고등학교 공통영어2 (NE능률 민병천) 연계 글

In March, our homeroom teacher paired each of us with a resident of a nursing home across the city. For one semester, we would exchange letters every two weeks, but we would not meet our partners until the last day in July. We had to write every letter by hand, which meant that I could not hide my crossed-out words. Before the project, I had never received a letter written by anyone older than my parents.

My partner was Mr. Hwangbo, an eighty-four-year-old man who had painted shop signs for four decades. My first letter was only five lines long and mostly about the weather. His reply filled two pages. He described the persimmon tree outside his window in vivid detail and drew a tiny umbrella next to the word "rain." His handwriting was so precise that every line looked as if he had drawn it with a ruler.

In April, he sent me a photo taken in front of his first shop when he was twenty-six. In May, however, his letters suddenly grew shorter, which worried me more than I expected. When I asked whether he was ill, he revealed only that he was busy with "a small job." By June, his letters were two pages long again, so I stopped worrying.

On that last day in July, we finally visited the nursing home. I searched the crowded hall for the young man in the photo, but of course he was not there. Instead, I noticed an old man by the window holding up a page covered with my handwriting. It was my first letter, the five lines about the weather. His hands shook as he reached for mine, which surprised me after all those perfectly straight lines. Then he handed me a wooden sign painted with my name in blue. He said that it had taken him most of May because his hands were no longer steady.

I had worried that we would meet as strangers, but we had already become friends, one slow letter at a time. On the bus back to school, I began planning my next letter to him.