mon chapeau préféré – flash fiction 4 minutes reading time

“I didn’t want to become one of those legions of old men looked upon affectionately, who wear the same hat for the last twenty-five years of their lives, it becoming ever more grimy and ragged by the year.” This, the opening statement by a stylishly dressed gentleman sat opposite me on the train to London today. In actuality, this is a translation of what he’d said, as the conversation directed my way had been entirely spoken in French. With a fair-to-middling grasp of the language, I found myself able to understand most of what I was hearing. With my replies spoken in English during our short exchange, it appeared he understood me too.

“Forgive me,” he said, laying his hand flat across his chest, “I saw you admiring my hat, earlier.” He happened to be right, I had been admiring his hat. For me, it displayed all the qualities of magnificence. “Would you believe me, if I told you I came across this in a simple high-street clothes shop? When I tried it on in front of a full length mirror, it had felt like a coronation.” Providing a re-enactment of the scene, both raised arms descended slowly from above his head in synchronisation, while his hands and outstretched fingers encircled an imaginary crown. “Do you know the feeling, Monsieur, when something  fits so wonderfully? Such great fortuity.” I slowly nodded my head in agreement and smiled.

“The problem is…” he paused and leant forward over the table separating us, “having found the perfect hat, what happens in three or four years time when it becomes worn out and unfit for use?” A good question posed, I thought. Having experienced this myself, I understood exactly the predicament. Images flashed through my mind, as I recalled the endurance required for those long and fruitless searches, the obsession of trying out new hats, only to discard them as unsatisfactory shortly afterwards. “Well, I found a solution my dear friend, the answer is to buy several copies of the same hat.” With a look of deep satisfaction upon his face, he stiffly reclined back into his seat.

“Of course what I could not do, I could not buy several identical hats all at once from the very same store. Would not the sales assistant think me mad, what do you say?” I scratched the short growth of beard under my chin and adopted a thoughtful expression. As a few minutes of empty silence passed inside the train carriage, he turned his gaze to outside the window. I tried to come up with something to say, but nothing came forth. So, I looked out across the rain-sodden fields we were being carried past and waited.

“No, it is unacceptable, I cannot have myself thought of as insane!” He said finally. “Instead, on the very same day of this purchase, I promptly returned home and visited the shop’s website. After trawling through numerous pages, which were of little interest to me, I located the hat in the same style and colour and ordered five. All, of their available online stock.”

“Ah!” I said, changing my seated position slightly while raising my hand swiftly to form a hand-sign symbolising ‘perfection’.

“Now, with six hats in my possession, each having a life expectancy of four years with good care, this makes twenty-four years. Six hats should see me through until I shuffle off this mortal coil.” Surreptitiously, I studied the lines of wrinkles across his face and made a quick estimation of his age. Then, I added 24 and after several revisions to my final figure, I nodded my head in agreement once more.

“However, what if I were to lose a hat? Such an outcome would surely result in a period of being hatless. This, would also be unacceptable!” My eyes widened a little, as the thought struck me. Yes, of course, he was right! And, what if he lost one of them ten or twenty years from now? Surely, there would be no way to locate an exact, matching replacement.

“This is why,” he said, while extracting a tiny piece of lint from the knee of his trousers by use of his thumb nail, “you meet me today, travelling on this train. I intend to visit a store they have in London, located on Oxford Street and buy one more hat, as an insurance policy.”

“Will you enter the shop with your hat on your head?” I asked him. He quickly made the connection I’d been considering.

“Ah, but no! The embarrassment!” Drawing an inward deep breath of contemplation, followed shortly afterwards by a slow exhalation, the answer suddenly came to him. His hand raised and a straightened index finger pointed up into the air. “I will enter the shop without my hat, having previously entrusted its safe-keeping to a nearby street vendor of newspapers, for an agreed sum.”

At this and with a smile upon his face, he closed his eyes, leaned back into his seat and drifted off into sleep. The remainder of the journey could best be described as uneventful. The countryside views gave way to suburbia, which in turn blended into the greyness of the city. By the time we’d arrived at Paddington station, he had been snoring loudly for half an hour. As the brakes of the train engaged bringing us to a final stop at the platform, his head rolled forward gently and the hat slipped onto the floor of the carriage’s central aisle.

Instinctively, I reached down and retrieved it. It was a fine hat indeed and in wonderful condition. I held it between my hands turning it around several times to admire the design and workmanship, inside and out. My eyes flicked over to the French gentleman, he remained engaged in a deep, dream-ridden sleep. Triggered by the sound of a triple-snort of a snore and movement to re-position himself more comfortably, I whipped off my beige and white coloured Alabama baseball cap and silently placed it sideways onto his head.

I stared at him for a several seconds, concluding that what sat before me was indeed, an incongruous match. Undeterred and without ceremony,  I slipped his hat on, rose from my seat and swiftly alighted from the train carriage.

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