on my coat but refused to wear a hat or gloves; gloves seemed childish, and I dreaded what a hat would do to my already wavy and uncontrollable hair. Richard met me outside and I noticed his hair was damp. I must have caught him just out of the shower. I tried to erase the image of him in the shower by telling him I liked his truck. He laughed as the truck was just a truck. It was a fairly old, metallic blue pickup with his employer’s construction logo on the sides, and dents and scratches over the rest of it. He asked me what I liked about it. I told him I liked the faint smell of sawdust that I noticed when I hopped into the cab. He shook his head and started the engine.
On the drive through the empty winter streets, we talked briefly, but it was a different sort of talk. I expected to feel awkward, and I did, but only somewhat. I was nervous, that me, so uncool, was alone with this handsome, very cool guy. Yet, I was also relaxed. Naïve as I was, I recognized a current between us, a sort of energy that had nothing to do with being his roommate’s baby sister. I didn’t understand it, but I knew it was there.
Like all direct drives in the off season, this drive was a quick one, barely 2 miles down Bradford and ½ a mile down Conwell to the year-round liquor store. It was too quick for me. I stayed in the warm, running vehicle while he ran in. Back at the complex, I figured he would drop me off and I would thank him and then get buzzed with my friends. Instead, he helped carry our peppermint schnapps, light beers, and sickeningly sweet wine coolers into Sue’s and, to my pleasant but anxious surprise, decided to stay for a bit. Thing was, after a couple of drinks, the silliness and drama of teen life was raging among my friends and he wasn’t impressed.
Heather, already buzzed yet way more experienced in the ways of the world, sensed the energy too. She put her hand on Richard’s shoulder and told him to be good to me, her best friend, and that if he wasn’t, she would kick his ass. Richard and I escaped to the spare bedroom then and talked some more while sitting close together. We talked about my sister and Andy, his job, what I wanted to do when I graduated and growing up in Ptown. We flirted too. At least, I think I was flirting. I’d never done it before.
He must have known that he should leave before the feelings between us got out of hand. I walked outside with him, and he kissed me. It was the biggest high I had ever felt in my life. I’d only kissed a guy a couple of times before and it was awkward and meaningless. This though, felt sweet, and affectionate, and a little dangerous too. It was exciting and romantic in ways I’d never imagined. It was quick but it was real. Richard kissed me! Me!
We pulled apart and said goodbye. I thanked him for buying for us. Then, as I turned to go back into Sue’s, I slipped on some ice and fell right on my butt. Falling at all, let alone after such a kiss, would have been total, end of the world humiliation for any teenager. But for me, it was unbearable. I wanted to run away before I burst into tears but knew I would probably slip again. I looked at him, shattered. His only response was the grin he was known for-- a grin that giggled only slightly as his eyes asked if I was ok and silently told me not to be embarrassed.
"Shelter of a Monument: A Provincetown Love Story" is a captivating exploration of love, loss, addiction, and heartbreak that immerses readers in the tumultuous journey of Yvonne and Richard. The novel unfolds against the backdrop of Provincetown, providing a rich and atmospheric setting that mirrors the emotional turbulence of the characters.
The author skillfully weaves a narrative that delves into the complexities of relationships, especially the one between Yvonne and Richard. Yvonne's character is beautifully portrayed, and her vulnerability is palpable as she falls for the enigmatic and troubled Richard. The love between them is a whirlwind of intense passion, drawing readers into their world with vivid prose and emotional depth.
The exploration of addiction adds an additional layer of realism to the story, shedding light on the challenges individuals face when trying to navigate love amidst personal struggles. As the narrative unfolds, readers are taken on a rollercoaster of emotions, experiencing the highs of love and the lows of heartbreak.
What sets "Shelter of a Monument" apart is its universal themes that resonate with a broad audience. The book addresses the struggles of those trapped in abusive relationships, the guilt associated with not doing more to help a partner, and the universal experience of love and loss. The author's ability to tackle these sensitive issues with grace and empathy makes the novel not only a compelling read but also a source of solace for those who may find themselves in similar situations.
I highly recommend "Shelter of a Monument" to anyone seeking a poignant and thought-provoking exploration of love's complexities. Whether you've experienced the pain of a toxic relationship or simply appreciate a well-crafted narrative that tugs at the heartstrings, this book is a powerful and resonant journey through the highs and lows of love and the human spirit.