Old lemon tree

He can see the bus stop from where he is standing. The early morning sun shouldn’t be this hot, but it is, and he has no choice but to take cover in the shade of the old lemon tree. 

At least he thinks it is old - he does not know for how long the tree has been there, just standing in the same place, nor does he care. Well, it is not like anyone will tell him just how old the old lemon tree is anyway. He just knows it is way older than him and older than most, older than anyone he has ever known.

Children of all ages stand next to the sign, some more eager than others, waiting for the bus to appear. He remembers when he was one of them, excited for the day to come. Now the mere thought of going to school is sickening. Why, why do they have to push him around? Put their feet in front of him so he falls? What did he do that was so wrong? 

He does not know. Maybe because there is no answer, he did not actually do anything. Sometimes things like these just happen and people are simply chosen to be the ones who suffer. His mother always says that there are two types of people in life: those who win and those who lose - the ones who beat and the ones who get beaten. Well, he is tired of being beaten and it is not like the teachers are doing anything about it, so he decides to do something.

The bus arrives and the children go in. The bus leaves - without him. All he wants to do is to lie down next to this lemon tree and forget there is anything in the world but branches, leaves, and lemons. One falls next to him and the shadows give it a funny face. He laughs. Picks it up, carves some eyes and a smile with a stick he found and calls it a friend. This lemon is now his friend.

They play of anything they can think of. Hide and seek, hopscotch, tag. Whatever they can think of and whatever they feel like. He climbs on the branches of the lemon tree and swings from them as best as he can. The lemon tree is not very big, nor very tall, but to him it is just enough. 

Hours pass them by and he is calm, welcome, free like he has not been in a very long time. But with the hours comes hunger and he knows it is useless to reach for his school bag, no one has packed lunch for him in a while. As if waiting for this moment, the smell of pastries fills him entirely and he is drawn to a window. 

Someone has left a lemon pie on the sill.

She can see him every morning from where she stands. He should not look so sad for a boy his age, but he does, and she watches the boy in the shade of the old lemon tree. 

It is quite old, the tree, as old as her. She was a child when her father planted it. He said it would bring good luck and happiness to their family, and in many ways it did. If she looks hard enough she can still see the silhouette of her mother reaching up to find the best lemons and her smiling father beside her.

They were never well off, but had enough to get by and after many years even buy the house. This house, the one in which she stands right now, was her home as a child and later as a wife to a man she loved very much. He is now gone (most seem to be these days) and loneliness can sometimes feel a little too much. They had their disagreements over their many years together, of course, but now she only remembers their good moments.

It was her mother who told her to do this, to one day look past all that had been wrong and leave only what made her feel joy, what made her feel love. Some days are easier than others. Sometimes she cannot help but go over what she wishes she had said, wishes she had done. For one, they never had any children - now she stands in an empty house with empty beds and chairs. She tries to keep her head up and keep going, but the old lemon tree has been kind to her and given her many lemons, so these days it seems all she can do to feel better is bake pies. 

It was her husband who taught her how to bake the lemon pies. Very good ones, at that. On calm days they would do nothing but wake up, pick out some lemons, and bake. Or drink lemonade. On busy days they would sell them. Life was never easy, never is, and yet somehow they made it work. Now he is gone but somehow she keeps finding reasons to smile. Which is why she cannot help but wonder why a boy so young would look like this. 

She watches as the bus leaves - without him. She watches as he plays and runs and jumps around her old lemon tree, how free he seems. For a moment, she can see that old look disappear and he finally seems like a little boy. He lies down next to the tree, hugs it, shakes it until branches, leaves, and lemons fall. She knows something that ought to cheer him up. 

She leaves a lemon pie on the sill.

(This was my first time writing in a very long time and I spent a long time writing this and now I just really want to submit it but the page won't let me because I need at least 1000 words and I can’t write anymore so I will just continue to write until I reach the word minimum yey)