About the River and Cliché | Zarry

Chapter One

What happens here, stays here.

(Just a friendly reminder.)

*****

The name Nevada comes from the word "snow clad" in Spanish, it is the common sense that has been embedded in every Nevadan kid's brain ever since they took their first geography class. The Spanish dedicated the title in early nineteenth century to the silver white peak of the Sierra Nevada, which is confusing since the majority of its range is lying in the state of California. Especially for those who live in southern Clark County, snow is pretty much a myth that only appears in fairy tales.

When hearing the word "Nevada", people are quick to visualize "WELCOME TO FABULOUS LAS VEGAS" neon signs and jazz music in the background. It is an obvious stereotype. Hot weather, dry air and the long extension of desert crossing over the foot of the state. Wild and fascinating.

Harry never finds his hometown as interesting as how people see it (and there's definitely snow in the winter so fuck fairy tales). Miles down Route 95 there is nothing but the tedious views of sand, shrubs, rocks, sand, random gas stations and sand. And the sky is as blue as how he feels inside right now. People usually get a headache from strong wind and cold weather. But for Harry's situation, it is the heat of 95°F that sets his brain on fire. Those green eyes behind his sunglasses narrow as the dazzling sunlight welcomes him at the end of the way.

This road trip is supposed to be exciting-after all, the purpose is meant to be exciting. Harry keeps repeating this in his head, expecting it would eventually bloom a happy smile on his face. Although after forty-five minutes of attempting, the only thing he can feel right now is the anxiety in his heart. He turns off the GPS in hopes of losing direction so that he could call his sister and apologize to her with a solid excuse. Harry's prayer isn't answered. Despite how much he tries to get lost, the familiarity is soon guiding him back to the correct route.

The last thing he wants to remember is always the first thing he never forgets.

Harry had always wondered who was going to be the first one to contact him after his five years of absence. And he had also tried to guess what kind of reasons could finally pull him back: his mother in a bad condition? His father showing up from nowhere? His sister getting married?

Well, somebody is actually getting married, but it is not Gemma.

He nearly had a heart-attack when he picked up the phone and Gemma's voice was on the other side. "Surprise, little bro." his elder sister giggled nervously, taking a deep breath after a long pause, "Thanks for not hanging up the phone, I guess...how have you been?"

"Not too...bad." Harry replied. His voice hoarsened.

"Glad to hear that. If you're curious, I'm good too. Except- you know, same old shit. Anyway, how's California? Have you been to San Francisco? The famous Lombard Street? God, I've always wanted to take a look. I heard the blossoms along the street side are so amazing. What are those flowers? Roses? Do roses have that many colors-"

"Gem." Harry interrupted as gently as he could, "You didn't call me for the roses, did you?"

Harry crawled out of his sheets languidly while waiting for Gemma's second long pause to end. His curtains blocked the glaring sunlight outside he could never tell what time of the day it was. He slid down his bed to get some water, letting the coolness stream down his veins before Gemma spoke again.

"Yeah, it was kinda hard to explain. I mean...no it wasn't something bad. I did foresee this before. That wasn't too hard to-"

"Gemma-"

"-Mom is getting married."