Some time passed and Perion had slowly begun to physically heal. She had put on a little weight and had shed the gaunt, sickly look she had sported when first arriving in Arkansas. After a draining bout from withdrawal, she didn’t seem to crave cocaine quite as much. Thinking of her baby had cut the cravings considerably, she wouldn’t hurt her child any longer. She had also been to the doctor Marilinn suggested, and each exam revealed that her unborn child was okay.
Perion thought about the girls constantly and visited their graves weekly, taking bouquets and bouquets of flowers, despite her allergy. Lein weighed heavily on her mind all the time. She wanted to see him, but felt she couldn’t face him. She had hurt him badly, had literally spit on his heart. Not only that, but she continued to lie to him about the baby. She decided that Lein was best left in L.A., away from her, away from her craziness.
One afternoon, Perion dared to wander into the shed where the band had started up the road to success. She walked around the inside of the little building and could almost visualize them in the room. She could almost hear them playing, could nearly see Blaine sprawled out in a chair listening to them for the first time, and almost see them looking through fanzines, oooing and ahhing over their favorite musicians.
She walked over to the dusty, battered chest of drawers Marilinn had let her have to store the songs she had so lovingly written for the band. She opened the drawer where they had been kept. She was more than amazed to find some of the manila folders that contained the songs. There was also a pile of fanzines they had collected over the years. Perion ignored the fanzines and picked up the manila folders.
She took them over to the center of the floor and sat down with them. She opened the folder on top and saw her own childish script on a piece of paper that held the lyrics to the very first song she had ever written. She read through it, remembering the music that had been created to go with it. She moved past it and flipped through the remaining sheet music.
One of the very last songs she found was written before Bitter Wynter had left for Los Angeles. It had lyrically been a collaborative effort; each girl had contributed some words and music to the song. It was titled Sisters. It summed up the relationship the group had maintained over time. It had also been one song in hundreds they had never ventured to record. But on that day, with two of the band gone, the song was appropriate to their memory. It was more than appropriate; it was right, so right.
She put the song back into the folder quickly. She didn’t want to look at it anymore. If she did, she’d likely lose more of her already lost mind.