Page 61 of Forgotten
“Of course she did.”
Thinking of Ash’s friend, it makes only sense her teachings are one of the few things to transcend my amnesia. I focus on the task, interlacing back and forth until the tips.
“Oh, and your dad will be in town again this weekend,” Ash tells me.
Ah, yes. That conversation.
“My brothers too.”
Chapter 20
2020 - Ashley
When grandma Bergman dies in 2020 she leaves me a fourth of her inheritance, but we can’t travel to Norway for her funeral. In 2020, we can’t do anything at all. Daddy gets angry and he has Mom call me every day, asking if I will go home and visit, if I will stay in Birmingham after uni, if I will change my mind about liking boys. After a while, I stop answering. And then, the twins start calling. Martin and Edwin call me alternately, but I ignore them too. Erik never calls.
In 2020, Ford is still in Sheffield, playing the viola in empty theatres and trying to sell his own music on the side. We talk on the phone sometimes, but not as often as I would like to. I keep a journal, a list of things I need to tell him when I see him next. Item number one on the list: I must tell Ford how much I miss him, how often I’ve been thinking about moving to Sheffield so that we can be closer. But that would be insane, right? Moving for a friend. I end up tossing the paper. About thirty missed calls later I make another list and the first item is: TellFord I bought a house in Sheffield. That way, I never have to go back to my parents’.
Preston is now working in London and Morgan is in Wales teaching English online. I talk to them more regularly, but it’s not the same. When your family sucks and you need to create a new one for yourself, one phone call each week is not enough.
From Sydney and Darshi I don’t hear anything at all. They were in India with their son when the world shut down and so they stayed with Darshi’s family. Even with a child, they’ve been trying to figure out if they hate each other or if they love each other. Any day now I will receive an invitation to either a funeral or a wedding. I miss them and I even miss their son. I miss when things were normal and I would babysit on Saturdays.
The cafe where I’ve been working closed in January and there is absolutely nothing to do. I have no idea what to do with my future, which career path to pick. I wasn’t even that great at serving coffee. Everyone seems to have stuff figured out, everyone but me. Ford has music. Morgan has teaching. Preston is all business. Sydney and Darshi have each other. And me? I’m unemployed with two degrees and an apartment that I have to leave at the end of May. I have no idea of who I am, where I want to go or how to get there.
In 2020 I smoke every day, living for the punctuation mark that the cigarettes offer. Tobacco or weed, it doesn’t matter. It’s the only moment where I can catch a breath, as improbable as it sounds, and I hate myself for it. I hate myself because Daddy is alwaysangry, because Mom is at home with him, because I don’t check if Erik is alright. I hate myself for wanting my best friend the wrong way. Locked at home, alone, I hate myself. I pick up the razor and put it back down, thinking who should I call, what should I do? I’m useless. Useless Ashley with a stupid name, a silly degree, no career opportunities and a family who hates me because I’m gay. I don’t even like to be gay. Gay men are horrible, they use you and never listen to you and is it too much to ask for someone who’ll love me unconditionally? Someone who will at least learn your name before they demand they get their dick inside of you?
Someone who will only date you, instead of dating you but also Abe, Paul and Eliza. Someone who knows you love chocolate ice cream and who’ll give up their nickname so that you can have it.
In 2020 I’m lonely and instead of picking up the phone, I pick up cigarettes and I pick up men. Every evening a new one.
In 2020 everyone is lonely, and in 2020 is when I meet Jonathan.
Jonathan doesn’t go by John or Johnny. He goes by Thanny. In fact, he insists I call him Thanny the first time we meet, on a first date outside in a park. I’m wearing a thick coat that makes me look less tall and less skinny, with a scarf around my neck that I knit myself over the winter out of boredom.
“So now, we’re training for the Great North Trail with my mates. I mean, 800 miles is a lotta cycling, but fuck, if we just lock in…”
I don’t know what he’s talking about, but there’s a glimmer in Thanny’s eyes, so I smile, nod, and mumble something vaguely encouraging.
And it’s probably the right thing, because Thanny tilts his chin up and grins at me.
“Yep, I love cardio, that’s who I am!” he announces proudly and then pauses, looking me up and down. For a moment, I’m scared he’ll realise I’m not up to snuff. That I’m not the type of guy who goes biking on the weekend, or knows the difference between rugby and football.
“We should get you a bike. Could be a fun second date,” Thanny says with a grin. And then, he starts telling me about gear, helmets and mountain bikes versus citybikes.
I guess I’m worth the effort. I understand nothing he says, or actually, I simply don’t care. But Thanny looks happy to tell me about his life, and for the first time in a while I feel a little less lonely.
At the end of our first date, Thanny stares at me intently as I change his name in my contacts to ‘Thanny’ and then suggests I put a heart next to it.
For a while, we meet every day in the park outside my apartment. He lives on the other side of town but bikes all the way every day. He tells me about the TV programs he likes to watch but doesn’t ask for mine, doesn’t ask if I like to bike as well.
Thanny is shorter than I am. That’s not hard, I rarely meet someone who is taller. But Thanny is really short. He claims he’s one meter and seventy-five centimetres,but I know it’s a lie. That would make Thanny about ten centimetres shorter than Ford and that’s so not the case. But I don’t call his bluff, I simply nod and he rewards me with one of his feisty grins.
He saves my number under Ashley B., as if there are Ashley A. and Ashley C. in his contacts already. I ignore the way it makes me feel because I’m desperate and I’m ashamed how desperate I am.
A fortnight later, Thanny texts me good morning and good night and we meet as much as we can. He’s lost his job as a personal trainer too, but he’s trying to move his business online, and he shows me different exercises in the park, flexing this and that muscle. It’s April in England and it’s unusually warm but Thanny is fully committed to being around me without a shirt, showing off the defined abdomen and the powerful thighs. He doesn’t know yet how little I care. Doesn’t know that I’d rather move back with my parents than hear his opinion on carbs and how many I’m eating.
But in 2020 I’m lonely, and Thanny is there. He kisses me under the rain and he tells me I’m the tallest man he knows, “And the most beautiful.” It’s almost an afterthought, but I don’t mind. I believe him anyway.
We walk under the stars, my sweaty hand in his callous one. We circle the reservoir and snack on carrots, and his fingers trace my cheek as if it’s the most preciousthing.
