Orange-colored cap a quiet reminder of better times
An orange-colored cap rests atop a stool in my house. The cap is nothing so unusual as to attract attention, but it is special to me. The cap was worn by my wife Robin many times prior to her passing. She placed the cap on the stool more than thirty-one and two hundred weeks ago and it has remained there, unworn and unmoved. Sometimes I try to ignore the cap’s presence, but I find that my eyes want to wander in its direction, maybe just to ensure it’s still on the stool; but then, where would it go?
The orange-colored cap has remained on the stool just as it was when placed there by its wearer. It hasn’t moved or been disturbed. I touched the cap one quiet night and the reason for that may seem strange to most. I had to know if there would be a connection — a feeling between the cap’s owner and me — that I had longed for. I was nervous and almost forced my hand toward the cap, not knowing what to expect. There was no perceived transfer of energy but, as I touched the cap, I did recall images from the past and memories of its wearer. I suppose anyone would say that the recollection of those memories was perfectly normal and altogether explainable.
The cap was purchased many years ago at a garage sale. It was nothing special, but Robin remarked that she liked the orange color and the asking price of one-dollar was more than reasonable. However, I recall that Robin loved a bargain and, after a momentary discussion with the seller, the agreed upon and the final price paid fell to 50 cents. Robin was proud of her negotiating skills, as evidenced by the wry smile on her face. She immediately removed the old head cover from her head, placed the orange cap there and wore it the rest of that day.
The cap was worn often; so much so that it began to fray around the edges of the cap’s brim. I recall that Robin once considered discarding the cap because of its condition, but she thought of the cap as an old and comfortable article of clothing. The cap brought comfort and familiarity, and it was much more than merely an article of clothing. It was like an old friend. And, as we all should know, just because old friends become older and damaged, they are to be appreciated and are not easily discarded.
The cap was frequently worn even when its orange color clashed with the colors of other garments. The disagreement of colors was occasionally so conspicuous that Robin’s friends often laughed and asked why she wore the orange cap. I recall she once replied by saying she had other caps but this was her favorite and she wasn’t trying to color coordinate her wardrobe. I always considered Robin’s wardrobe choices to be unpretentious, yet timeless and fashionable. I guess some people can be thought of the same way.
I don’t believe the cap was ever considered to be an indispensable article of clothing. It didn’t make much of a fashion statement, nor was it necessarily considered to be strictly utilitarian. It’s wearing became more so a matter of habit. It was, I believe, thought to be a choice of habit.
When I look through old photo albums, I find that I turn the pages more quickly prior to the first appearance of the orange cap. The earlier photographs are of importance, but it’s as though I am compelled to satisfy my eager anticipation for the emergence of the cap. Once it is first seen, the pages turn more slowly and my attention to detail becomes far greater.
The cap is an inanimate object, has no great value and has no life of its own. It cannot speak or tell me what lies ahead for me in the future. The cap doesn’t see me or know what thoughts are in my mind; but, for me, it holds greater value than any other ordinary orange cap could ever offer. I have no plans to remove the cap from the stool or even adjust its cockeyed position on the stool’s edge. I realize that the wearer of the cap will never again place it on her head, but I frequently, slightly and covertly peek to look at the cap as it hangs on the stool’s back. It’s a very ordinary cap, nothing special at all, but the most common of things are sometimes the most valuable.
I have a confession. Well, it’s more of a secret, a secret shouldn’t be shared but I’m sure I can trust you to keep this secret. I fibbed when I said the cap had not been removed from its resting place. There was a night; a cold and clear Dec. 25 night several years ago when I removed the cap from the stool.
Carrying the orange cap across the room, I slowly lowered myself onto the seat of Robin’s favorite chair. I recall that the cushion was somewhat uncomfortable as it still retained the contour of her body, but that made the chair even more special to me.
I sat there for the longest time with the cap on my lap and, for the life of me, I can’t remember what thoughts were in my mind. Maybe that’s what made those hours so very special. Those hours were so special that they will most certainly never come again.
After a while and when the time seemed right, I returned the cap to its perch atop the stool where it has remained as a quiet reminder of better times.
Stan Fine is a retired police officer and Verizon Security Department investigator who, after retiring in 2006, moved from Tampa, Fla., to Noel. Stan’s connection to Noel can be traced back to his grandparents who lived most of their lives there. Stan began writing after the passing of his wife Robin in 2013. Opinions expressed are those of the author.