The shadow of a lemon tree

“Are you still writing for the newspaper these days?” A friend I am talking to on the phone asked.

“I’m moaning because I don’t have anything to write about.”

"I remember the article about your angry husband leaving you on the side of the road while riding a car with you. Write something that readers can relate to."

"When I first started writing in the newspaper, I wrote as if I was throwing up the bitter water of my hard memories. After I spit it out, there are no more topics like that. I'm old enough to live and make a living, so I am not arguing with my husband." 

As my whining continued for a long time, I heard my friend's footsteps over the telephone line.

"Are you taking a walk now?”

"No, I came out into the backyard. I'm going to have a smoke. Talking about the past makes me want to smoke."

The joy and remorse of our youth during our conversation must have stimulated her. I remember a tree with 200 lemons which were shining brightly like her in the backyard of her house. 

“Are you smoking under the lemon tree? It smells like lemon-scented cigarettes even here.”

She is a friend who lives in LA who was not close when I was in college. The year I graduated from school, late autumn, I was walking in agony about my job, marriage, etc. on the Anguk-dongstone wall road. This friend, who happened to see me on the street, called me up loudly as if I looked pitiful.

"Hey, nice to meet you. Where are you going?”

"Just, I'm on my way home from being nearby," said timidly, a little wary of the lively her.

"My studio is around here. Since we met like this, let's go to my studio and have a drink together."

I followed her unconsciously at the reaction of an unfamiliar friend. We opened the studio door and entered. As soon as I tried to expand my eyes to look inside the unorganized dark studio, I saw a big, handsome man shining brightly. She introduced me as her boyfriend. It was very uncomfortable to be stuck between two young men and women in a dark space. I came out, resisting her kindness to stay more, saying that other friends would come in a little while. I was more intimidated by the fact that she works in the studio, has a good-looking lover, hangs out with many people, and enjoys youth to the fullest. After walking along the Anguk-dong stone wall road, I sat at the Gwanghwamun bus station until sunset and dusk came. Like waiting for someone to come up to me and take my hand and lead me.

We came to America by chance the same year. She married a good looking lover and immigrated to LA. I came to New York alone without meeting someone who would hold my hand. She and I talk on the phone sometimes and meet back and forth between LA and New York. I seem to have a long relationship with her because those days when I had a lot of worries, her care for reaching out to me first was imprinted in my memory.