Al's Hat
By Danika Dinsmore
Bernie walks into the bar, concern etched on his scruffy face. He carries a worn snake-skin hat. He sets it on the bar, slumps into his seat and shakes his head. The bartender, Mack, eases over.
“Mack, I don’t know what. I just don’t know what. I’m walking by the bus stop and there’s Al’s hat. Just settin’ there on the bench like it had a story to tell.”
Mack pulls a draft for a customer. “Left his hat there, did he?”
“No, that’s the thing. Al don’t ever leave his hat nowhere. I ain’t ever seen Al without this hat or this hat without Al under it. He’d never take it off and leave it nowhere unless there was some good god damn reason.”
“Maybe he’s getting forgetful in his old age? Maybe he got on the bus and left it behind?” Mack places the mug in front of a man in a tired Hawaiian shirt. Hawaiian Shirt pays Mack and he goes to the register. It beeps out the transaction.
“Al don’t take the bus, he walks. He just likes that stop on account of no one’s ever there. The bus drivers don’t even stop for him. They know he’s just settin’, mulling things over underneath his hat. He doesn’t even take it off to wave it at the driver when he passes.”
“He must have wandered off for some reason.”
“Nope. Never.”
Mack comes back and stops in front of Bernie, “What are you drinking?”
“There’s only one explanation for it.”
“What’s that?”
“Aliens took ‘im.”
“Yeah, Bernie, that’s much more plausible than humans taking him. Which isn’t even that plausible, because I don’t know what anyone would want with the old kook.”
“If he was taken by people, he woulda struggled. Then his hat woulda fallen onto the ground, not be set out on the bench like a Christmas present. You don’t think kidnappers would pick his hat up off the ground and put it nice and pretty on the bench, do you?”
“No, don’t suppose so.”
“But, see, if he was taken by aliens, they woulda just zapped him away. Blammo.” Bernie snaps his fingers. “Everything except his hat, gone. And down it falls to the bench. Like that.”
“If you say so Bernie.” Mack pulls a draft for Bernie and sets it in front of him. “That one’s on the house.”
Bernie takes a thoughtful sip. “Now, the question is, will they return him to the bus stop or return him to his hat?”
“What difference does it make?
“It makes a whole hellava lotta difference, Mack. If they return him to the bench, I need to leave his hat there. But if I leave it there, someone might nip it. See my kernundrum?”
“Why don’t you hold onto it for him until he gets back?”
“Cuz I don’t want him returning to this world and his hat not to be there for his head. He’s had enough traumatisation.”
Mack scratches his chin. “Well, don’t you think it’s better that he miss his hat for a day then someone steal it and he miss his hat for the rest of his life?”
Bernie sits on that for a moment. “Yeah, guess you’re right, Mack. “ He takes a swig. “Yeah, Thanks. Thanks for the advice.”
Bernie walks into his living room with Al’s snake-skin hat. He looks around the room for a proper spot to lay it down, finally setting it on the recliner. He gives the chair a push so that it rocks back and forth. Back and forth. He stares down at the rocking hat and wonders if he’s being disrespectful.
“Sorry, Al.” He stops the chair with his foot.
He warms up a can of tomato soup and eats it with some saltines, on the couch, narrated by a documentary on roller coaster rides.
“Ain’t that something, Al, the g-force a human being can stomach?”
He leaves a lamp on in the living room and goes to bed.
“Night, Al.”
He dreams about a roller coaster that turns into a pack of wild blue dogs.
The next morning, Bernie wakes up and goes into the living room. There’s Al, asleep in the recliner under his hat. Bernie sizes him up. He looks pale, he decides, but otherwise not too much different than before.
Bernie nods, satisfied, and heads into the kitchen. “Good on ya, Mack. Good on ya.”
He makes two cups of instant coffee, one black and extra strong for Al and one weaker with milk and sugar for himself. He carries the two coffees into the living room. Al yawns and stretches. Bernie hands him his coffee.
“Heya, Bernie. Thanks a whole hellava lot.”
Bernie takes his place on the couch, but leaves the television set off. They sit there drinking their hot coffees, one black and extra strong, the other weaker with milk and sugar.
They sit for a while longer. Then sit some more. The air still and metallic around them.
- - -
Danika Dinsmore is an award-winning writer and has been teaching story development and creative writing for over 15 years. She holds an MFA in Writing and Poetics, a teaching credential in Language Arts, and an Advanced Certificate in Screenwriting.
By Danika Dinsmore
Bernie walks into the bar, concern etched on his scruffy face. He carries a worn snake-skin hat. He sets it on the bar, slumps into his seat and shakes his head. The bartender, Mack, eases over.
“Mack, I don’t know what. I just don’t know what. I’m walking by the bus stop and there’s Al’s hat. Just settin’ there on the bench like it had a story to tell.”
Mack pulls a draft for a customer. “Left his hat there, did he?”
“No, that’s the thing. Al don’t ever leave his hat nowhere. I ain’t ever seen Al without this hat or this hat without Al under it. He’d never take it off and leave it nowhere unless there was some good god damn reason.”
“Maybe he’s getting forgetful in his old age? Maybe he got on the bus and left it behind?” Mack places the mug in front of a man in a tired Hawaiian shirt. Hawaiian Shirt pays Mack and he goes to the register. It beeps out the transaction.
“Al don’t take the bus, he walks. He just likes that stop on account of no one’s ever there. The bus drivers don’t even stop for him. They know he’s just settin’, mulling things over underneath his hat. He doesn’t even take it off to wave it at the driver when he passes.”
“He must have wandered off for some reason.”
“Nope. Never.”
Mack comes back and stops in front of Bernie, “What are you drinking?”
“There’s only one explanation for it.”
“What’s that?”
“Aliens took ‘im.”
“Yeah, Bernie, that’s much more plausible than humans taking him. Which isn’t even that plausible, because I don’t know what anyone would want with the old kook.”
“If he was taken by people, he woulda struggled. Then his hat woulda fallen onto the ground, not be set out on the bench like a Christmas present. You don’t think kidnappers would pick his hat up off the ground and put it nice and pretty on the bench, do you?”
“No, don’t suppose so.”
“But, see, if he was taken by aliens, they woulda just zapped him away. Blammo.” Bernie snaps his fingers. “Everything except his hat, gone. And down it falls to the bench. Like that.”
“If you say so Bernie.” Mack pulls a draft for Bernie and sets it in front of him. “That one’s on the house.”
Bernie takes a thoughtful sip. “Now, the question is, will they return him to the bus stop or return him to his hat?”
“What difference does it make?
“It makes a whole hellava lotta difference, Mack. If they return him to the bench, I need to leave his hat there. But if I leave it there, someone might nip it. See my kernundrum?”
“Why don’t you hold onto it for him until he gets back?”
“Cuz I don’t want him returning to this world and his hat not to be there for his head. He’s had enough traumatisation.”
Mack scratches his chin. “Well, don’t you think it’s better that he miss his hat for a day then someone steal it and he miss his hat for the rest of his life?”
Bernie sits on that for a moment. “Yeah, guess you’re right, Mack. “ He takes a swig. “Yeah, Thanks. Thanks for the advice.”
~ ~ ~
Bernie walks into his living room with Al’s snake-skin hat. He looks around the room for a proper spot to lay it down, finally setting it on the recliner. He gives the chair a push so that it rocks back and forth. Back and forth. He stares down at the rocking hat and wonders if he’s being disrespectful.
“Sorry, Al.” He stops the chair with his foot.
He warms up a can of tomato soup and eats it with some saltines, on the couch, narrated by a documentary on roller coaster rides.
“Ain’t that something, Al, the g-force a human being can stomach?”
He leaves a lamp on in the living room and goes to bed.
“Night, Al.”
He dreams about a roller coaster that turns into a pack of wild blue dogs.
~ ~ ~
The next morning, Bernie wakes up and goes into the living room. There’s Al, asleep in the recliner under his hat. Bernie sizes him up. He looks pale, he decides, but otherwise not too much different than before.
Bernie nods, satisfied, and heads into the kitchen. “Good on ya, Mack. Good on ya.”
He makes two cups of instant coffee, one black and extra strong for Al and one weaker with milk and sugar for himself. He carries the two coffees into the living room. Al yawns and stretches. Bernie hands him his coffee.
“Heya, Bernie. Thanks a whole hellava lot.”
Bernie takes his place on the couch, but leaves the television set off. They sit there drinking their hot coffees, one black and extra strong, the other weaker with milk and sugar.
They sit for a while longer. Then sit some more. The air still and metallic around them.
- - -
Danika Dinsmore is an award-winning writer and has been teaching story development and creative writing for over 15 years. She holds an MFA in Writing and Poetics, a teaching credential in Language Arts, and an Advanced Certificate in Screenwriting.
0 Responses
Post a Comment
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
