Irene knows I love fruits. When I was a free, flying bird in the forests of Africa, I had my meals loaded with fresh, sweet fruits. Of course, fruits here don't taste exactly delicious like those wild foods, and my old breakfast, lunches and dinners are much fresher, but in this modern, busy city, they make me feel familiar and nostalgic, like a soft touch of my old nature home. Irene often gives me sliced cherries or bananas, which sweetness I favor, but I can eat any fruit. I love fruits.

"What is this, Alex?" Irene asks me, her hand swinging a tiny red, nearly heart-shaped object hanged to a green stem, ready to be cut into pieces.

"Cherry!" I excitedly sing, flapping what is left of my wings, waiting for a tasty treat.

"This?" She puts the apple down and raise a long, curve yellow fruit up. I notice the familiar food and speak.

"Banana! Wanna banana!" I want that banana!

"Good job, but you're having another treat today." Irene smiles, a bit mischievously, and she holds up a strange thing, which looks like a huge cherry, but from the cut slice I see the color inside is similar to the bananas. The sum of banana and cherry, so what is this fruit supposed to be called?

"Banerry?" I try.

Irene hears my response and she gets a good laugh, although I can't see any humor in this situation. Clearly, I replied with the wrong answer, and I'm mad at myself for that. Her laughter is pure and lovely, but the banerry is not.

"Apple." Irene teaches me the word. "Apple. Say it."

"Apple." I repeat.

"Great. What's this?" She push the red fruit at me again.

"Apple." Irene nods, smiles and she puts into my dish my rewarding treat, several thin slices of the apple, newly cut. I bend down and taste the strange, sweet and raspy fruit, it is delicious. I like apples.