Monroe Street, the Northeast Minneapolis street on which I grew up. A lot happen on Monroe, very wide range of living, from being a ten year old attending school for the first time ever to a nineteen year old hearing the first ‘I love you’ from a guy. A lot of growing up.
The house on Monroe Street played a big role in many lives.
My parents along with my sisters and I moved the lower level duplex apartment on Monroe Street in Northeast Minneapolis, April 2000. My older siblings that were 3-13 years older than I, were in an out of the apartment spanning different schools, international trips, jobs, and internships. It wasn’t until I was 17 and a junior in high school did I get my own room, ‘the one with a real door’. It was sort of satisfying that my older sisters that had already moved out of state had to share a room once they came back. (The other bigger room had french doors with louvers instead of glass and you could hear EVERYTHING through it. Cue big teenager sigh). Finally in 2008, our upstairs neighbor moved out and my sisters, starting their quite successful nanny careers, decided to rent it out with one of their best friends.
I was a senior in high school and got to live underneath my older sisters! Best of both worlds. I didn’t have to deal with them on a daily basis but as soon as I needed sisterly advice and comfort, they were there for me.
I stayed on Monroe for two more years after high school. The first, I took time off from school since I had already finished a year of college while still attending my performing arts high school. I worked full time, and spent all my money on God-knows-what. (Actually, this was a key year for me fashion-wise, so I know for a fact I spent most my money on clothes and secondly coffee). The second year, I went back to school with two goals on my mind; getting a Macbook and a car. So I stayed on Monroe one more year to save money under my parents generosity. When I was 21, the perfect year to finally be on your own, I moved to Southeast Minneapolis (which is most often miscalled Northeast Minneapolis. I always correct people letting them know that it is indeed NOT Northeast.)
My sisters continued to have a line of roommates, all close friends, in and out of the upper level apartment. Everyone took a turn and had a season where it just worked out.
My season of being ‘the roommate’ was end of summer 2012. I had my Southeast apartment for a year with only one roommate, my boyfriend’s cousin. Well, I broke up with said-boyfriend of two and a half years that midsummer. A series of other college-tragedies (mostly a break up, a totaled car, and falling for someone who was moving states away). I was ready for something that felt like home.
I moved back to Monroe, only this time to be ‘the roommate’ of the upper apartment. My room was an illegal 8×8 ft room. Pretty much a walk-in closet. I had a loft bed, desk, and tall cupboard for a dresser that doubled as a bedside table. The cheapest rent I will ever have paid in my life, $250 a month.
Times and seasons changed, but Monroe stayed the same while I lived there. Shitty neighbors to the right, drunk old guy living with his mother to the left, and a welcoming duplex in the middle that held many holidays for family, friends, and strays (people who didn’t have anywhere to do for the holidays). My official last month On Monroe was January 2014, the year that everything changed.
Many memories were made On Monroe but also many dreams. I hold onto both as I move forward into life as a young professional, wife, and recent doggy-parent, ready to make new memories and form new dreams.