When I was younger and as far back as I could remember my sister and I would spend the summer at my aunt's house in America. Having been born and raised in Nagasaki, I used to dread the trip from Japan to America and not just because my only companion was my sister. It wasn't that my mother didn't have time for her kids; she just wanted us to have fun. It was a foreign word to me; all I knew was the drafty and not so charming two bedroom apartment we called home. After the passing of our father, our mother became a widow and without a stable income things were hard for the three of us. My sister Victoria caught a bad case of influenza when she was a year old so sever it damaged her right lung to the point it is virtually impossible to repair and caused minor damage to her left. What I am trying to say is she only has one lung that works just enough to get her by. The doctors swore she wouldn't make it another year, yet she proved them wrong. She'll be sixteen in May and though she can't go anywhere without her inhaler she is never better.
My mom's sister Donna owns a nicely sized lake house close to Lake George, a fun little tourist stop close to the looming Adirondack Mountains. She's a seasonal worker who manages the two well-kept motels that my uncle's family owned for many generations. They would rake in just enough money to get them by until the following summer. They didn't need much since it was only the three of them, the third being my cousin Tiffany. It also helped that they owned the property Uncle Brandon built their house on.
Our mother never told us why she sent us to her sister's home, though I would be lying if I said I never wondered. So much so that I asked my uncle who lacked the ability of lying. Remember the saying 'curiosity killed the cat'? Well finding out the truth didn't kill me, but left a scar on me, so much so that I buried it deep in my soul. If only I knew that secret would gnaw at me until it became a festering sore that would never go away.