Submissions to this category are generally told in the first person and cover personal reflection, autobiographies and memories of the past.
Rather than focusing on factual accounts, memoirs are more a recollection of moments in time that were either vivid or unique to the author.
Victor's first act of survival was completed out of sight of his forever family. It must have happened sometime during the year or so he had been alive. But that history was lost in the mists of time. Puppy time is mistier than people's time. In any case, he was a stray. And he had been sent to the shelter to wonder what the whole thing was about. It was in the colorful days of October when he got lucky. His Boss-to-be ha...
I decided to take a bus for the last section of the journey. I knew that traffic in the New York City area would be crazed, and no place to try to hitch a ride. I’d had excellent luck hitching so far, perhaps due to the protection of Mishipeshu the cat/dragon, but I was no longer within his sphere of influence. Maybe it was the time to stop tempting fate. I’d heard of New Paltz and knew it was fairly close to New York Cit...
My rides dried up. I’d had pretty good hitching luck up to then, with only a few long stretches of waiting for cars. Now, the situation had changed. I had a big bloody scabby bruise on the side of my face, right up against my nose. It did not seem to be engendering a lot of trust in me with the many cars passing me by. I wasn’t feeling too mythic. It didn’t help that I’d left the comfort of the Trans-Canadian Highway, tra...
I must have been lonely. I have a distinct memory of sitting in a park, in where I think is Sudbury, Ontario, my back against the trunk of a large tree, listening to Bruce Springsteen. Specifically, I was listening to the end of “I’m on Fire” off Springsteen’s Born in the USA, and marveling at the plaintive high lonesome “woo-hoo-ooo” trailing off, as the narrator of the song expresses his longing for the girl, his desire...
Writing that last bit has made me wonder how I handled my cigarette habit, which at the time was a pack a day. I was between towns for days at a time, how would I even buy them? I distinctly remember, mid-trip, buying a pack of Canadian cigarettes, and being shocked at how expensive they were, which tells me I wasn’t walking into town for smokes every night. I suddenly remember that before I left Minneapolis to begin the...
I met some nice folks at the State Park. An older couple (probably about the age I am now) staying in an RV in the next camping spot over shared some of their breakfast with me, and wished me luck. I walked out onto the highway. I got a ride right up to the Canadian border early the next morning. He stopped before we got there. “You aren’t carrying drugs or anything,” he asked me. “No, I promise.” I was being truthful. “O...
Despite the ignominious ending of my previous trip, I was determined to try it again, with a few key differences. One: Note that my Dad was leaving me on the shoulder of I-90, not I-35. I was heading north, not east. I had decided to hitchhike to New York City via Canada, swinging over the top of the Great Lakes before dropping down into the US near Champlain. Two: I would be travelling alone. Three: This was a one-way tr...
My dad dropped me off on the shoulder of an entrance ramp to I-90 on a sunny summer day in 1984 (hitchhiking on the Interstate is illegal, but it’s legal to stick your thumb out for a ride if you do it on the entrance ramp). I slid my oversized, kind-of-goofy yellow backpack out of the back seat of the family VW Rabbit and stuck out my thumb. I wore tennis shoes, jeans, and a hospital scrubs shirt. My hair was cut newly s...
Seeing the twin horse-driven polished box-like carriage heading up the main drive, Jack Wetherley’s heart gave a heave, knowing that this was his new challenge, arriving with two long-coated men sitting up front. Excitedly, he called Alf, his boss and mentor. Alf hobbled out of the stable, becoming much slower on his feet, Jack thought. He was due to retire soon and that was why Jack had been appointed. But this new arriv...
It was the largest department store in the city, with the food department covering most of the ground floor. And it was there that I had taken up a part-time job on the Saturdays of my final year in college. Quite a comfortable little job loading bakery shelves. Then came Christmas! “The Saturday before Christmas will kill you!” George, head porter, gleefully informed me. “Time of year always kills off part-timers.” It wa...
Up, unwilling out of sleep’s sensuous pit. Again, the cry, thin, tentative. Fourth time tonight? Fifth? Cosy-rosy dreams fade. Windows, still winter dark. Time? Late—were there streetlights? Reach blindly for clock on table. Sleep-numb fingers touch but only push. Crash on floor. Shockproof? Hope so—hope so—Heavy eyelids flicker, warm waves drift towards slumber— Again, the cry, louder! So close, the warm, womanly, wifely...
Anyone who knows me is aware of just how much I hated high school. I have only a few happy memories of the time I was forced to spend there until I quit, and one of them concerns the school wrestling team. This was an old school, and the wrestling team practiced in the girl's gym, as they didn't have their own space, and the basketball team was in the boy's gym. I held the title of trainer, a glorified water boy who assis...
I remember when winter came and you would come inside Your hands would be as cold as ice You would put them so close to the heater I could see the pain as the warmth would slowly return You never let on that they were hurting The whippings as a child you gave me You cried much more than I When the day came that I was leaving Going out on my own How your eyes mixed with pain and pride. I left and returned many times You ta...
When I was a little girl, I lived in silent fear of losing my mother the way she lost hers. That fear became excessive when I reached the age of seven, the same age she was when her mother fell down the basement stairs and hit her head. I watched Mama like a hawk, terrified that she would meet the same fate. I offered to go to the basement to get whatever she needed to the point of making a pest of myself. Finally, she go...
Always a test Waiting for the unknown Time to pass Being alone is the worst part Memories come to visit Dreams take over Sadness and happiness mix Flooding my mind and heart Waiting for change But afraid it will happen A test I have taken many times And will continue to take Both win and losses A test of waiting A test of unknown A test of strength A test of fear A test of time...
I wish I could remember every moment of growing up. The laughter. The tears. One last time. I want to see the glow of my wife’s face in the setting sun. One last time. I crave to feel the warmth of her body curled against mine. One last time. I wish I could go back in time and watch my daughter grow into such a beautiful person. One last time. I want to relive holding her in my arms at the hospital to taking her in my arm...
