Remember [Phan]

“Will you remember me in an hour?” I ask my boyfriend of 3 years, Dan.
“Yes...” he replies, evidently not remembering this from being a kid.
“Will you remember me in a month?”
“Yes!”
“Will you remember me in a year?”
“I doubt I could forget you”
“Will you remember me in a decade?”
“Of course”
“Will you remember me in 50 years?”
“Unless I’ve died, I will.”
“Knock knock”
“Who’s there?”
“You’ve forgotten me already!”

1 Hour.

I fall onto his shoulder, laughing hysterically. It’s just a good natured joke, and he knows that. He pats me on the head, and kisses my cheek as I’m moving around too much for him to kiss my lips. He understands my childishness; he understands that I never forget gags like that. I’d bet that he still remembers the time when I used to sing songs about him and Bryony K-I-S-S-I-N-G. But that was before we got together, of course.

I calm down and snuggle into his chest, and he strokes my hair. We’d snuggle like this even before we got together, and it was one of the reasons I fell in love with him – his snuggles. And he asked me out when we were snuggling. Snuggles are symbolic in our relationship. And I like that. Almost as much as I like him.

“Philly, you do realise I could never forget you?” he whispers in my ear.
“Really?” I ask. I’ve always been nervous that I love him more than he loves me.
“I will love you forever. I will always remember the way I felt when I first fell in love with you, and more importantly the way I felt when you first noticed me.  I’d hope you’d be here with me forever, so I never have the chance to forget you. But if I lose you, I will always remember the happy times we’ve spent together.”

I look up at him, and see he’s crying softly. I sit up slightly and kiss him, because at this moment a kiss is the only way I can describe how much I love him.

1 Month.

“Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan!” I shout , jumping up and down on the bed where he’s lying.
“Go away” he mumbles, flailing his arms. He was never a morning person.
“We have adventures to go on Dan get up!”
“Noooooooooo”
“I’ll film you if you don’t get up!”
“Alright alright I’m getting up.”

I jump off the bed, and run into the kitchen to make coffees for us both. This is the way each day starts in our flat. I make the coffees and the breakfast, while he wakes up. Then in the evening, he makes dinner. It had been like that before we’d got together, and I’d hope it would always be like that. Little things like that always make me feel better, I like routine.

He emerges from our room, his hobbit hair all over the place and his pyjamas lopsided over his skinny frame. He hates what he looks like in the morning; it’s his most self conscious moment. When we first moved in together, he used to make sure he looked perfect before he left his room, including straightening his hair and getting changed. But now he’s more relaxed about it, which is good because I think he looks beautiful.

“Morning sleepyhead!” I giggle as he sits down at the table and grabs his coffee.
“Do you know what day it is today?” I say, jumping up and down with excitement.
“Um... A Monday?” Dan says, winking.
“Noooooooooo”
“The 13th?”
“Come on Danny!” I say, punching him in the arm and really hoping that he hasn’t forgotten.
“I’ve remembered okay? It’s our anniversary!”  he squeals, kissing me passionately.

He’s right, of course. It’s the 5 year anniversary of our relationship. 5 glorious years of us being together, the best 5 years of our lives. Well, the best 5 years of my life certainly. I can’t speak for Dan, but I’d hope that it was the same for him. Fingers crossed. I’m head-over-heels in love with him, and I have been for 4 years, since we met up for the first time and I realised he was even more amazing in person than he was online.

We clink coffee mugs together in a toast to our relationship, together forever.

1 Year.

“So, you got all of your stuff?” Dan asks, pacing up and down the living room.
“Yeah, thanks.”
So, this is it. I’m being kicked out of the flat. We knew this would happen, once we broke up. I say we broke up, Dan broke up with me. He’s always a dumper, and I’m always a dumpee if you take the model from ‘An Abundance of Katherines’. It ended a month ago, I had to sort out a new place to live, and now I’m off. I guess I always knew that if we broke up, I’d be the one to leave. And look what happened.

I try not to cry as I look around our old room. We shared, of course, up until the break up. After that I slept on the sofa, but some of my stuff was still in there. Not anymore. Now the place is completely Dan’s. There’s no trace that I ever was here. No photos, no clothes, nothing. Just happy memories of the past. And sad memories of the break up too. I’ll remember these things for life.

I walk back into the living room with my backpack. I’ve had it since I first went to visit Dan, its big enough to fit stuff in for a weekend, yet small enough to fit in a train or a bus easily. It contains my bare essentials now, the rest of my stuff already on its way to the new flat. I’ll be getting rid of it soon. It carries memories of Dan.

“Do you remember when we said this could last forever?” I mutter as I walk past Dan, on my way to the front door.
“Well, we were young fools weren’t we?” He replies.
“I guess so.”

10 Years.

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday. 9-5. Office job. It’s so boring and repetitive. Everyone I ever asked said that I’d hate an office job, and I agreed. But I didn’t really have a choice, I have to make money somehow. Which is why I now work in a call centre. The 9-5 job. Except it’s not 9-5, because I have an hour commute there and another hour back. So it’s more like 8-6.

I’m on the commute now, on the train. I like being on the train, it’s much nicer than driving. When you’re driving you’re on your own. At least on a train you’re always surrounded by people. I don’t like being alone. That’s why I don’t have a place of my own, instead I’m a lodger. It means there’s nearly always somebody in the house. It means that I never have to be by myself. Because when I’m by myself I allow myself to think. And thinking is bad, because thinking generally leads to crying.

Today is a bad day, though. Why? Because the guy sat next to me looks like Dan. Well he has the hobbit hair, and he’s the right height. He’s a bit fatter, but everyone gets fatter as they grow older. But I try and ignore that. Because, if it is Dan, it means that he either doesn’t recognise me or he doesn’t want to talk to me. My hair is blonde now, sure, but he’s seen the blonde roots when I haven’t dyed it in time.

If it was him, then I’d hope he’d remember me and recognise me.

The guy stands up, and heads towards the train car door. I guess he didn’t know me. If it was Dan. I don’t know if it was, it has been an entire decade since we last saw each other. In fact, 10 years to this very day. Not that I’m counting or anything.

“Phil?” the man says, as the train pulls into the station.
“Dan?” I almost squeal. He remembered me!

He nods at me, exits the train and goes up to a guy who’s evidently been waiting for him. And then kisses him. Right in front of me. So he did remember me. But he still didn’t feel how I still felt about him.

50 Years.

“Everyone, this is Phillip – no sorry Phil – Lester. Make him welcome.” The nice nurse says, wheeling me into the sitting room of my new care home.

I’d managed to avoid old folk’s homes for ages, but now I’m finally in one. And I’ll be stuck here till I die. Most people have kids who’ll pay for a nice place, or at least come and visit them. Not me. I’d never been in a relationship since that fated one 50 years ago. So I’m in the cheapest NHS home that the doctors could find in the local area, and I’m all alone. I’m surrounded by people of course but that’s not the same as having real friends. But then again, do you even have friends when you’re 80? I don’t know...

“Come on Phil, I’ll introduce you to the residents” the nurse says, and she starts pushing me around the room and introducing each OAP, before leaving my chair at a table by myself.
I pull a sketch pad and my reading glasses out of my backpack. The 60 year old backpack. I didn’t end up getting rid of it. I’ve lost my hair, I’ve lost my old belongings, I’ve lost my eyesight but I still have the backpack. And my memories. That’s one thing which I managed to hold onto despite my age. My memory is as good as it always was. Which is terrible, sometimes, because some of my memories aren’t very happy. But it’s worth it for the happy memories.

I start sketching, and someone comes and sits next to me. I don’t pay attention, though. I’m busy drawing. I’m much better at drawing than I used to be, I’ve had a long time to practice. I hear the nurse come over and speak to the person sitting opposite me.

“That’s Phil, Daniel. Why don’t you say hello?” then she walks over to me and whispers “That’s Daniel, and he has dementia so don’t be offended if he forgets your name.”

I glance up, and see a relatively young guy (well, young for being in here) looking at me. My first thought is that he must be here because of the dementia, or he would surely be fine to live by himself. He’s staring at me, his brown eyes wide open. His grey hair is slightly curly, and he has one hand in it, the other hand on the table. I can’t figure out why he’s staring at me. Are my glasses wonky? I check, and they’re as straight as they’d go. My clothes look reasonable. Then what is it?

“Phil?” He mutters, still staring.
“Yeah, that’s me. You’re Daniel, right?”
“I think I know you.”
“Oh... ok?” I say. I doubt he does, it’s probably just his dementia. I don’t know very many people.

He reaches into his trouser pocket, and pulls out a strip of paper which he passes to me. I recognise the shape as a photo strip, like you can get from photo booths in shopping centres and in tourist destinations. He stares at me, and I flip it over. It’s a column of 4 photos, like I thought. And I recognise them. It’s me and Dan Howell, on our first date in Manchester. We went to the Manchester Eye, and then we went to Nandos for a meal. Tears spring to my eyes, and I look back up at the man in front of me. And then I realise, although he looks much older and his hair is grey... it’s my Dan.

“Danny?” I whisper.
“Philly...”

He jumps to his feet and walks over to me, then awkwardly hugs me even though I’m in my wheelchair. I start sobbing, full sobs. Because despite his problems, he has remembered me. And that means the world to me. I’ve missed him so much, and I’ve been heartbroken since I saw him kissing that other guy. No. I’ve been heartbroken since he broke up with me. Yet here he is with me now, just by chance, and he’s hugging me. Which is odd. And wonderful.

“You remembered me?” I say, once he pulls out of the hug.
“How could I forget? Losing you is the biggest regret of my life. I’ve forced myself to remember, I’ve carried those photos around with me since I broke up with that last guy, and that was decades ago.”

I stare at him, gobsmacked. I cannot believe what he’s saying to me. Does he still love me? I think he does. And that’s shocking.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have automatically thought you still loved me.” Dan continues after I’m silent for a while.
“No... Dan... I’ve loved you since before we got together. That never changed over the years.” I stammer.
“Remember when we thought we’d be together forever?” he says, smiling reminiscently.
“Maybe we can start forever now?” I mutter, nervous that he’ll reject me again.
“I’d like that.”