Memoir Sample

We drove to St. Louis in the middle of the morning, like ships in the night leaving port with little fanfare. I sat in the backseat of my parents' Toyota Celica watching the Rocky Mountains vanish in the side-view mirror, going, going, gone⸺part of Mother Nature’s auction, selling her beauty to the highest bidder.  

Four weeks earlier, I would have never imagined myself in this situation: Plucked from my sixth-grade class and relocated to Missouri, the Show Me State. And show them, I would⸺drinking tequila, running across highways, hopping trains. The drive east gave no indication of what the future held, but the heavy air felt ominous⸺the world I knew was disappearing. Adventure, adversity, and anguish taking its place.

Our move had been brewing for a while, something my brother, sister, and I were unaware of. 

My dad worked in distribution for a liquor company, and I liked to imagine that the Budweiser Clydesdales were his employees. We spent lazy Saturday afternoons at the warehouse, driving the forklifts and roller-skating across the cement floors. 

When his company folded in the winter of 1989, he started looking for something new, and he found it in St. Louis. No more Colorado. No more four-hooved co-workers. 

My mom was a nurse, making it easy for her to find work anywhere and everywhere, and my dad’s extended family lived in South Dakota. Even so, our school ties weren’t the only thing binding us to the Centennial State. 

My Aunt Leslie and Uncle Doc lived in our neighborhood, close enough to make their children, Luke, Meredith, and Jacqueline, more like siblings than cousins. Leaving them felt like a band-aid slowly and painfully ripping away from the skin.

Dad moved in January 1990, and I secretly hoped he’d hate it, speed west on Interstate 70, and pledge allegiance to the Colorado flag forever and ever. Instead, we followed two months later, arriving in the middle of spring, a time for renewal, a time for change. 

Before the move, I was happy and carefree. Growing up in the suburbs of Aurora, Colorado, we lived in a circular-shaped neighborhood, one that offered a sense of safety and consistency.

Round and round my friends and I went⸺exploring the creek, running across the greenbelt, loitering at the park, walking to the local King Soopers to take advantage of the bakery’s free cookies. “Please only take ONE” seemed more like a suggestion rather than a set rule. 

I had worked my way up the social hierarchy ladder, enjoying my time as one of the most popular kids at Mission Viejo Elementary. I had French kissed a boy. I had smoked a cigarette. I had held court in the form of living room slumber parties and backyard blowouts.

And now, as we descended closer to sea level, reality came crashing down to earth.

It was the end. 

And, it was the beginning.