Cherry - part 7

Percival

Song

He looks at the clock. 2:30 in the morning. And now she's coming home?

He hears her voice from his room on the second floor. Her voice have always been fierce, but ever so smooth. How is that even possible? Even when she talks, she really sings. Yes, his sister has many talents, and she became a teacher, of all things. She doesn't mean anyone to hear her. Maybe it's only Percival who does. He can recognize that song from miles away. Suddenly he remembers how he missed Zia. Zia, like an angel she would always remind me to do the right thing. And he's glad that she has that influence on him. However simple it seems, staying on the right track could be hard. At least for him.

Well, he made it a year without hearing that song, and though he knows that his father will be favoring her when he wakes up and until she leaves, he still admits to himself that he missed that song, that voice.

He never knew what it was about, really. Yes, he could hear the lyrics, but what did it mean?

She was named after a character in a game, Bastion, where Zia, a fair skinned, black haired girl sings that song. Their voices are even so alike. When she was younger, the game became an obsession. It may be old, but the game sure was beautiful, an artwork. The only way in which she doesn't reassemble Zia, is the height. With her 5'7 she's far from tiny. And she does also look like an angel. That's what she have been told forever. He doubts if she actually believe any of it.

He opens the window wide to hear better.

“Some day those tears are gonna spill...” he hear from the ground. She opens the door and the voice comes with her, leaving the front garden ever so empty.

He never understood why his parents named her after a character in an old game. He never played the game himself, in some kind of rebellion. But she was obsessed, at least for a while, and he watched her play some times. When she found Zia, she was mute for a week.

She never sing that song in front of other people, but that voice of hers is hard to miss some times, at least for him. She feels like it also belongs to her, at least a little bit.

In the old days, when they were friends all the time, he could sit for himself in his couch after a crappy day, and even Zia's words didn't get to him. He could sit there until she went to bed, walking around in her silk dress, her favorite, and sing because she absentmindedly tidied her room and went to bed. And that song could change his perspective on everything. He would get up and go to sleep like a good boy.

And he would sleep the second his head hit the pillow.

Zia is quiet now. She's in her old room, only touched my maids who cleaned. Ready for her to use at any time, if she came home from Paris.

He walks to her door and knocks. She opens the door and smiles.

“Perry, it's been so long.” And she hugs him. He hugs her back.

“It sure has, Zia. How was Paris?”

“It was nice, but it's good to be home again.”

They walk inside her room. Huge as an apartment, just like his.

“How bad is it?” She asks, worried, obviously.

“I feel like I'm drowning here, Zia. I missed you.” She hugs him again.

“How about mom and dad? Are they okay?” She asks with flatness in her voice.

“Fine, as always. Dad just got a bonus from Mr. Waltz. Mom is still just chilling with the other housewives.” He shrugs and smiles.

“Don't drown, Perry. I cannot save you from drowning. So don't.”

Her voice is baffling as it always is. He nods a mumbles “Goodnight, Zia.” and goes to bed.

Like a good boy.