Chapter 29: Coffee Culture

 ‘Coffee Culture’ is an elegant yet a ‘not so famous’ coffee shop which lies in the eastern corner of Scarborough, a suburban town of Toronto. It has a warm fireplace corner, it is spacious with large French windows unlike other indie coffee shops in town, it has many old Victorian gas lamps, mild soothing jazz music oozing across the hall and a flawless Asian waitress with a constant and beautiful smile. These are some of the reasons for which I visit the place almost every day at late evenings when the sky gives out some of its last pink shades. Rain or shine! Nothing would stop my visit. But for some weird reasons, I’ve never seen the place closed for any holidays. It stayed open until midnight for New Year, Christmas and even for Thanksgiving, while most shops in the town were closed. I’ve seen the place in all four seasons.  I’ve been there on a cold snowy winter night, a hottest summer afternoon, a misty spring morning and also on a breezy fall evening. It never changed; even the smile on the waitress' face stayed the same. Thelonious Monk, Charles Mingus and Art Blakey restlessly played their jazz instruments every day. I kept seeing the same faces again and again. An old fighting Polish couple, a sad loner with a four day beard and a rugged suit, a gang of young Italian men, playing board game, two college girls who don’t know the purpose of the word ‘like’. But I never got bored. In fact the place grew on me.

I’ll sit by the window corner and browse the internet or read a good book or just create some pencil sketches. Occasionally the waitress would look up and smile at me which usually would cheer me up, to say the least, even if I’m in an extremely lousy mood. For the past six months, I’m planning to ask her name and then to ask her out. I can’t seem to find the right reason, but whenever I try, I usually end up in asking for a double-double brewed coffee which I absolutely hate, by the way. It’s one of their worst! I understand why I’m so scared to ask her out, that’s because I’ve never asked a girl out. But why am I asking for a double-double every time? Why not, a mocha or an iced coffee? I could ask her out whenever I see her outside the shop, whenever she is not working. That would be great! But the problem is that I’ve never seen the girl anywhere outside the shop.
If you ever lived in Scarborough, you’d know that it’s impossible to not see a person anywhere outside. We have a town center court which is a huge mall for the town. It also has a theater, a school, a college and an Old Catholic church. If you live in Scarborough for just six months, you would have seen every single face in this town including the faces of our town’s official serial killer and the proud raccoon rapist!
But I swear, I've never seen the girl anywhere outside the shop. I often imagine that she is some kind of an artificial intelligent robot, who is programmed just to smile. Late at night, when everyone leaves, the bald owner of the coffee shop deactivates and carries her to the dark basement. My theory just doesn't fit. But I’d like to give it some ‘benefit of the doubt’.

-Someday, Late at night-

It was way past midnight. The shop usually closes exactly at midnight. But exception occurs, just for me, when she’s working late. When she’s sweeping the floor, clearing the tables or wiping the glass doors and when she’s finally done with everything she’d give me a complete ‘smile of the day’ with a pleading request in her eyes for me to leave. I’d do my best in smiling back, not as pretty as hers and I’d leave. That day was one of those exceptional days, just me and her! I was sitting at one of the corners reading a book called ‘Galileo and the Roman inquisition’. I've already made up my mind! Today, I decided, I’m going to talk to her, at least to make sure that she’s not a robot. I was waiting for her request to leave. Moments later, the jazz music was turned off and I could sense that she’s approaching me. I didn't look up as if I’m so into the book, honestly I didn't understand a single word!
“Ahem” she cleared her throat.
I looked up! “Oh, is it time already, I didn't know, sorry”
She graciously smiled. That was a ‘that’s okay, now get out’ smile!
I closed the book, zipped my bag and prepared to leave. “Nice night today, huh?”
She nodded and smiled.
“Huh, what’s the time now?” I tried harder.
She pointed at a big old European wooden clock, above the fireplace.
“Sorry, probably I shouldn't ask you this, but can you talk?” that was my last arrow.
“Yeah, of course, I can” that was not the best voice I've ever heard, but it was good enough!
I was so glad, that I finally heard her voice. No one would understand how happy I was. That cleared everything. She’s not a robot who is programmed just to smile. Bald owner doesn't deactivate and carry her to the basement every day. Like me, she is a human, just a human.
“Don’t mistake me, I've been coming to this place for over a year, but I've never heard your voice.”
She smiled again!
“It’s already half past midnight! I should be going, so…”
When I sensed that she’s politely kicking me out, I was walking outside. I didn't ask her name. But I talked to her. That was a giant leap. ‘Anyway’, I thought, ‘I’m going to be coming here every day, I’ll ask her tomorrow!’
But for the next few days, I tried my best! I couldn't even ask for my usual coffee. The place was crowded; she was busy the whole time, making coffee, smoothies, sandwiches and plain cream cheese bagels. She was always making something and the owner served everyone. He gave my coffee in a paper cup. I missed her! She knows that I prefer the white plaster mug. She never serves in a paper cup. She knows me. I even compromised my ‘window-corner’ seat, just to have a glimpse of her. For the next few days, I sat in one of the small brown rusty wooden chairs that were lined, in front of the toaster, where she usually prepares bagels. I never had a chance to talk to her after that night. She was leaving the shop, early. She never worked late after that night. No exceptional nights. I didn't know why. I even thought that it was because of me. I made her talk. The shop’s owner stayed late every day and would just shout “Time to leave, 12am”
I hated him because he was not her. He never smiles, even if he does, it turns out to be a sarcastic smile criticizing my daily visit. Slowly, I started to like her, more than the shop. I stopped noticing all those strangers, and I stopped caring for the gas lamps and the jazz flute. I started going to the place, just to see her working and her occasional smile. I wanted to ask her the reason for which she stopped working late. I just wanted to ask ‘Is it me? If so, I’d never try to talk to you again, just work at late nights, so that it would be me and you again! I don’t like your owner’

Suddenly I started to feel so lonely. I never felt this way, before that night. Whenever I see a perfect couple, a passionate kiss, two holding hands, I couldn't stop but feel envious about it. I even replace the couples with me and her in my mind. I lived with her in my dreams. I go for long walks, holding her tender hands, in an endless road, I kissed her soft pale pink lips, passionately, whenever she smiled and she always smiled. I never asked her name even in my dreams.

One day, after a long time, I decided to stay at the shop, late at night. There was no crowd at the place. It was ‘Nuit-Blanche’ night in Toronto. Nuit-Blanche is a French all-night festival for celebrating contemporary arts and to welcome the fall. Each year, almost everyone in the city gathers at downtown and goes wicked. This year is no exception. But I stayed in Scarborough and the place stayed open. I expected her to leave early, but to my surprise, she stayed late while the owner started early to attend ‘Nuit Blanche’, to go wicked. Exactly at midnight, the remaining few left the place. I was sitting still, looking out of the window. The street was empty and the place was so quiet except for the clinging sound of the glasses which indicated that she was cleaning them. The dancing flames in the fireplace and the nineteenth century sax, made her look more beautiful. ‘Even I couldn't forgive me, if I didn't ask her name, everything is perfect now’ I thought!

I stood up, I made up my mind, I walked towards the desk. She was now cleaning the toaster. I was so confident. I've never felt that way, in my entire life. I didn't know what made me so optimistic. It must be the environment. It was perfect. It was just me and her, like the old days, with romantic sax music in the background.

“Hi, how are you doing?” I asked her in a cheerful tone.
“Good! How about you?” she replied with one of her special smiles.
“Yeah, same here … listen…” something interrupted me!
It was a bright yellow pair of headlights shining out of the window.
“He’s here!” she joyously shouted.
“Who?”
“My boyfriend, he is picking me up today, we are going for a candle light, isn’t he amazing?”
“...Yeah, he is!” I stammered while he barged in. He was in his early thirties. He was bald. He was wearing a pure white suit and a pair of expensive black framed glasses. He must be a businessman of some sort.

She was so excited, that she ran past me and hugged him. She gave him all kinds of her smiles. It took me one whole year to collect all of her smiles, but he's getting them in an instant. She kissed him with passion. He didn't seem to be excited. But he kissed in her lips, while she smiled. It happened for about five minutes.
“Ahem…” I cleared my throat. “Sorry, to interrupt you guys, I must be going, so...”
“Oh! So sorry!” she said, as if she just noticed! I paid for my double-double brewed coffee and I left the place. It was drizzling outside. The rain drenched road seemed to be endless. I couldn't spot anyone. Each and everyone in the town would be at the festival, dancing and screaming. Scarborough looked soulless that night. Slowly, came the fall winds from nowhere and announced an end to the summer. I noticed that the leaves were turning into a pale and a pleasant orange. The night was getting colder. I took my jacket out. The neon sign board which said ‘Coffee Culture’ was still glowing. I looked back at the place for one last time and started walking.