The Italian Straw Hat

Only on an island would time in its proper beat and measure run to this moment. And I, who was always used to being unnoticed, sitting there, so practiced in the art of self-effacement it has become second nature to me.

But when the moment found me, there I was – under my Italian straw hat with my burnt nose and that hair I’ve so long ago given up on.

And you noticed. You stood for a moment and smiled, then said hello. Did I look startled? It would have been the proper response. And then the strangest thing; I felt my face open, as if it were uncovered for the first time.

All these years and I never knew I was waiting.