The Tophat

     It rested there on the table surrounded by dirty dishes. Dishes, I assumed, marked the beginning of a magical evening — a first date perhaps.
     We were led to our table right beside the black topper. As I sat down, I pictured a sophisticated man donning this hat. Dignified in his manner, he pulled his lady's chair out for her. He sat across from his lady companion and as she spoke of her day his eyes were locked upon the only face he noticed in this busy bistro.
     A waiter broke my image as he cleared the table and collected the tip, which I imagined to be very generous. He left the hat positioned in the center of the table and headed toward the kitchen with a tray piled with glass plates.

     Why would this man leave his hat behind? It would seem like second nature to him to keep it close to his person. I picked up my menu and glanced over the appetizers.
     "There it is!," yelled a voice. It's still  here!"
     I watched as a little boy — couldn't have been more than eight years old — ran to the table and reached for the tophat. He placed it on his head while holding a magic wand in his left hand.
     "Let's go my little Houdini," said a woman, who I gathered was his mother. "It's getting late."
     I turned back to my menu and chuckled as my debonair man headed home to sleep.