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The Last Time
Howard has never been one for remembering First Times. He has a habit of, every time something momentous is beginning in his life, assuming it will come to nothing. For example, the First Time Jason Orange spoke to him, he assumed he would, as most people who fascinated Howard did, call him a twat and never be seen again. And for this reason Howard hasn’t got a clue what time of day it was (probably evening, if he had to guess), what day of the week it was (weekend? Yeah, he’ll go with that) or even where it was they were (Manchester is his vaguest estimate) because he wasn’t expecting to need to take notes. Jason could, no doubt, list every detail. With times to the second, precise to the point of knowing where they were standing and at what angle they caught each other’s eyes. But Howard has lost any such clarity of the memory, as important as he knows the moment may have been. And of all the firsts he has forgotten, it is his firsts with Jason he most regrets not holding on to. He knows he ought to remember that night they first met, after all, Jason Orange has been in his life ever since, has been the most certain thing Howard has had in his life from then on. But still Howard can’t tell you what it was Jason said or how he replied. In fact, he probably can’t give you any useful information that might make you understand why Jason stuck around. After all, Howard can hardly make sense of that for himself. And in any case, Howard just doesn’t hold on to First Times, big or small. He can’t place as much significance in them as other people do. Howard’s only attention to detail in life is in the Last Times. He can spot a Last Time coming, he’s very good at it, as all pessimists are. The First Time marks the start of more, the promise of many chances still to come. But a Last Time will never be repeated.
Like the Last Time he spoke to Jason Orange.
He remembers every detail.
12.23 am. Tuesday, March 2nd, 2010.
Howard’s flat in the east of Manchester. The bedroom. Jason in the doorway. Howard on the bed.
There was a smudge of ink on Jason’s left cheek, just beneath his eye, from the ink on his ticket.
Howard’s phone had just finished charging.
Jason said ‘Goodbye’. Almost tearfully. Not quite betraying emotion.
Howard said ‘Jay’. Very softly. Betraying everything.
There was a half-empty glass of water on the bedside table.
From the (possible) evening on that (probable) weekend (somewhere) in Manchester, Howard knew a lot more First Times had grown. Like the First Time Jason had been his shelter. Of course, whatever Howard had been running from has long been forgotten. Although there are always three major possibilities when Howard runs away: he’s running from some girlfriend, he’s running from some other girlfriend who found out about the first girlfriend, he’s running from some monumental screw-up (though this admittedly could also cover options one and two.) Howard isn’t sure what exactly it was he was running from that night. He couldn’t even tell you which flat Jason was living in at the time – was it the one that overlooked Eastlands? One thing he definitely doesn’t know is why the hell Jason took him in. Jason’s never approved of Howard’s distorted code of conduct, but for some reason he’s always been the first one to bale Howard out when it’s caught up with him. He can’t be sure, but Howard suspects Jason gave him a right bollocking for whatever it was he’d done that night. Coz that’s what Jason always tried to do: set Howard straight. In that sense they were a disaster waiting to happen.
Although Howard knows he only seized on this thought the Last Time Jason gave him shelter.
Jason was the only one capable of setting him straight. To a man who often thought he wasn’t good enough, failing at that was just too much to take.
10.03 pm. Monday, March 1st, 2010.
Howard’s flat in the east of Manchester. Howard in the kitchen, Jason on the other end of the line.
There was a small smudge of curry sauce on the front of the phone. Just above the ‘9’.
Jason hadn’t been asleep when Howard phoned.
Howard’s drunken kiss (and more) had left him nervous his whole life was about to fall apart.
Jason’s instinct was to come to Howard. But as much as he tried he couldn’t shelter him from the rubble that was falling all around them.
There was a light on in the bathroom that Howard had forgotten to turn off.
It was a long time after the night in Jason’s flat (that may or may not have overlooked Eastlands) when Howard was running from his girlfriend/his other girlfriend/his latest screw-up (delete as applicable) that the First Time Howard saw Jason cry rolled around. And that’s about as much detail you’ll get from Howard on that First Time. It’s probably all the detail you’ll get from Jason too, because Jason was too busy falling apart to remember much of what was going on around him. It says a lot that he managed to drag himself to Howard’s place at all. Howard can’t say for sure if he has any regrets from that night. He doesn’t know if he just sat with Jason or if he held his hand. He doesn’t even know if he said a single word to him the whole time. What it was that had made Jason fall apart Howard could only guess at. Jason’s fragility and Jason’s strength were the two mystifying contradictions that made him up. Who knows what it was he had spent that bit too long thinking about, which ex it was that had shattered him with unfair criticism, what exactly it was he had decided made him inadequate that night. As long as Howard knows that he managed to put Jason back together again as best he could, then he doesn’t need to know what broke him. Well, save for needing to know who to beat up. Jason knew he was overprotective. As much as he disapproved of the violence, he took comfort in the revenge, he saw how it helped them to survive. But the Last Time Howard saw Jason cry, they knew there was only one way of punishing the guilty party.
Yes, there was only one person Howard had to beat up that time.
He’s been beating him up ever since.
11.13 pm. Monday, March 1st, 2010.
Howard’s flat in the east of Manchester. The lounge. The sofa. Side by side.
There was salt from Jason’s tears in the ridges of Howard’s fingerprints.
Jason was breaking because of Howard.
Howard was holding Jason’s face in his hands. Destroying him and holding him together all at once.
Jason’s car keys were on the coffee table.
When you fix someone (whether by means of hand holding or mere company) and stop their tears (that were caused by...something...) then you know you have found some new level of intimacy. Something that is closer and more private than anything else the two of you may share, romantic or otherwise. Especially with someone as private as Jason. No one but Howard is allowed to see him break. A kiss seems insignificant in comparison. Howard guesses this is why he can’t remember the First Time Jason kissed him. Or did he kiss Jason? It was probably Howard doing the kissing. Howard instigated kisses a lot in his life, that was always his problem. He doesn’t know if Jason could taste all the other people that had gone before. Howard doesn’t know if he tasted more of the booze or the cigarettes. He doesn’t remember how Jason’s kiss compared to any other or even why he decided he wanted to find out if it did. Time, place and length were all forgotten. The only thing Howard can tell you about that kiss is that it must have made him want more. Because he went in for countless kisses from that moment on. He enjoyed them all, though he couldn’t remember them. He had no appreciation of the details of them. All he knew was that he appreciated that they had happened. He appreciated that they had, for a while at least, been a part of his life. For this reason he knew the pressure was on to remember every detail of the Last Time he and Jason kissed.
He needed to remember exactly what it was he had thrown away.
He needed to remember so he could stop himself ever kissing anyone else again.
12.17 am. Tuesday, March 2nd, 2010.
Howard’s flat in the east of Manchester. The bedroom. On the bed. Locked together.
There was music playing to itself from Howard’s headphones.
Jason pulled Howard close to him.
Howard tried to make the kiss as deep as his feeling, trying to unmake the mess he’d made so well for the two of them.
There was a half-full glass of water on the bedside table.
The thing about kissing someone (or letting them kiss you) is that (whether the kiss tastes of booze or of cigarettes) you are somewhat unsubtly implying that your relationship has changed. It is no longer that unusually touchy-feely friendship. It is love. And there will have to be a First Time to say you are in love. And that will lead to a whole new set of implications. Unsurprisingly Howard can’t remember the first time Jason told him he loved him. Although he’s fairly certain he remembered to say it back. The weather that day is a mystery to him, time and place entirely forgotten, circumstance not even partially remembered. There was no drama involved, because Jason abhors too much song and dance in a declaration. He prefers understated beauty. And Howard supposes when they said they loved each other it must have been understatedly beautiful. Because Jason himself was understatedly beautiful. So understatedly beautiful that he couldn’t even make a drama out of the Last Time he told him he loved him.
Howard was grateful the sentiment wasn’t fractured by drama.
It was quiet and it was true. Jason all over.
12.21 am. Tuesday, March 2nd, 2010.
Howard’s flat in the east of Manchester. The bedroom. Jason in the doorway. Howard on the bed.
There was a vague memory of a smile creasing slightly at the corner of Jason’s lip.
Howard’s iPod had finally died.
‘I love you’ Jason had whispered. With the faintest implication that he always had and always would.
‘I love you too’ Howard had managed. With a broken sort of gratitude for the fact he knows how to feel that way and knows that it will never change.
There was a scuff on Jason’s right boot.
The problem, of course, with dwelling on Last Times, is that there is always the slightly bitter aftertaste of defeat. Missed chances, wasted opportunities. What one should have done, could have done, but ultimately didn’t do. Last Times are loaded with finality but not with closure. The hope of a First Time can never mean as much to Howard as the poignancy of a Last Time. There is more love in a Last Time than a First Time. There is an intimacy that has been built up to highest point it can reach. It’s the last chapter of the book, the summit of the mountain...the pavement you hit when you’ve jumped off a fifteen storey building. Howard makes himself feel by remembering the Last Times. It compensates for the numbness with which he always meets the First Times he’s encountered since Jason went away.
Always.
That’s the catch though.
The problem with the word Always, which one should remember, although Howard tends to forget it, is that it doesn’t really go for finality. Always is no more capable of ending than Forever. And Jason was the sort of person who put more faith in Always and Forever than he ever did in Goodbye. That’s why he gave his Always and Forever to Howard. An action he chose not to reverse. Not that Howard pays much attention to that fact. Because, unless he thinks something is ending, he doesn’t pay much attention to the details. The Always wasn’t ending though, so it slipped past him, unnoticed. And waited, with Forever, until that knock came at the door.
The Last Time Jason and Howard weren’t together was directly before that knock.
12.23 am. Wednesday March 2nd, 2011. Because Jason has always been one for precision and symmetry.
Howard doesn’t quite understand how Jason knows where his new flat is. It’s overlooking Eastlands. Maybe Jason found it because Jason knows Howard’s only in it to try and hold onto him.
Howard’s hand rests lightly on the doorframe.
He looks at Jason and he feels that same feeling he felt on all the Last Times. That sensation of falling down whilst standing still.
Jason’s eyes are damp – from rain and from emotion and from relief to see that Always and Forever are still there just like he’d hoped they would be.
They’ve both been broken for a long time now. They’ve been broken from the start but at least when they’re together the mess makes some sort of sense.
Howard doesn’t speak and Jason smiles.
The TV is still on in the lounge.
There’s still a scuff on Jason’s right boot.
‘I’m sorry Jay’ Howard offers up huskily.
They kiss.
Howard can feel raindrops move from Jason’s skin onto his.
‘That’s the last time you say that’ Jason finally replies.
Like the Last Time he spoke to Jason Orange.
He remembers every detail.
12.23 am. Tuesday, March 2nd, 2010.
Howard’s flat in the east of Manchester. The bedroom. Jason in the doorway. Howard on the bed.
There was a smudge of ink on Jason’s left cheek, just beneath his eye, from the ink on his ticket.
Howard’s phone had just finished charging.
Jason said ‘Goodbye’. Almost tearfully. Not quite betraying emotion.
Howard said ‘Jay’. Very softly. Betraying everything.
There was a half-empty glass of water on the bedside table.
From the (possible) evening on that (probable) weekend (somewhere) in Manchester, Howard knew a lot more First Times had grown. Like the First Time Jason had been his shelter. Of course, whatever Howard had been running from has long been forgotten. Although there are always three major possibilities when Howard runs away: he’s running from some girlfriend, he’s running from some other girlfriend who found out about the first girlfriend, he’s running from some monumental screw-up (though this admittedly could also cover options one and two.) Howard isn’t sure what exactly it was he was running from that night. He couldn’t even tell you which flat Jason was living in at the time – was it the one that overlooked Eastlands? One thing he definitely doesn’t know is why the hell Jason took him in. Jason’s never approved of Howard’s distorted code of conduct, but for some reason he’s always been the first one to bale Howard out when it’s caught up with him. He can’t be sure, but Howard suspects Jason gave him a right bollocking for whatever it was he’d done that night. Coz that’s what Jason always tried to do: set Howard straight. In that sense they were a disaster waiting to happen.
Although Howard knows he only seized on this thought the Last Time Jason gave him shelter.
Jason was the only one capable of setting him straight. To a man who often thought he wasn’t good enough, failing at that was just too much to take.
10.03 pm. Monday, March 1st, 2010.
Howard’s flat in the east of Manchester. Howard in the kitchen, Jason on the other end of the line.
There was a small smudge of curry sauce on the front of the phone. Just above the ‘9’.
Jason hadn’t been asleep when Howard phoned.
Howard’s drunken kiss (and more) had left him nervous his whole life was about to fall apart.
Jason’s instinct was to come to Howard. But as much as he tried he couldn’t shelter him from the rubble that was falling all around them.
There was a light on in the bathroom that Howard had forgotten to turn off.
It was a long time after the night in Jason’s flat (that may or may not have overlooked Eastlands) when Howard was running from his girlfriend/his other girlfriend/his latest screw-up (delete as applicable) that the First Time Howard saw Jason cry rolled around. And that’s about as much detail you’ll get from Howard on that First Time. It’s probably all the detail you’ll get from Jason too, because Jason was too busy falling apart to remember much of what was going on around him. It says a lot that he managed to drag himself to Howard’s place at all. Howard can’t say for sure if he has any regrets from that night. He doesn’t know if he just sat with Jason or if he held his hand. He doesn’t even know if he said a single word to him the whole time. What it was that had made Jason fall apart Howard could only guess at. Jason’s fragility and Jason’s strength were the two mystifying contradictions that made him up. Who knows what it was he had spent that bit too long thinking about, which ex it was that had shattered him with unfair criticism, what exactly it was he had decided made him inadequate that night. As long as Howard knows that he managed to put Jason back together again as best he could, then he doesn’t need to know what broke him. Well, save for needing to know who to beat up. Jason knew he was overprotective. As much as he disapproved of the violence, he took comfort in the revenge, he saw how it helped them to survive. But the Last Time Howard saw Jason cry, they knew there was only one way of punishing the guilty party.
Yes, there was only one person Howard had to beat up that time.
He’s been beating him up ever since.
11.13 pm. Monday, March 1st, 2010.
Howard’s flat in the east of Manchester. The lounge. The sofa. Side by side.
There was salt from Jason’s tears in the ridges of Howard’s fingerprints.
Jason was breaking because of Howard.
Howard was holding Jason’s face in his hands. Destroying him and holding him together all at once.
Jason’s car keys were on the coffee table.
When you fix someone (whether by means of hand holding or mere company) and stop their tears (that were caused by...something...) then you know you have found some new level of intimacy. Something that is closer and more private than anything else the two of you may share, romantic or otherwise. Especially with someone as private as Jason. No one but Howard is allowed to see him break. A kiss seems insignificant in comparison. Howard guesses this is why he can’t remember the First Time Jason kissed him. Or did he kiss Jason? It was probably Howard doing the kissing. Howard instigated kisses a lot in his life, that was always his problem. He doesn’t know if Jason could taste all the other people that had gone before. Howard doesn’t know if he tasted more of the booze or the cigarettes. He doesn’t remember how Jason’s kiss compared to any other or even why he decided he wanted to find out if it did. Time, place and length were all forgotten. The only thing Howard can tell you about that kiss is that it must have made him want more. Because he went in for countless kisses from that moment on. He enjoyed them all, though he couldn’t remember them. He had no appreciation of the details of them. All he knew was that he appreciated that they had happened. He appreciated that they had, for a while at least, been a part of his life. For this reason he knew the pressure was on to remember every detail of the Last Time he and Jason kissed.
He needed to remember exactly what it was he had thrown away.
He needed to remember so he could stop himself ever kissing anyone else again.
12.17 am. Tuesday, March 2nd, 2010.
Howard’s flat in the east of Manchester. The bedroom. On the bed. Locked together.
There was music playing to itself from Howard’s headphones.
Jason pulled Howard close to him.
Howard tried to make the kiss as deep as his feeling, trying to unmake the mess he’d made so well for the two of them.
There was a half-full glass of water on the bedside table.
The thing about kissing someone (or letting them kiss you) is that (whether the kiss tastes of booze or of cigarettes) you are somewhat unsubtly implying that your relationship has changed. It is no longer that unusually touchy-feely friendship. It is love. And there will have to be a First Time to say you are in love. And that will lead to a whole new set of implications. Unsurprisingly Howard can’t remember the first time Jason told him he loved him. Although he’s fairly certain he remembered to say it back. The weather that day is a mystery to him, time and place entirely forgotten, circumstance not even partially remembered. There was no drama involved, because Jason abhors too much song and dance in a declaration. He prefers understated beauty. And Howard supposes when they said they loved each other it must have been understatedly beautiful. Because Jason himself was understatedly beautiful. So understatedly beautiful that he couldn’t even make a drama out of the Last Time he told him he loved him.
Howard was grateful the sentiment wasn’t fractured by drama.
It was quiet and it was true. Jason all over.
12.21 am. Tuesday, March 2nd, 2010.
Howard’s flat in the east of Manchester. The bedroom. Jason in the doorway. Howard on the bed.
There was a vague memory of a smile creasing slightly at the corner of Jason’s lip.
Howard’s iPod had finally died.
‘I love you’ Jason had whispered. With the faintest implication that he always had and always would.
‘I love you too’ Howard had managed. With a broken sort of gratitude for the fact he knows how to feel that way and knows that it will never change.
There was a scuff on Jason’s right boot.
The problem, of course, with dwelling on Last Times, is that there is always the slightly bitter aftertaste of defeat. Missed chances, wasted opportunities. What one should have done, could have done, but ultimately didn’t do. Last Times are loaded with finality but not with closure. The hope of a First Time can never mean as much to Howard as the poignancy of a Last Time. There is more love in a Last Time than a First Time. There is an intimacy that has been built up to highest point it can reach. It’s the last chapter of the book, the summit of the mountain...the pavement you hit when you’ve jumped off a fifteen storey building. Howard makes himself feel by remembering the Last Times. It compensates for the numbness with which he always meets the First Times he’s encountered since Jason went away.
Always.
That’s the catch though.
The problem with the word Always, which one should remember, although Howard tends to forget it, is that it doesn’t really go for finality. Always is no more capable of ending than Forever. And Jason was the sort of person who put more faith in Always and Forever than he ever did in Goodbye. That’s why he gave his Always and Forever to Howard. An action he chose not to reverse. Not that Howard pays much attention to that fact. Because, unless he thinks something is ending, he doesn’t pay much attention to the details. The Always wasn’t ending though, so it slipped past him, unnoticed. And waited, with Forever, until that knock came at the door.
The Last Time Jason and Howard weren’t together was directly before that knock.
12.23 am. Wednesday March 2nd, 2011. Because Jason has always been one for precision and symmetry.
Howard doesn’t quite understand how Jason knows where his new flat is. It’s overlooking Eastlands. Maybe Jason found it because Jason knows Howard’s only in it to try and hold onto him.
Howard’s hand rests lightly on the doorframe.
He looks at Jason and he feels that same feeling he felt on all the Last Times. That sensation of falling down whilst standing still.
Jason’s eyes are damp – from rain and from emotion and from relief to see that Always and Forever are still there just like he’d hoped they would be.
They’ve both been broken for a long time now. They’ve been broken from the start but at least when they’re together the mess makes some sort of sense.
Howard doesn’t speak and Jason smiles.
The TV is still on in the lounge.
There’s still a scuff on Jason’s right boot.
‘I’m sorry Jay’ Howard offers up huskily.
They kiss.
Howard can feel raindrops move from Jason’s skin onto his.
‘That’s the last time you say that’ Jason finally replies.