Hermes

“Should I Stay or Should I Go” played on the coffee shop speakers, and Daphne wondered whether The Clash was telling her something.

She sipped her coffee as her anxious gaze wandered towards the door. An old couple walked in and searched for a table. A stormy gloom settled over the coffee shop as a heavy thunderhead ambled over the street. 

Daphne turned her gaze back to the window, hoping he would not be late, like he had promised this time. And the time before that…

“I’m here,” she texted him.

The song played, and the lyrics nagged at her. When to stay or jump ship? Is the relationship even worth it? She loved him, but did he love her?

She looked down at her hands; the gold bracelet hung limp on her wrist. He had given it to her as a birthday gift, and she loved it. But she never wore gold, only silver. Silver brought out the flecks of green in her dark eyes and glittered against her marble skin and jet black curly hair. Silver, not gold. Gold gave her skin a rotting-zombie appearance. And yet, he had bought her a gold bracelet.

“It’s Cartier,” he had said. 

Her text received no reply. 

Daphne’s eyes returned to the window; she sipped her coffee—black and dense, just as she liked it—while couples hurried down the street. The overcast sky chose that instant to dump buckets of rain over the world, which seemed to turn in twos. Everything and everyone seem to be a couple. Even the trees planted along the sidewalk grew in pairs.

She glanced at her watch. He was late, and she hoped the rain would not delay him further. The Clash’s song ended long ago, but the lyrics still resonated in her. Should I stay or should I go?

“Where are you?” She texted him.

Daphne gazed at the door, then tugged at the silken scarf around her neck, also a present from him. Hermès, she loved it. It was a beautiful scarf, but…

But there was always a ‘but’. The scarf was brown and mustard-yellow, colors that gave her an instant bitch-face. He knew this, and still…

Hermès… Hermes, the messenger. She turned back to the window; lightning flashed like the Greek god on winged sandals zipping across the sky.

“Give me a sign,” she muttered, “should I stay or should I go?”

Daphne glanced at her phone. 

No reply.

The rain stopped; the gold bracelet looked dead on her wrist. Daphne scrunched up her face, disgusted.

“I hate it,” she admitted, “I hate this bracelet.”

Then, she took off her scarf and scowled at its brown-and-mustard motif.

“I hate it too. “

She placed both gifts on the table and glanced at the door, then at her phone. 

Still no reply.

A ray of sunlight peeked through the overcast sky and streamed through the coffee shop window. It shone on her.

Daphne stood up and left the coffee shop. 

When he sauntered through the shop’s door, the bracelet and Hermès scarf sat inert on the vacant table.