True confession: I fell madly, deeply in love for the first time when I was fifteen. To say things in the Penz household were somewhat unstable might be putting a gloss on it—my father had died the year before, my mother was coping badly, and I didn’t have any other relatives to turn to (no aunts, uncles, cousins, siblings or grandparents). In short, I was exactly the sort of girl who would fall for the absolutely wrong sort of guy. The guy (let’s call him Joe) had long, curly blond hair that reached his shoulders, a blue Volkswagen Beetle, and a track record of getting expelled from school. Fortunately for Joe, his parents had the sort of money or pull that could get him transferred to a new school.
I first met Joe at my high school drop-in center, where he “saved me” from dating another guy with an even worse reputation (that guy, let’s call him Joe-2), had already impregnated two girls, both under fifteen. Of course, my mother hated Joe, which made him all the more appealing. She also told me, in no uncertain terms, that I was not allowed in Joe’s VW. This led to meeting Joe behind the local Rutherford’s Dairy, where I’d hop in his car and drive around, not doing much of anything. 
At Christmas, Joe gave me a pair of silver hoop earrings, which I treasured, but I was really waiting for Valentine’s Day. Surely, then, Joe would give me a promise ring. I imagined the setting, the stone…and spent the week before February 14th scouring the card rack at Woolworth’s Department Store for the perfect card. I finally found one. The front had two porcupines kissing, and the message inside was “I love you so much it hurts.”
Valentine’s Day arrived and I waited by the phone for Joe to call (these were the days before voice mail, let alone cell phones). When he finally called, it wasn’t to arrange a time to meet, but to break up with me. Apparently he’d been seeing another girl, one with a reputation of being “experienced.” Fast forward a few decades and Callie Barnstable’s reminiscence in Skeletons in the Attic. Here’s an excerpt:
I turned the photographs over, one by one, and noted the same backhand slant, in the same turquoise ink, that had been on the listing of tarot cards.
Spring 1985. Summer 1985. Fall 1985. Winter 1985. I was right. The pictures had been taken the year before my mother left. February 14, 1986, the date forever etched in my mind. Years later, when a boyfriend dumped me on Valentine’s Day, my father lamented that I’d fallen victim to the Barnstable curse. What I’d fallen victim to, I’d told him, was another classic example of my loser radar, a combination of poor judgment and lack of insight. I didn’t tell him that I’d actually been expecting a ring, or that I’d spent hours picking out just the right Valentine’s Day card, an adorable image of two porcupines kissing, with the message, I love you so much it hurts.
It had hurt all right, just not in the way I’d expected.
And there you have it. The inspiration behind the scene. What can I say? Writers have long memories.
Skeletons in the Attic is available at all the usual suspects in trade paperback, all e-book formats, and audiobook.Â
Great story, Judy. Do you know what ever happened to Joe or Joe2 in real life? I think every one can relate.
Thanks Mary. I sometimes wonder whatever happened to that guy. Last I heard (when I was about 21) was that he’d become a full blown druggie hanging out with kids much younger than him. He did me a favor!
Great story, Judy! I’m glad you were able to turn such a disappointing experience into a fantastic backstory!
Thanks Karen. I’m sure you’ve done the same in your writing. We weave in details from our past.
Yes, we do, and it’s fun to see how yours got worked into your writing!
Thanks so much Becky. It was fun to write!
Everything’s material. What a great illustration. Glad he dumped you!! All for the best.
Thanks Kaye. Seriously he was bad news (which made him seem so appealing). Thankfully I got a bit more sensible with age.
Great story of how real life inspires fiction. Thanks for sharing!
Thanks Catherine. It was fun to write!
What a loser! (Him, not you). Who breaks up on Valentines Day?
Hi Gillian, yes, he was, in retrospect, quite the loser and I was lucky he dumped me. But at the time…
You never know where a memory fragment will crop up, just when you need it!
So true, Vicki! It’s so cathartic to write about them too!