She sat there sewing, the cold permeated that Japanese home outside Johnson AFB…. I could smell the oil burning that heated the old house….

I turned an wandered back to the couch, still recovering from the beating Don gave me that caused a stroke… They were hiding me away….

Time stood still for me during those weeks as I got my voice back and was able to speak again…

If I had died, Don and Freda would be in a Japanese prison and my little brother would never come to be…

She finished that Orange poncho in time for me to go back to school….

I hated that poncho, but Japan cared not, it was cold….

By the time we left Japan, I wanted to throw it away, my sister who envied my life, wanted it… Her desire to replace me took a sick turn…

To this day I won’t wear a poncho….

I remember…

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