A Saturday in July was when an unexpected friend sent me a song. She is a shop owner who procures the most beautiful children’s clothing that hang on clothespins up above like fresh prints delicately hanging to dry.
Our first encounter entailed a few bags of clothes that Olive had outgrown and were ready to be traded in for store credit. She brought the clothes out one by one and felt the fabric with her hands and smoothed them out as if they were precious fabric imported from afar. As she sorted the clothes, thoughtfully laying them out into three different piles, we talked about her shop, music, a shared affection for New York, and Korean pajamas. Somehow our conversation extended into a sharing of heartbreak stories and ended with me praying for her and both of us in tears. It was an unplanned exchange that I think marked both our hearts.
Since then, I have visited her at her store on the occasion that I have clothes to trade in or gifts to buy. The visits are few and far between but always warm and comforting like buttered toast.
When she, out of the blue, sent me this music, I stopped everything because the song somehow felt like me. How she knew, I know not. But in our minds, we were listening to the song as it filled the spaces in between and we lay on the living room floor, staring up at the ceiling while the rain fell outside and the tea kettle sat pretty on a folded kitchen towel, steam rising from its spout– nowhere to go and nothing to do but linger in a pared down moment.
I am thankful for friendships of all kinds but especially for ones like this- the kind that doesn’t require years to cultivate but only a conversation, a prayer, and a song.
mijin kang 