On a Rainy Day  

                                                                                                           Lena Lee

It is autumn and raining outside. California is in the midst of a drought and this rain would help ease the dryness for a while. It reminds me of the song “Red Roses on Wednesday.” Even though it's not Wednesday, I wish to buy a bunch of red roses and have them by my side. Their thick scent will infuse with the damp air and fill the room.

Raindrops start hitting the window gently as the wind blows. I reminisce about a showery day at school. Sitting by the window, I couldn't concentrate on my studies because of the sound of rain.

It was around the time that I started to be concerned about my school, my life, and the things around me. My adolescence had a limited point of view: only material desires were imperative to life. There were a lot of possessions I longed for, though my family wasn’t financially competent. However, thanks to my friends, I lived through the dark and difficult days without incident.

As I watch the rainwater dripping down the window, I think of the faces I haven’t forgotten. Young-Hee, Eun-Jung, Mi-Sook, Ji-Sook, Eun-Kyung… If yearning was sand, I would have a beach of my own. We couldn't help each other financially since most of us were in a similar situation, but we supported each other any way we could. I still remain grateful to them for being there. 

Having a peaceful and comfortable life now, I sometimes think about my friends who were with me at that time. A few decades have passed. No one is in contact any more. Perhaps some have already passed on.

I am certain that friendship doesn't happen by accident. Instead of making friends, I’d rather be a good friend to those who need me.

Like the lyrics of the song, “I Will Write a Letter in the Fall,” I’d be a friend to those who could write a letter in autumn wholeheartedly. Even if she is much older than me, I’d stay contacted with her just like my friends did.

I’d be a friend she can call without hesitation on a rainy day like this. If I hear her subdued voice over the phone, I’d anxiously ask her about her well-being.

If she tells me about a favorite celebrity at the shopping mall in a vivacious voice, I’d ask if they were still as pretty in real life.

If she describes a ridiculous car accident she got into, I will not criticize her unorganized thoughts, or scrutinize her perspective, or reveal her wrong doing.

If she discloses to me about the sudden death of an acquaintance, I’d quietly listen. I will treat her with an open mind rather than consoling with awkward words. I won't start talking about myself or my situation in the middle of her story.

I will not bring up stories about children, significant others, relatives, or family members. She also won't tell stories of people who are twice divorced and getting married for the third time, frivolous stories about trendy clothes, shoes, handbags, etc.

Instead, we will speak of our futures. Although we have lived more days than we have left, we will wholeheartedly discuss our plans. I'll encourage her to try something new, something she hasn't done before. If it's not such a disconcerting dream, I will tell her to go ahead.

If she wants to learn to dance, I’d tell to get started. Like Professor Morrie Schwartz in Tuesday with Morrie, I’ll tell her to dance until her body feels light. If her team comes together for a dance recital, I'll be happy to take the time to attend.

Even if her movements are clumsy, I’ll still praise her with fervent applause and hand her a bunch of daisies and gypsophila.

On a rainy day like this, we will meet at a local coffee shop with a skilled barista and enjoy a cup of coffee full of soft foam. If she hands me a napkin to wipe my face without knowing there’s foam on hers, I will gladly accept it.

I’ll neither pass her a sample of expensive cosmetics while talking about the dark spots on her face, nor say the time to retouch has passed by looking at her roots.

Even if she embarrassedly orders two desserts, instead of giving her a pinch, I’d be happy to order a chocolate cake and a strawberry mousse for myself.

We will listen to the flashy music of Carlos Santana, who wears a black hat over his curly, black hair. I will taste the sweetness of the chocolate cake while listening to the glaring sound of the guitar playing with his long nails. We will not disturb this beautiful moment with superfluous chatter.

We'll also watch the raindrops falling from the umbrellas of people passing by listening to the songs of the handsome Adam Levine. We will observe the music of the rain, played by the wind.

We will watch the rain on streetlights, store signs, traffic lights, buildings, and cement walls in between. We will appreciate how elegant these lifeless things stand out in the rain and their beauty.

I will drink coffee that cools slowly while dark clouds descend. And we will debate as we look at the flimsy armature paintings on the walls, whether they were influenced by Claude Monet, an impressionist, Vincent Van Gogh, a post-impressionist painter, or Andy Warhol, a pop artist.

We will treat each other honestly and take off the mask of hypocrisy. Her past is irrelevant. I will accept her as she is now and watch her pruning and growing. As my friends did, I will not lead her in front, but rather follow her behind or by her side.

I hope my soul is cleansed by staying by her. I will go to a fancy stationery store and buy a writing pad of a pastel shade of blue. I will carefully hand-write a letter, neither an email nor KakaoTalk message, and deliver it to her when we meet someday.

Hey, my friend. Where are you?