He felt uneasy reminiscing, but before he had the chance to distract himself, sitting on his chair at the dorm, another memory jumped before his eyes.

Will couldn’t let go of Shawn, who was putting on his shoes at the front door. Christine sat in Elmer’s single-seater, staring a hole into the carpet with her head resting in her hands. Shawn hoped for at least a look or a word of encouragement, but to his surprise, she did not even steal a look at him. This level of cold he was not prepared for, and he felt a jab.

“What’s up with Mom?” Shawn whispered into Will’s ear, who merely shrugged.

“I saw her eating the gummies again,” Will remembered.

“Gummies?”

Will pointed at the corner of the kitchen counter, above which was their medicine cabinet.

“Since when?”

“For a while now… she always says they don’t taste that good anyways, so why take them?”

“Yeah, trust me, buds, they have a really bad aftertaste.”

“Why is she eating them then?”

“Adults eat all kinds of weird stuff. Beer is bitter. Coffee is not sweet either.”

“Like olives?”

“Like olives… kinda.”

Shawn didn’t know what gummies she’s been taking, but by the looks of it, she must have had a couple of sleepless nights. That would also explain the hug she gave me, he reasoned, for when she had been popping pills, she’d have guilt wash over her, resulting in weird fits of affection, and Shawn wasn’t fond of them, all right.

Will’s constant onslaught continued, tugging Shawn’s pants, crying for him to stay. Poor Will, god. Dad is gone, and Mom seems to be entirely out of it. He is all alone. Why am I leaving? Shouldn’t I be here to take care of him?

He squatted down, holding him by both shoulders, and looked him straight in the eye. He felt a ball swelling in his throat as he tried to talk to him, but got a grip. “Will. You have to be strong now. I will be back in three weeks... that’s twenty-one days. Can you hold out for me that long? I will send you pictures and message you as often as possible, ok?”

Will sobbed, rubbing his eye with his fist, “Promise?” The goo gushed out of his nose. Both couldn’t help but laugh because it was super distasteful. Shawn got a tissue and wiped Will’s nose.“You little boogie monster,” he hugged him and added, “Promise.”

He got up, straightened his jacket, and placing his hand on top of Will’s head, he said,

“Love you, bro.”

Will wrapped his arms around Shawn’s lanky legs and replied, “Love you too.”

After they had their moment, Shawn looked at his mother, hoping for at least a word, just something, for going without just wasn’t the way to go.

“Mom? I will leave now.”

“…”

He stood there for a moment, not sure how to react. The longer the silence, the more uncomfortable he felt. After a good ten seconds, he sighed in his heart, gave Will a last look, and reached for the doorknob.

“Make sure to come back…,” said Christine, as a tear glistened on her cheek.

“I will,” Shawn nodded, pursing his lips, holding back the waves.

“Love you, Shawn.”

“Love you too, Mom.”

The latch sprung back, engaging the door frame, and echoed in the silent house.

For Shawn, it was one of the hardest goodbyes. As he treaded on the gravel path toward the fence, a weird realization hit him: these were the first steps on his journey. It was a most peculiar conjuncture of brain chemicals that made it feel like his heart was on fire. Peculiar because that very fire that was burning him, the pain of leaving his family behind, also prodded him, for it meant he had something worth pursuing, something bigger, beyond the pain he felt. “Here we go,” he said, lifting his pants and straightening his jacket again.

“Great big brother you are,” one of the demons poked its head out, “just… end yourself, how ’bout that? Hehe. Wouldn’t make much of a difference, would it?”

“He doesn’t need to, does he? Die he will... in the forest, the cockroach. Hihi.”

“Tsk, Cockroaches don’t die, you idiot,” the eldest whacked him hard, bouncing the mask and, for a split second, revealing part of his face. However, Shawn didn’t see it. How could he? All his energy and focus went into avoiding them, but perched on his shoulders, they were going nowhere.

In front of him was a checklist with things to pack and prepare for the trip, which seemed like the perfect distraction. “Boots, raincoat, mushroom knife,…” of which most were checked, but one. He opened his drawer and took out a ring-bound journal. He loved the fresh leather smell. He stood and glared at it. Something took over him; he sat down, opened it, unsheathed his pen, and jotted,

“Sixteenth of August. I am packing my things, ashamed. Ashamed to be so fearful. Ashamed that I am of no use to my family… I’m worried about them. The voices in my head are violent. Will they ever go away?

Let this trip spur my passion for biology, and if it should be that I find out that I hate it and don’t want to do this anymore… then so be it. Just let me move on.”

He sheathed the pen and rested his head in his hands, thinking about the trip. I wonder who is going to be there…?