READ THE STORY

“…melancholy…” she uttered inaudibly. 

“Sorry? Melanie?…” the barista loudly inquired. 

“No, no, sorry- my name is Ruby.” 

Ruby stepped down the stoop leading up to her favorite coffee shop having just purchased a far too expensive latte. Something about this shop, the beans, or maybe the design of the building, had always made it her favorite. Of all the places she had been- not that that number was terribly high- this coffee shop, in the city where she had always lived, remained her favorite. For the first time, the thought struck her, because it was home. 

Most often, Ruby made her own coffee. She used a French press. She enjoyed the process. It all felt a little more sophisticated, elevated, as though it should cost more. Cost more even though the press was much cheaper than any coffee maker and the beans she bought usually came in a five pound bag. Ruby wasn’t picky. She couldn’t afford to be. The last few years had all been every syllable of the word ‘challenging.’

She walked along the busy city streets wondering about all the people on them. She wondered where they were going; wondered how they made their living. Ruby wondered if they were happy doing so. She wouldn’t say she was. Though the count of who she’d admit that to stood at zero. She was acutely aware of all the good in her life. Aware of how many skills and gifts she had been born with and been able to cultivate. Yet still, in her mind, to herself only, she wouldn’t say she was happy. She was melancholy. A half smile crept across her face as she thought: “melancholy- such a romantic word for depressed.” 

In a hurry to get nowhere, grasping the warm latte in her bare hands, taking care to enjoy each sip- as she permitted herself just one of these treats per week- her wondering continued. Did this coffee actually taste better? Or because it was a rarity did it become more? She wondered what to do next with her day. On the outside she strolled but inside her mind raced, touching on a hundred problems simultaneously. Her eyes began to well under the pressure of her own thoughts. But before a single tear could escape her soulful brown eyes, a city bus roared by. So abruptly had it come down the street the surprise of it nearly made her drop her treasured beverage. As her senses regained their composure she found herself in the wake of fright, in the wake of the unexpected. She found herself in a flurry of crisp, fallen leaves. She was enshrouded in an array of sepia, crimson, and gold. The tear that had held, now escaped her eye, accompanied by a few more. However its reason had changed wholly. In that autumnal magic she recalled something her grandmother had once told her about trees. She had imparted that every year, even the mightiest tree sheds its old self fully. And in that way endures winter. Bare. Unprotected. But inevitably, each spring, that tree blooms again. 

Now smiling, tear tracks upon her cheeks, Ruby wrapped her long coat about her body. The wind caused her straight, ebony hair to dance across her darkly-complected face. The garment she held close had belonged to her grandmother. It was the coat Ruby had played dress- up in when she was a child. It embodied her grandmother: elegant, bold, and resilient. It was timeless. Slightly oversized on Ruby, the green garment provided her warmth. It brought happy memories to her mind and to her heart. It offered a much needed hug every time she dawned it. She strolled home, smiling, enjoying her coffee- a Ruby clad in emerald.