Lemon vs. Pear

As a teenager, I had a friend from Vietnam. She and I would sit in her backyard, hiding from her great-aunt and the terrible music she listened to. My friend wasn't Vietnamese exactly, though she was born there. Way out there. She'd moved here as a small child and didn't have a hint of an accent, but could switch into that ear-splitting language she used with her parents at a moment's notice. For that reason, I always figured she was very smart.

As for me, I know only this one language. It's a regret.

Her backyard was several times the size of my own. It even had an orchard. We'd sit on the patio chairs with our legs splayed open and she would eat the fruit from her pear tree, and I would eat the fruit of her lemon tree, and in this and many other ways we were very different.

"Pears are like apples, but worse," I said when she offered me one the first time. She laughed. I think I was like an alien to her. No one was allowed to be picky in her family. You took what you were given, you were polite, or you were beaten with a slipper.

That's another reason we avoided her great-aunt. The old woman was easily set off, and her house slippers were always ready to fly. That yippy little dog of hers would run to her side, and then both of them would be barking at us. I've never forgotten to take my shoes off inside her house since that first time.

The lemons were always exciting to me, and I looked forward to coming over and eating one or two. She couldn't believe I actually enjoyed it. But my mother had told me a story about how as a baby, they gave me a slice of lemon to eat, one of those semi-cruel jokes parents play on their infants. They get such a kick out of seeing their own baby recoil in horror at the sour taste. My palette, however, has always been partial to lemon apparently. She was in for a surprise, as I loved it and reached out for more.

After hearing this, not remembering it at all, somehow it became part of my identity. Other people could enjoy the standard fruits, but I would always be contrarian. I thought myself sophisticated, though in truth there weren't many other foods I liked, and fewer still that I was willing to try. I'd already figured out what I like and didn't have a need for more. This led to some awkward scenes, as you might imagine.

Once, my mother and I went to a thai restaurant with some high school friends of hers. I didn't know what anything on the menu was. I cried. I ate white rice. Her friends looked at each other but didn't say much of anything to me. One asked my mom if I'd always been picky, and she smiled, as if proud of the fact, and said yes.

It took me a long time to grow out of this. Thai food is amazing, as I later found out, especially when spicy. You couldn't pay me to eat something spicy before the age of 20.

My lemon phase lasted until about that point, when I put childish things away and decided to join the rest of the adults at the table. It's probably a good thing I did, because a few more years of munching lemons might have destroyed my teeth. Or given me an ulcer. Somehow, my stomach didn't have any problem with the acidity, though. It always felt like a relief, a soothing sensation. Exciting at the first bite, that punch forcing your mouth to salivate. Then, once adjusted, it was almost as if I were challenging myself to finish one, finish another. It's the only thing that was ever fun to eat.

That friend of mine never seemed to enjoy her pears as much. She would sit quietly, as if meditating, and I would wonder what she was thinking about but rarely ask. It was more interesting to imagine, to leave her with her inner world undisturbed. We were both quiet girls.

These days, I only rarely eat lemons. It's not a trick I do anymore, for myself or anyone else. They don't have the same magic. I suppose I burned myself out on them after having so many. But now, every once in a while, I'll be shopping for my groceries and will pick through the fifty-cent lemons until I find the perfect one to take home. I don't cook with them. I wait until the moment is right, and for a few minutes I am young again.