Sadly, this comeback has been hastened by personal tragedy.
I know it's a cliché, and I do loathe to engage in such devices, but you really don't know what you've got until it's gone. You take things for granted, you know? You think they'll always be there. There's always time. I suppose familiarity truly does breed some manner of contempt. I'm ashamed to use that word for such a loved-one, but I think "contempt" might be sadly apt here. Today has brought sharply back into focus things that should never have been outside my mind's depth of field. And I'm sorry to see that it's too late to make amends. This day has dealt me a great body blow that feels as though it may have robbed me of a piece of myself. My very essence chipped from.
For those of you who do not yet know, several hours ago I....I....lost my hat. I know you'll appreciate my need to grieve and respect my privacy at this difficult time. Oh God, it was still so young! I always thought we had so many days together lying a(top my)head. Life can be cruel in its brevity and that which it deems fit to take from us. Of course, in this instance, the part of "life" has been played by the friggin' bus!
I exited that bus this afternoon, all the subtle nuances of my worldly swagger leaving that mobile casket in my wake, wholly unaware of my imminent heartbreak. I felt somehow lighter and groped around my back pocket (purely for detective purposes as opposed to personal pleasure) to see that I still had my wallet and keys (sidenote: I do not keep my wallet or keys in back pockets....OK, just don't steal the worldly goods of a bereaved man). That's when I grew startled. The world slowed to a crawl about me, less than a crawl even. Imagine a turtle, crippled in all but one of its legs, trying to pull itself up a steep mountain while some form of winged predator tries to pull it backwards. That's how low the frame-rate dropped to right then. Sure I may not have gone all out with a slow-motion bellow at the realisation of what I....I mean, of what the BUS had done, but in my head there were definitely harrowing calls after that hat as it wheeled away. In my imagining of that moment, my cries could have brought a banshee to blush. Regardless, it was too late- my black wool hat was gone, forever.
"Don't let 'em see you cry, kid".
That's right, I like to give occasional self pep talks and refer to myself as "kid". What of it? Anyway, I walked on, only briefly looking back to lament.
Now I'm not proud of this, but I immediately made my way to the nearest hat shop. I barely broke stride. I couldn't stay for long though. It was all still too raw. Was I a monster? I'd only just suffered this nightmare and already I was looking at replacements? How could I! A loss this great would take time to heal. One, two days tops. It would have been akin to seeking out pancakes five years ago (that's right, an in-joke). I wiped a tear from my lazy eye and hurriedly backed out.
"I....I can't. It's....just too....I'm....-*bites lip*....sorry".
I will admit that the girl in the shop looked at me as though I had just pissed on her hats. I was emotional. I can't be sure I did not.
As I trudged down the street, now audibly wailing, I paused to reflect. My reflection point standing 3/8 of the way across a busy road was not of concern to me. I cocked my head at an angle I like to call "pensive jack russell" and stared off into the middle-distance to relive the good times in a montage tinged with sadness. In my head, the sad music that sometimes plays over the end credits when a beloved character dies in Neighbours croaked to life. Our time together had been short, but no less happy for it. And that's when it hit me....the cyclist's errant foot as he toppled over his handlebars in an effort to avoid me. It almost broke me from my reverie, but not really. I wistfully recalled the time I was wearing the hat when I went for a drink with friends. That other time I wore it, going for a drink with people I didn't entirely care for. And how could I forget that most recent night I spent with it- going for a drink while using it to hide a shockingly bad hair day (hands down, girliest thing I've ever committed to "print" that). I sure did spend a lot of time drinking in that hat. Alcohol would fix my sombre mood. I stepped over the bloodied and twitching cyclist as I finished traversing the road. I heard a car swerve. There was a loud crash. Then silence. Then screaming. I had no time for their drama. I had a hat to mourn.
Eleventeen drinks later, I began this blog post. Along the way I recalled that this hat wasn't so great. Still, it was one of my hats. It was number 23 of my hats to be exact. I'd hit a total of 27 hats still owned some weeks back, and I derived satisfaction from the fact I would have one for each year lived come this August. I've given some hats away over the years, it's true. Regardless, I still have hat #1 upstairs at the back of my hat section (I shit you not, there is a hat section in my room). Been with me since the autumn of '05, that headwear. You, dear reader, may be aware that I have sworn off my signature hats in the past two or three months, choosing more often than not to go with a naked head of growing hair. I have, in some regard, taken my hat collection for granted. No more, I say!
In all the time since this obsession was sparked, I've only lost one other. And that was 5 years ago. A wool hat that would have put an eccentric gnome with a hard-on for ecstasy to shame. Even then, that were no fault o' mine (you know who you are, and you still owe me a motherfunking hat!). This was my replacement, long delayed, for that misplaced piece. And now? Well, it too is lost to me....forever!
Great, I can feel the tears coming again....
