Snippet of The North Star

Thank you for your support. Here is a preview of my upcoming memoir. Throughout all my changes, this scene has stuck with me since the beginning. Hope you enjoy.

House #13
Spring 2003: Suburb of St. Louis, Missouri

“Wake up girls and go help your mother.” My dad gently shook my shoulder. I was eight years old living in the suburbs of St. Louis and sleeping on the bottom bunk with my sister, Sarah.

“What?” I blinked. “What time is it?”

“Five in the morning. Your mother just got all the newspapers and she needs your help. She’s running late.” He whispers so that our younger sisters, Meagan and Emily, asleep on the top bunk, wouldn’t wake up.

Sarah mumbled something about it being unfair and my dad pulled the covers off. “Don’t make me get a wet rag.” She opened her eyes. The dreaded wet rag was enough to wake us up. We stumbled out of our room.

“Do we have to?” I asked.

“Yeah. I’m sorry. Your mother really needs help, but I have to rest before my exam in a few hours.” He left without another word.

“Apparently your father thought I needed help.” My mom was sitting on the linoleum floor already rolling away.

Rolling newspapers stained my hands black. Newspaper soaked up the moisture from my hands and traded it with ink. My mom, Sarah and I were surrounded by stacks of newspapers tied in yellow bands. My mom cut each band with a steak knife by turning it carefully underneath. It snapped and we began. Sarah took the ads, placed them on the newspaper packet, handed it to me and I rolled it up tight. Then I grabbed a rubber-band from a giant bag of rubber-bands that could probably make a huge rubber-band ball. I twisted the band on the newspaper and threw it into a bag. 

Sometimes Sarah and I went with her in the eerie early morning to deliver the newspapers to a designated neighborhood. The world was different before the sun came up.

My mom said one time she threw up on the side of the road while delivering newspapers. She said it was the baby that made her sick. We were going to have a baby brother.

When I asked her why she delivered newspapers, she said, “Because I need to work while your Daddy is in school. And this job lets me be at home with you girls during the day.”

“I like it when you’re home with us,” Sarah said.

My mom rolled another newspaper tight. “I used to have a job that paid more, but I had to quit because it took me away from you.”

“When Daddy is done with school, will you keep throwing newspapers?” I asked.

“No. I will be at home with you all the time.”