Lament of a Misplaced Hat

The head that wore me was that of a writer. A good head, I suppose, but a head so full of story fragments and poetic notions that it turned his mind to mush.

At least, I think it must be mush, for why else would he have left me here, waiting?

I had hoped I was done with waiting.

I had started my journey, as so many hats do, waiting. I was stuck in a a store in Sauk City, Wisconsin. I was a new hat full of life and hope, impatient to find my head and start my adventures. I’d been there for some time, waiting and waiting until I’d nearly given up hope when one day a young man picked me up to look at me. He wore a tattered brown fedora with a brown band adorned with what used to be a feather.

“Good day,” I said to the fedora,

“Good day,” it replied,

The young man removed the fedora and handed it to a young lady with him.

“I see he wears you often,” I said as the man checked himself in the mirror. He had a comfortable head.

“Oh, yes,” said the fedora, “He’s terrible at upkeep, you can probably tell, but he’s worn me well for four years and on many adventures.”

I was horrified, “You’re awfully worn for just four years!”

The fedora laughed, “Well, I was old to begin with! I was designed for bankers and city men of Boise back in the ‘60’s, but this yutz wears me like a woolen country hat. I think he’d keep wearing me now, but he fears wearing me down to nothing! You’re built for adventures. You’ll do fine.”

I wasn’t comforted.

“It’s similar style to the other one,” said the young lady.

“Yeah,” Said the young man, “I like it. It’s a bit more western than before. Stetson.”

“Looks good on you though,” and she smiled.

If not for that lady’s smile I would have been very worried to be on that man’s head. I should have listened to my instinct.

A busser interrupts my reflection with the clattering of dishes as he clears the table. I hope he’ll see me and remove me from the chair, but no such luck; I'm hidden beneath the table edge. I wonder whether I'll stay on the chair overnight, and what they do with their lost and founds.

I hate waiting...

The young couple had been waiting as well when I met them. I found out on our drove back to Madison that I was replacing the fedora as part of their wedding preparations. I was to be the nice black hat for the wedding suit, as well as a wearable memento of their time in Wisconsin.

The man took very good care of me those first few months. Thinking on it now, it was a care born of anticipation as they packed and readied to return to Idaho, but the red flags were there.

On our drive back to Idaho, for example, we were at a rest stop in North Dakota and the man managed lock me in his jeep liberty. To his credit, he didn't locked the dog in there with me, and he broke me out within a few minutes, but I should have been more concerned: he was fully prepared and used to breaking into his car.

“So much for my streak,” he had said.

I guess it was the excitement of the move and the wedding that blinded me to it. We had left Madison around Labor Day and as we drove along I-94 I was blown away by the scenery. We went from the lush woodlands of Wisconsin and Minnesota, up through the North Dakota badlands and Montana plains and on to Idaho through the Rocky Mountains. I'd seen the Southwest deserts of Texas, but never something so wonderous or imposing as the Rockies.

The move took them to Boise, and after a couple months staying with family and friends, the pair found a little house to rent. Still reeling from the thrill of the move, I was then caught up in the wedding and honeymoon plans.

“You see?” The fedora had said one day, “They are an adventurous pair. You’ll be going to Seattle and Vancouver- Seattle is beautiful.”

“You’ve been to Seattle?”

“Oh, yes- a couple years ago we went up the Washington coast then on through Seattle. Heh heh heh! He nearly lost me in the Sound.”

“He did what now?”

“Well, they had taken the ferry from Bainbridge across the Sound, and we were enjoying the view of Seattle from an upper deck when the wind caught me! I blew right off his head, and I was certain I was going for a swim! Fortunately, I landed on a lower deck and passerby stopped me from flying off again. It would have made a great meet cute had the stranger been his age. Heheheh.”

I must have thought he’d outgrown such absentmindedness, or maybe the excitement of the trip got to me. The pair were married just last week, and just this morning we started our trip to Seattle. I've seen so many things with that head already and I was ready to see more- instead I’m stuck on a chair listening to the chatter and clatter of the Yakima Olive Garden.

I wonder if he’s noticed yet. Oh, what will become of me? The hours are passing and no one has seen me. Oh, I’ll probably be stuck in the dining area all night, or a cleaning crew will find me and throw me away- discarded with the trash! Or worse I’ll be found and sent to a thrift store and I’ll have to get used to a new head! Oh! Cruel suspense! My head! My Human!

Oh human, oh human, where hast thou fled?

Didst thou not notice I’m not on your head?

Didst thou set me aside and forget I exist?

Surely my shelter must be sorely missed.

I weep, my despair is complete. But, what’s this? I hear a server doing rounds, wiping off chairs.

The server sees me and takes me to the office.

“Hey,” he said to the manager, “I just found this is at table 812,”

The manager turns to look, and I wait with resolve to accept my fate: the lost and found? Perhaps the thrift store?

“Oh!” She says, “Someone called looking for it- I’ll call him tomorrow and let him know we found it.”

The manager takes me and places a sticky note on me, then sets me in their safe.

I feel warmed from brim to brim. The man may have a mind made of mush, but he really does have a very good head.