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I had been a close friend of the Monkees for years and an even closer friend to bassist Peter Tork. I met them after a gig they had a couple of years ago, and I happened to be there, saw them play, and had the nerve to see them after the show. Peter and I got along quickly, and the rest is truly history. I’d help them get gigs, hang out with them at the pads, and even give them outsider feedback on how they sounded.
Fast forward to the present. The boys were practicing their music as always (at least it seemed like it) when I came in, excited but a bit breathless.
“Guys.” Breath. “Guys! I have exciting news!!”
They all looked up in what seemed to be perfect unison, but Peter was the first to talk.
“Hey! What is it?” It was a common nickname Peter gave me.
The others looked at me with the same expression of curiosity.
“I got you a gig! A BIG one at that. Here's the deets!” I handed over a slip of paper from my pocket. Peter took it first and read it.
“No way.”
That was all it took for the others to stack on top of each other, trying to get a peek at what was on the paper. The paper was from a big, bustling businessman who was holding a party that Saturday, and many rich people would be there. The boys couldn’t believe their eyes.
I excitedly interrupted their goggling appearances over the piece of paper, “That’s not all! Your check is $150 cash! Can you believe it?!”
The boys looked up at me like they had just hit the jackpot. They cheered and bounced around, celebrating, except for Peter. He walked up to me, still holding the paper.
“How did you-”
“No need to worry about it; I pulled a few strings at work, was all,” I interrupted him. I really didn’t need him worrying about the nitty-gritty; I just wanted him to be happy. He smiled, nodded, and joined the boys in celebration. I couldn’t help but smile at the display in front of me, but I couldn’t stay for long.
“Alright, well I just wanted to deliver the news to you guys, y’all better get to practicing!”
The boys looked to me and started talking over eachother “wait don’t leave.” “Come on, hang out for a while.” I shook my head with a smile. “I’m sorry, but I have some other errands to run. Don’t worry, I’ll see you guys soon.” And with that, I exited the pad.
In truth, I had no other errands. The stunt I pulled to get that opportunity for the boys had cost me my job, and rent was due, so the only real errand was figuring out how to pay it. What I had done was dip into work contacts and fudge my schedule to meet the businessman in person—skipping out on a critical shift my boss had warned was non-negotiable. I talked my way into his office, pitched the boys as the perfect act, and promised they could draw a crowd. It worked, but my boss found out about my unscheduled absence, and just like that, I was out of a job. If someone were to ask me how I felt, I’d probably laugh in their face. I had a good-paying job, yes, but knowing I could make someone—my friend Peter—happy… well, that meant the world.
So off I went to figure out how to pay rent. I walked the sidewalks of downtown, looking for any place that was hiring, for any kind of job. It didn’t matter what it was; I just needed stable income. Well, my luck was moldy, cause there was no place willing to take me in—some employers even said I was OVERQUALIFIED for the job, which I never thought was possible, but I guess it was. It had been hours and still no luck. I stood outside of an antique thrift shop, just zoning out, looking at the display window, until I realized an old woman inside—the owner—was smiling at me, welcoming me in. I needed a break, so I decided to go in.
“Hello dear, you seemed a bit lost in thought out there; is there anything I could possibly help you with?” the old lady said as she set up some new clothes on the hangers to sell.
I smiled sheepishly, “Well, I’ve just had a lot on my mind.” I looked around the store for a moment. “Do you… by chance buy stuff from people here?”
She perked up from her work. “You mean pawn? Yes, I do! What were you thinking of getting rid of?” She moved over to the front counter.
I didn’t really think that far; I started digging through my purse—it was pretty bare—but then I looked at the golden bracelet on my wrist. The metal felt smooth and cool against my skin, its familiar weight a gentle reminder of my mother’s presence. It had been a gift from her before her passing. It was all I had. For a moment, I traced the delicate etched pattern with my thumb, feeling the ridges and tiny imperfections, as if searching for one more memory. I took a breath, unclasped it with trembling fingers, and set it on the counter; the old lady must’ve noticed and gave me a look of sympathy and concern.
“Are you sure you want to give that up, my dear? It looks quite sentimental.”
I looked back down at the bracelet. took a deep breath and then inched it closer to her, giving my confirmation. She nodded and started examining it; it felt like an eternity waiting, as if my very soul, my mother, was being judged through the bracelet. If she knew I was doing this, she would be so disappointed. My thoughts of spiraling were stopped as she set the bracelet down and looked back at me.
“Well… It is a beauty…but… there is some age to it. I could give you $10-$15 for it.”
I wanted to cry when I heard that number. That was a fraction of my rent. But I had no other way to make money, so I took the deal.
When the cash landed in my palm, I just stood there, numb. A dull ache settled in my chest as I stared at the spot on my wrist where the bracelet had been. I could still feel its gentle weight, and for a moment, I wondered if I had made a mistake. Guilt and grief warred inside me, but beneath it all was a stubborn, quiet resolve. I tried to steady my breath and swallow the lump in my throat. There was no going back now. All I could do was keep moving, one uncertain step at a time.
Meanwhile at the Monkees' pad, chaos was more or less the default setting. Micky was tapping out a frenetic rhythm on his drumsticks, occasionally trying to toss the stick in the air and catch it behind his back with varying degrees of success. Davy propped himself on the couch, flipping through a magazine, occasionally announcing, "Hey, says here that girls love blokes with cheeky grins. Looks like I'm set for life!" Mike was putting some elbow grease into washing dishes, humming to himself and shaking his head every now and then at Micky's drumstick show. Then there was Peter, lying in the hammock right in the center of the swirl, gazing up at the ceiling with a faraway look. Every so often, the guys would lob little jokes in his direction.
"Earth to Peter," Micky called, or "Don’t swing too high, mate, you’ll hit the ceiling fan," from Davy. But Peter barely responded, just fiddling with the edge of a pillow, his mind clearly replaying the morning over and over. Something about the look in my eyes kept tugging at him, just out of reach.
Peter ran a hand through his hair and sat up a little. "You ever notice how she acts when she's really in trouble?" he murmured to no one in particular, but Mike, ever perceptive, glanced over. "She always puts on that big grin," Peter went on, his voice soft, "like that time right after her mom passed, when she showed up to help us with that late-night gig. She still made jokes and laughed all night, but I could tell she was barely holding it together."
Peter looked down at his hands, uncertain. "She did that again today. I know she said she had errands, but... I don't know, guys. It just didn't feel right." He gazed out the window, his worry deepening, unable to shake the feeling that something important was being kept from him.
Mike set the dish he was washing down and dried his hands, and walked over to Peter. “Perhaps you’re thinking too much into it.” He then took a beat to think about this morning; he did happen to notice my tired yet excited state, as if I had just gotten done yelling or… crying.
Davy set his magazine aside, his brow furrowed. "You know, she once let me crash at her place when I got into a fight with my cousin and had nowhere to go," he said quietly. "She even made me tea and made me laugh about it, but I could tell she'd probably had a bad day herself. That's just how she is."
Micky twirled a drumstick through his fingers, looking thoughtful. "Remember when she organized that surprise birthday for me? She acted so cool, but I overheard her crying on the phone to her mom because she missed her. She's always hiding her own hurt behind a goofy smile."
Mike nodded in agreement. "And last winter, when my car broke down, she offered to wait with me in the freezing cold, even though she had work in the morning. That's how you know something's up. She takes care of all of us, but never lets us take care of her."
For a moment, all the boys were quiet, their concern shared and real. The feeling in the room shifted, heavier now that their memories settled in and the worry for their friend grew.
A heavy silence settled in the room as the realization hit. Mike's eyes widened, understanding dawning across his face.
Oh man.
“No, Peter, I think you’re right. Something was off about today.” Davy and Micky are now paying attention to the conversation their respective items left behind.
“Well, maybe we should stop by her flat; she has that apartment downtown, right?” Davy said. And then Micky added, “Yeah! I remember when we helped her move in!!”
The boys nodded in agreement, and Peter got up from the hammock. “Okay, it's settled; let's go find her,” Peter said with a twang of passion and determination.
Micky tossed his drumsticks onto the chair, grinning. “Bet she’s holed up with a secret pizza stash again. First one to find it gets a slice!”
Davy rolled his eyes, but there was a smile on his face. “You and your stomach, Micky. I just hope she’s alright, mate.”
Mike adjusted his hat as he moved to the door. “If she is in trouble, she won’t be dealing with it by herself. Come on, let’s move.”
The other Monkees saw the fire in their friend’s eyes and rallied behind him, trading a few gentle nudges and jokes as they made their way out together, united in their concern and determination. So they headed to the downtown apartments to find me.
During that exchange, I had made it back to my apartment and was met with my landlord, Mr. BaTory, standing outside my door, about to knock to see if I was home. He looked in my direction. “Oh, hello dear, I was just about to knock to see if you were home. Rent is due, and I was just coming by to pick it up.”
I felt my heart drop to my stomach.
“R-right. About that. uhm. Mr. BaTory…..I don’t have enough rent for this month.”
He looked at me, surprised for a moment, and then his face changed to a mix of pity and sympathy. “Well…That is quite unfortunate.” There was a pause of silence before he spoke again, and I already knew what he was going to say.
“I’m sorry, my dear. You know my policy on late rent is not tolerated.”
I teared up.
He continued; he looked like he was saying it, but it was just how it had to be, and I understood.
“You’ve been so nice to have living here, and I’m sorry I cannot help you with this…but I will need you moved out by the end of the week.”
That gave me 3 days… it was now Thursday night… and I had 3 days…
I nodded.
He took it as his cue to leave, walking down the hallway. I ran on autopilot for a moment, unlocking my door and going in and locking the door behind me.
And then I just sobbed. I pressed my fist to my mouth, trying to keep quiet even as my shoulders shook. The apartment around me blurred through my tears, bits of sunlight pooling on the walls I'd made a home of. I tried to swallow the sounds, but they slipped out anyway, raw and uneven. Memories pressed forward, my mother’s laughter echoing in my head, the cool weight of her bracelet now gone from my wrist. For a moment I buried my face in my hands, hoping no one could hear me through the thin walls. I sobbed and sobbed, unable to stop, the ache of loss and fear mixing together until I could hardly remember why I was crying in the first place.
And then. After what felt like forever, I stopped and got myself together. I needed to start packing, regardless of whether I had a place to live by the end of the week. So I gathered the few boxes I had and started packing my belongings.
While that was happening, Davy, Micky, Mike, and Peter were walking along the downtown sidewalk. Each of them was unmistakably getting distracted by the shops as they walked by. Peter glanced at a shop that looked like an antique thrift store, the same one where I had been hours earlier. Peter didn’t really think about it and went in, starting to look around. The others followed in. Micky went to the clothes, talking to the others about the dresses, making jokes here and there about them. Peter was making his way over when he passed the front counter and saw the jewelry in the display case, and a specific piece caught his eye.
My bracelet.
Peter froze in front of the display, his breath catching in his throat. For a brief moment, the sounds around him faded away. He stared at the bracelet, eyes wide, heart pounding. Confusion flickered across his face as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing, then a jolt of realization hit him. The golden band, with its familiar pattern, unmistakably belonged to me. Peter pressed a hand to the glass, almost trembling, disbelief and worry flooding his features. Why would my bracelet be here? Something was very, very wrong.
The old lady from before came around to the other side of the counter. “We have a nice supply of jewelry here; are you looking for something for your lady?”
Peter was shaken out of his thoughts by the woman's question. “Uh, uh, no, not exactly. Can I ask you a question, miss?” She nodded, ready to answer, thinking it was a question about one of the items she had for sale.
“This bracelet… do you by chance remember where you got it from?”
The lady looked taken aback for a moment but then nodded, “Yes, indeed I do. I just received it today from a lovely girl, though she seemed down on her luck.” That was all Peter needed to know that it was me. but why would I sell it? he thought. The other boys were now strolling up to Peter from the other side of the store. Micky noticed where Peter was looking and was surprised, “Hey, isn't that?” Mike waved a hand to stop him from saying any more, clearly seeing Peter was having a bit of a rough time with the discovery.
Peter looked up at the lady. “How much for the bracelet?” he wasn’t sure why i got rid of it, but he was determined to get it back no matter the cost.
the lady looked up in thought before looking back to the boy “You seem shooken by seeing this braclet here, i assumed the lady that gave it away was very special to you.” peter nodded “But the braclet is more important, it was her mothers before she passed you see and…” he lost his words and looked down, mike placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.
The lady took out the bracelet and put it on the counter. “Take it. No charge.”
Peter looked up, surprised; the other had their own varying degrees of surprise written on their faces too.
“You can't mean that.”
“Oh, but I do, young man. This is special to her, and it seems she is special to you. If I were in her position, I’d want someone to fight for me, and I see you have that fight in you. So take it and find your girl, young man,” she said with a smile.
It seemed like a scene from a movie. The boys behind him broke into cheers as Peter took the bracelet, Mike nearly knocking over a rack of dusty hats in his excitement while Davy high-fived Micky with such enthusiasm that he nearly sent a jug off the counter. Micky did a little drum roll on the display case and announced, "Mission accomplished!" just as Davy tripped over Micky's foot on their way out, causing both of them to stumble into Peter, but that only made everyone laugh. Together, their odd teamwork nudged them out the shop door, jostling, joking, and plotting their rescue mission. United and undeterred, nothing was going to stop them now, least of all a tangle of arms and feet. Nothing was going to stop Peter.
Back at my apartment, I had finished packing what I could. I was going to have to leave some of the bigger stuff behind just due to me not having the space for it. I sat in my bare bedroom, looking at a framed picture of the band and me; we’ve made so many good memories together. I sighed and set it down and ran my hands over my face. I didn’t know what I was going to do; I wasn't sure where I was going to go. I felt like I was just going to disappear completely at the end of the week.
Part of me was okay with it; it meant I couldn’t feel hurt anymore.
The other part of me just wanted to see Peter.
I decided I was going to have to tell him and the others something. So I got a paper and pen and began to write.
My dearest friends,
We have had so many great years together, and I am so proud of the people you’ve become, and I’m also greatly honored to have been a part of it. But unfortunately, I have to go elsewhere now. I can't afford to be here anymore. I'll be trying to move back to my hometown. I promise I'll be okay.
Mike, thank you for showing me Discipline, whether it was from music or for well-being.
Micky, thank you for teaching me how to unwind in case I over-disciplined myself.
Davy, thank you for teaching me that I can do anything no matter who I am (Or how small someone can be)
And Peter,
I paused, tears in my eyes as I looked down at his name.
And Peter, thank you for showing me true love and kindness all these years. You’ve always made me feel like the only woman in the world in the best way possible.
A teardrop hit the paper. I didn't even realize that I was no longer just tearing up but was now full-blown crying. I set the note aside and covered my face in my hands.
Then I heard a knock at the door. I wasn’t expecting anyone. I quickly got up and wiped my face to hide any evidence of me crying and opened the door, cracking it only enough to look out. I was met with the boys on the other side of the door.
“Guys?”
They looked at me with concerned smiles. Mike went first
“We were in the area and decided to come check up on you.”
Micky added on, “Yeah, Peter has been worried sick about you-” Davy nudged him with his elbow to stop.
Peter stepped up closer, and our eyes met. He could tell I had been crying. “Can we come in…Please?” he said softly in a way that I almost broke down crying again. I was hesitant, but I also couldn’t think of an excuse. They were going to find out either way, so I took a breath and opened the door all the way.
They walked inside and looked in shock and concern.
I watched them. Knowing I had to explain myself. I didn’t want to feel judged. But then I looked to Peter, his soft eyes pleading to know what was going on.
“Peter….” My voice cracked, my eyes daring to betray me with tears again.
I closed my eyes and took a breath. Then I explained everything. And I mean everything.
It was like I couldn't stop myself from talking. I shared all my worries and fears with them. How I had lost my job and now the roof over my head, and that I had solemnly planned to move back to my hometown cause I had nowhere else to go. Tears were falling down my face, and I couldn’t look at them.
When I finally felt myself losing stamina to talk, I felt someone take my hand.
“Hey, It's going to be okay,” Peter said softly.
“Yeah, we're not going to let anything happen to you; you’re our friend!” Davy chimed in.
Micky and Mike nodded in agreement.
Mike stepped closer. “Look, we can pay your rent.”
“No.” I immediately said sternly. “I am not taking money from anyone.”
The boys looked at each other; a silent conversation passed between them.
“Are you sure?” Peter said. I nodded.
He then looked to Mike, who nodded to the others, cueing them to move, pick up my boxes, and head out of the apartment.
“What the- What do you think you’re doing?!” I said, moving to stop them but was blocked by Peter, who softly squeezed my hand.
“Listen. If you don’t want our money, that’s okay, but we're not going to let you be homeless. You're coming back to the pad with us.”
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I looked to Mike,, and he smiled and nodded, then went to grab a box for himself.
I looked back at Peter; we met each other's eyes as I tried to find the words. I wasn’t sure if I should accept this or not, but being with them, being with Peter. It felt like home.
I hugged Peter tightly and whispered a soft but grateful “thank you” to him. he responded by hugging me back.
Then we got to work. Packing up the car with what we could by the time we were done and back at the pad unpacking it was running on 11pm, and everyone was tired.
“Guys, let's just call it a night. I appreciate everything, but you all still have that gig on Saturday, and I don’t want you burnt out from this.” I said, setting a box down.
The boy hesitated but then ultimately agreed. Everyone went upstairs and got ready for bed while I stayed downstairs, planning to sleep on the couch. Just as I was getting ready to lie down, Peter came down the spiral staircase with a curious and worried look. “You’re not actually going to sleep on the couch, are you?” I looked at him with confused humor. “Of course I am. Where else would I sleep?” Peter made it to me and took my hand. “You can sleep in my bed. I'll sleep on the couch.” I shook my head. “No, that’s not fair.” But Peter insisted on it. But as much as he pushed, I pushed too. Then Peter finally said, “Why don’t we just share the bed?”
we sat there quiet for a moment. the thought of sleeping in the same bed as him made me feel warm and nervous. “Are you sure?” I said. he stuttered for a moment, then answered, “I am. My bed is big enough for the both of us. And that way…you don't have to be alone.”
I looked at him and smiled softly. I think that was the sweetest thing he's ever said to me, whether he knew that or not. I nodded and took his hand, and he guided me upstairs to the boys' shared bedroom. The others were already fast asleep, so we made sure to be quiet. I slipped into bed first, staying on the edge to make sure Peter had enough space, and then I felt him slip into the bed after me. The warmth of his body made me feel safe and content; I could get used to it.
But I also had this strange urge to be closer, this urge to be protected by him. I wanted him to engulf me in his warmth and ward off all bad things forever and always. I decided to test the waters and scoot in closer to him. he froze, unsure how to react. I noticed the stillness and thought I had made him uncomfortable, until I felt a hand slowly wrap around my waist and gently pull me in closer. I felt my body relax instinctively, and I rolled over to look at him. He was looking at me with a soft smile, his cheeks slightly flushed, matching mine. Something overtook me in that moment, and I closed the distance between us. I felt his hand cup my face, and our lips gently met. Once we separated, we rested our foreheads together and smiled.
“I love you, Peter,” I said without thinking.
His eyes widened slightly, but then he smiled.
“I love you too, dear,” he said softly and pulled me closer. I rested my head into his chest, and we slowly dozed off into the night.
The night stayed still. Everyone asleep. Moving boxes left downstairs. The note I wrote to them lay crumpled up in the trash can. And my mothers braclet still in Peter's pants pocket, ready to surprise me with it in the morning
Because I was not going anywhere.