June Ke
Chapter 1
No. 30
Dear A,
I visited Grandma Jill on the weekend. She’s doing well since her recovery and has attended her weekly rehabilitation without so much of a fuss, which is good news for all of us. You know how she gets when she’s off her pills. Furthermore, the doctors have said she’d doing well without them for a month now and shouldn’t need to rely on them as much anymore. It’s so tiring worrying about her constantly, but I don’t dare confess that to anyone. They all love her so much... they’re all fighting for her, so I know I must. It just feels good to open up and let those feelings release I guess, which is why I’m glad you’re here to listen. I hope things are going well with your part time. I know it’s hard balancing school and running errands simultaneously but I’m sure your efforts will pay off in the long run. Keep me updated with life. R
I tucked letter number 30 into the breast pocket of my denim overalls before heading on my morning round. Sunday mornings were my favourite for various reasons. My paper rounds were easiest to deliver Sunday mornings, as the streets were mostly desert and quiet. It made it easier to navigate my bicycle through the streets and weave around various trees and lampposts without the added risks of being run over by a car. I was a paperboy, or girl to be exact, earning a low but steady budget of seven dollars an hour, three hours a day, seven days a week tossing the daily paper onto lawns through neighbouring streets and suburbs from the plastic crate attached onto the back of my rusty bicycle. The job was tough, needless to say unpopular; the fact that they’d let a girl take up the job was mainly from the lack of volunteers seeking employment. In addition, the thought of spending three hours daily under capricious weather conditions riding through the same route with such meagre compensation in cash would send anyone dashing. However, a job was a job and wage was wage so I would gladly take it as it came.
No. 30
Dear A,
I visited Grandma Jill on the weekend. She’s doing well since her recovery and has attended her weekly rehabilitation without so much of a fuss, which is good news for all of us. You know how she gets when she’s off her pills. Furthermore, the doctors have said she’d doing well without them for a month now and shouldn’t need to rely on them as much anymore. It’s so tiring worrying about her constantly, but I don’t dare confess that to anyone. They all love her so much... they’re all fighting for her, so I know I must. It just feels good to open up and let those feelings release I guess, which is why I’m glad you’re here to listen. I hope things are going well with your part time. I know it’s hard balancing school and running errands simultaneously but I’m sure your efforts will pay off in the long run. Keep me updated with life. R
I tucked letter number 30 into the breast pocket of my denim overalls before heading on my morning round. Sunday mornings were my favourite for various reasons. My paper rounds were easiest to deliver Sunday mornings, as the streets were mostly desert and quiet. It made it easier to navigate my bicycle through the streets and weave around various trees and lampposts without the added risks of being run over by a car. I was a paperboy, or girl to be exact, earning a low but steady budget of seven dollars an hour, three hours a day, seven days a week tossing the daily paper onto lawns through neighbouring streets and suburbs from the plastic crate attached onto the back of my rusty bicycle. The job was tough, needless to say unpopular; the fact that they’d let a girl take up the job was mainly from the lack of volunteers seeking employment. In addition, the thought of spending three hours daily under capricious weather conditions riding through the same route with such meagre compensation in cash would send anyone dashing. However, a job was a job and wage was wage so I would gladly take it as it came.