Modesty stared at how nightfall slowly tumbled on the buildings, on the streets lined with lampposts that lit like eyes, filled with darkness, moths circled around them, and if not for the closed doors and walls of the café, she would've heard the crickets join their murmurs in the dark. Nobody was out on the streets, not even the homeless and the crowd of sleepless. Modesty assumed, they have sheltered behind alleys smoking blunts thrown away by passersby. A car or two pass by the road, the stop lights from the road kept flashing Green, Yellow, and Red. Modesty did not notice the man who came in the café, until the bell from the entrance banged against the door. She looked up from behind the counter and straightened herself with alertness.
The man was young, a stranger, it was the way he eyed at everything—with amazement. She was all too familiar with that puzzled stare, similar to the first, curious gaze of a newborn child overwhelmed by a world outside the mother's womb. The young man stood at the entrance for a bit, he looked around the café, past the tables and chairs, the pastries on the counter, the variety of tea bags sold individually, the bottles of apple juice, sodas, and cans of chilled coffee from the top shelves lined neatly on the glass-covered refrigerators. It had only been three months since Modesty started working the night shift at the café, already she knows the locations of the merchandise simply because it became a "hobby" when she had run out of plate numbers to read on the cars that passed by.
It was only when the young man disappeared behind the walls, leading to the restroom that Modesty realized she hadn't greeted him with the routine words of welcome imposed by the management. According to what she was told, Modesty was instructed to exercise courtesy upon the arrival of each and every customer. She should acknowledge their presence, and more importantly, behave with sincere attention to the guest's needs, even if they ignored her or glared at her because everyone who walked into that door was prospective profit. In this city, Modesty learned, money makes people sane.
It didn't take long for the young man to come up to the counter, clutching a can of iced mocha coffee, a bottle of mixed berry juice and a mint chocolate muffin. He lined them up neatly, placing each item on the counter without making a sound.
"And a pack of Cigarettes," he told Modesty after a short moment of silence.
He couldn't have been over eighteen at a glance, he still harbored the slight appearance of a boy, dimples on the sides of his cheeks, somewhat wavy, hazel and tousled hair in a juvenile mess. He appeared to Modesty as a traveler of some sort. She was certain that he had already seen a part of the world she could not possibly witness even in the entirety of her lifetime.
"I'm sorry, sir, but we don't sell cigarettes to minors," Modesty said, pointing out to a plastic sign above the rows of cigarettes behind the counter.
The young man let out a laugh and scratched his forehead.
"Listen, miss…umm…" He glanced at the name tag pinned on Modesty's uniform. "Modesty. Miss Modesty. I appreciate the compliment but it's been more than two years since I went past my twenties."
"Can I see some identification, sir?" Modesty asked, taking note of the man's unfamiliar accent that seemed to twist rather awkwardly around his tongue. He scratched his forehead again and gave her another boyish little grin, hoping perhaps that his good looks would earn him some slack.
"Um, I don't exactly have any IDs with me right now," he said as he took out his wallet and shuffled for a card that would give her proof of age. "I left my other wallet at the hotel where I was staying 'cause I was in a hurry and—" he stopped, realizing that he was diving into a story that a stranger could care less about. "Anyway, I don't have anything on me right now but it's not like you're assisting me in a criminal offense, right? It's already, what, three in the morning? The guard outside isn't exactly going to arrest me for buying cigs." He laughed.
"I'm sorry, but management policy clearly states that we're not allowed to sell cigarettes to minors."
He let out a defeated sigh, deciding that it was pointless to argue about his age and it'd be much better to hold off his craving at the hotel where the cashiers at the little stores were mostly women who didn't ask about his age but was rather interested in getting his number. He looked at his open wallet and chuckled a little bit more as though he'd remembered a joke. Modesty stared at him, confused, but said nothing.
"Okay, um, just give me a ham sandwich."
"Regular or half-sized?" she asked.
"Regular."
"Would that be all?" she asked.
"I would've brought something less than fifty bucks but guess I'm paying a full fifty cash tonight," he said.
Shrugging at his comment, Modesty walked in the kitchen, laid focaccia bread on the hot press, placed the ham then placed the cheese on the opposite side. She then neatly placed the completed sandwich on a paper wrapper. After that, she scanned the can of iced mocha coffee, the bottle of mixed berry juice and the mint chocolate muffin
"That would be twenty-three dollars and ten cents," Modesty concluded.
The young man unfastened his wallet once more and pulled out a crisp fifty-dollar bill, the kind that looked as though it had come fresh from under a flat iron. Modesty took the bill and handed him his change. The young man grabbed the plastic bag on one hand and the ham sandwich on the other. He walked toward one of the empty tables overlooking the mist-covered street from the huge glass window. Modesty watched as he sat and opened his can of coffee before taking a bite out of the sandwich. He remained there for some time, a stranger in the middle of a city that dozed under a blanket of darkness and stars. There hadn't been many instances when Modesty actually attended to a customer, especially when the hours of her work consisted of nothing more than a quiet café. There were people who went inside and bought several things but none she could remember that settled on one of the tables to while away the rest of the night. All of them had somewhere to go back to and this place was just a quick stop on their way home.
Home, a place she'd been away for far too long. But it wasn't the place that she could go back to, at least not anymore. After all, everyone loses a little something. Lost in her thoughts, she was promptly interrupted.
"Excuse me," the man said as he approached the counter once more without Modesty noticing. "Do you know how to get to this address?" he showed her a piece of paper, scribbled with numbers and words that was barely legible. Modesty shook her head and handed him back the paper.
"I've only been here for three months and I don't go out much," she said. "I'm not familiar with the streets here."
"I guess that makes two of us," he stated with a weak laugh and folded the piece of paper back inside his wallet. Modesty nodded, unable to think of anything to say. She wasn't used to talking, much less with foreigners.
"I'm sorry, I haven't introduced myself, my name is John. I used to live around here until my family moved to London," said the man. "Now I can't remember which streets here go where. Are you from the north?"
She gave him another nod. "Yes." Modesty looked at him with a confused yet amused stare. "Are you a psychic?"
"Just a lucky guess," John laughed. "San Francisco, perhaps?"
Astonished, Modesty replies, "What makes you say that?"
"'Cause you look familiar. Anyway, are you from San Fran?" John asked as he took miniature nibbles into his sandwich.
"I'm from far away," Modesty grinned.
"I could've sworn you were from there" John states. "I lived in San Francisco until I was eight. Even got lost exploring the street of San Fran. Then I spent another eight years here in this city of angels and for the last six, I've been in London, study-."
"I'm sorry, but whatever you're trying to do, it will still not convince me to sell you cigarettes!" exclaimed Modesty as though she was impersonating her manager.
"Okay, okay, you got me." John giggled, holding his hands up in the air in a gesture of surrender. "But really, I could've sworn you were from San Francisco."
"Yes, I had lived there for a long time." She utters.
"What are you doing here now in Los Angeles? They always said San Fran. is a much better place to live in."
Modesty shrugged, "Home is always a better place, it's the closest to paradise." Her tone was somber.
"I don't know much about that," the man sighed, taking another bite out of his sandwich. "I've lived in three different places in two different countries, except the summer days we've spent in another country, visiting an aunt or an uncle or whichever relative there was to visit. So, yeah, I've never had a permanent home or a paradise to come to."
"Is that why you're spending the night here?" Modesty asked.
"Maybe. I have to be at my mom's place first thing in the morning, that is, if I could find it. But I guess I'm going to have better luck at asking directions when the sun shines. My phone broke on the trip here and I just couldn't help but drive out here after settling at the hotel. It's only been a few hours since I got out of the airport. I wanted to surprise her but I can't seem to remember where the streets lead anymore. It's a miracle I even got as far as here. So, what about you? I mean, isn't it sort of odd for a girl to take the night shift alone in a café? What made you leave San Francisco?"
For a moment, Modesty kept silent. Time passed and she explained her situation. "San Fran is my home, or was. My family disowned me for pursuing my dreams of becoming a writer and photographer, they told me to come back if i've become something better like a doctor or lawyer, but if not then they exclaimed to never return at all. So as the situation continued, I moved out and traveled here in LA thinking it would help me with my goals, but the more I think about home, the more I start to regret my decision. I try to converse with my siblings but they just see me as an outcast. So i'm just out here all alone like a lone nighthawk, trying to chase its prey in the darkness.
"Oh…," the young man said. "Sorry to hear that. San Francisco is a great place. Nothing like this city, or at least where I was staying at the time."
"It's different now, I'm on my own and all I can do is cling to my memories of the past," Modesty said.
John started recollecting his past memories. "The last thing I could remember about it was the Golden Gate Bridge. I was with my dad and brother when we were all venturing, and of course, our tour guide Mary. She was a really old lady but was still so strong. I've never even seen my grandma walk like that. I was only eight but I'll never forget it. I'm sorry, am I boring you with this?"
"Not at all," Modesty smiled. "It's always good to hear from someone who shared the same home at least once." A moment of silence washed over them, like gentle rain on a windy day.
Then the young man spoke again, "You know, it's kind of weird. Since that day I got a bracelet from there, I never got lost even while I was traveling in London or any other places. It's only now that I can't seem to find my way again." With silence creeping into the atmosphere the young man said nothing more and simply stared at Modesty.
"I guess you would have to find your own way," she told him.
"Modesty… would you like to come with me?" the man said below his breath as if he was trying to convince her.
"Enough chit chat… Like you, I too am waiting to get back home, to paradise…" Modesty said, her head down.
The young man said nothing and walked out of the door, leaving the paper that covered his sandwich on the table, keeping the silence of his words and his feet, even as the bells broke the silence as he paced himself to his car and drove into the night. Modesty then continued to watch the stoplight as it flickered—green, yellow, red—and quietly waited for her shift to end. She picked up after John's mess of empty cartons and wrappers. She found a written message within one of the wrappers, on it, it read,
"Dear miss Modesty, if you are reading this that means I failed to converse successfully with you and am now driving back to my hotel, If you still stand adamant about not joining me on my journey around the world then I give you my bracelet. It will help you find your home once more and give you what you need out of life… Paradise."
-John Derrick
Modesty stood there, motionless and stagnant. She started smiling for the first time in a long while, the person she just met today had jump started her way of looking at the world. She picked up the bracelet and turned it around just to find numbers and symbols of sorts. It read, "37.7749° N, 122.4194° W." Curious, Modesty used the store computer to search up these bizarre figures. To her amazement she found that it was coordinates to San Francisco.
Modesty's heart skipped, tears slipped passed her cheeks, tears she did not notice fell from her peach face. The napkin John wrote on started to soak up from her tears. She started to see John as a purposeful man. He was not the average person to look at Modesty with lustful eyes, instead, she viewed him as one who wants companionship wherever he goes.
As she wiped her tears off, the ring of the bells sound off once again. It was John, he came back looking for something.
"Where is that darn thing at? Hey miss Modesty have you…"
He was dumbfounded at the sight of Modesty crying.
"Why are you crying? I had just left you my bracelet." He chuckled trying to lighten the mood.
"I'm only crying because you had left a bracelet that had the location of my home! You…" She hesitated for a moment.
"J…J…Jackass!"
Knowing that her job was on the line she broke her professionalism just to make that remark in order to get the idea to John's head.
He laughed and apologized.
"Look Modesty, I'm deeply sorry for doing such a rash thing. I just wanted to reassure you that despite where you are in the world, as long as you have someone to spend it with, then that place is your home and paradise."
Modesty looked at John with sincerity, and stood still wiping off her last tears. She gave some thought into his proposition before.
"If I go with you on this journey, could you promise me that you will help me understand your philosophy?" She smiled.
"I promise you that to the fullest miss Modesty!" He replied.
"Then I will join you on your journey!" Modesty said.
"First things first, we need to go to San Francisco so you can face your parents and reconcile with their wishes but also vouch for your own." John stated.
"I would need help with that, I have not seen them in such a long time." Modesty said under her breath.
"It'll be alright, I'll be there to support you!" John exclaimed.
Dusk turned dawn and John waited for Modesty to finish her last shift in the café. Light crept into the store window and shadows grew faint as the once darkened areas of the café are now filled with sun rays. Modesty unfastened her apron and hung it by the pearl countertop. John and Modesty walked out of the café as the morning light warmed their faces.