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“Mr. Speedwagon, sir,” the foundation employee said, tapping the man on his shoulder to get his attention.
Speedwagon jumped and turned around, startled out of his paperwork. “Yes!" he yelped.
“Pardon me, sir, but it appears there’s a nick in your hat,” they apologized, pointing at the decades-old top hat resting on Speedwagon’s head.
“Where!?” he shrilled, already panicking at the idea of his precious hat being damaged. Speedwagon ripped it off of his head in haste and began inspecting it.
“Right on the brim there,” they said, helpfully pointing out the specific spot where the hat had been worn down. “The fabric’s torn.”
And as they said, the diamond-checkered fabric of William Zeppeli’s old hat was slightly torn on its brim, exposing the beige base underneath. It wasn’t a big tear. It seemed as if Speedwagon had nicked it slightly when he hung it on the coat rack, but it was a tear nonetheless.
Speedwagon’s mouth went dry, a pang of guilt washing over him as he lightly smoothed his finger over the frayed fabric. “Thank you for telling me,” he said somberly.
Not even a day later, a wooden pedestal was placed in Speedwagon’s office. Speedwagon sat the top hat on the display and carefully placed a fitted glass casing over it, preserving its excellence.
Since Zeppeli’s death, not a day had gone by where Speedwagon had not worn his hat. It was more than just a hat to him. It was what remained of Zeppeli’s soul, serving as a reminder of the fading memories of their tragic journey together. The late baron’s spirit lived on in his iconic hat and Speedwagon could feel his presence as he carried it with him.
His friendship with Zeppeli had been brief, having been so short and such a long time ago that it seemed like a blip in time. The lasting impact of such a brave and pure soul lingered in Speedwagon's heart. Having to retire Zeppeli's hat felt like another part of the past that Speedwagon was forced to move on from.
Ever since the loss of his friends, it seemed that Speedwagon had been doing nothing but trying to move on and let go. And he was. He had made a name for himself in America and crafted a whole new life for him and Erina. But even on his best days, Speedwagon found himself grieving Jonathan and Zeppeli. He could no longer create new memories with his old friends and the memories that he did have were starting to fade with age.
Speedwagon believed in their golden spirits. He believed that somehow, Jonathan and Zeppeli were watching him. That they had never left his side, even with their passing, but some days were worse than others. Some days like today when the passage of time seemed evermore prevalent in the wears and tears of the remaining mementos of his friends. On days like these, Speedwagon felt that his beloved friends were farther away from him than ever.
“Forgive me, Zeppeli,” Speedwagon whispered to himself as his gaze lingered on the hat in its new home, hoping that it would reach him somehow.
A knock on his office door tore him out of thoughts. “Come in,” Speedwagon hollered.
“Uncle! Ready for lunch?” Joseph asked as he walked through the threshold of his office. “Oh? No hat today?” Joseph asked quizzically, eyeing Zeppeli’s hat in its case.
“No,” Speedwagon balked. “I’m afraid I have to stop by the hatter’s to purchase a new one.”
“Hmm…” Joseph hummed, studying his uncle’s appearance with a pensive look on his face. “I think you look alright without one!”
“Just alright?” he joked, laughing nervously.
“More than alright!” he corrected. “Absolutely smashing!”
Speedwagon sheepishly touched the top of his head, feeling the sharp pricks of his freshly buzzed locks. He had worn a hat for as long as he could remember, whether it was his own or one borrowed. He couldn’t imagine being without one. But for now, he supposed he would have to manage.
“Thank you, Jojo,” Speedwagon smiled. “What’s that you said about lunch?”