Chapter One: Departure

"I used to think death was the end, but through cruel experience, I found that it was only the beginning." -Quote from the Muse of Memories

Simon maneuvered through the dark room trying not to wake the sleeping forms around him. Bag in hand, he took a step over a slumbering figure and winced when the floor creaked loudly, breaking the silence. Anxiously, he waited, holding his breath as a figure rolled over in their sleep, mumbling incoherently. Letting out a sigh of relief, he opened the door and slung the backpack over his shoulder. Glancing at his watch, he hurriedly made his way through the hostel he had called home for the past few months.

Knowing the front desk would be unoccupied, he swiftly checked himself out before heading outside. The pre-booked taxi driver greeted Simon as he approached the car, and he couldn't help but cast a final glance at the hostel. How many times does that make it now? Simon shook his head and turned to enter the taxi. He had once again, successfully avoided saying any goodbyes before fleeing the country.

"Simon?"

Fuck.

Simon turned to see Ramone, bleary-eyed, standing in the doorway rubbing his eyes. His friend, still dressed in his clubbing outfit from the previous night, looked weary after a night of hard drinking and dancing. Clearly, his silent departure hadn't gone unnoticed.

"Hola," Simon greeted sheepishly.

"Hola, ¿qué pasa? Are you leaving?" said Ramone in his Mexican accent, nodding towards his backpack.

What do I say? Simon didn't expect to be caught red-handed, he fumbled for the right words to say. Finally, he decided to stick with the truth. "Um, I got a call from back home that my grandpa is sick. I got a last-minute flight back home," Simon explained.

Ramone's face turned into a frown, concern evident. "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, amigo. I can wake everyone up real quick so you can say goodbye. They're probably still drunk from last night," he chuckled, turning back towards the room to get the others.

"No!" Simon raised his voice, extending his hands to stop him. "I mean, wait, Ramone. Please, don't wake everyone up. I really meant to say goodbye, but I just got caught up in the rush. I'm sorry," he lied, feeling that his own excuse was flimsy at best. Glancing at his watch again, he added, "I really have to go."

"I see," said Ramone, walking towards him. He pulled Simon into a hug and then let go, clapping his shoulder. "I understand, family is important. I'd do the same for mine. I'll let the others know when they wake up. Stay safe, okay? We'll meet again someday?"

"Of course," he said, struggling to meet his friend's eyes. "Adios, Ramone. Thank you... for being my friend."

Waving goodbye, he entered the taxi and watched as his friend's waving figure disappeared when they turned the corner. Slumping back into his seat, Simon observed the quiet streets of Buenos Aires passing by, illuminated by the early morning moonlight. The crackle of the radio, the tapping of the driver's hands on the wheel, and the sounds of traffic washed over him as he contemplated the friends he would never see again. Over his two years of traveling, he had come to learn that it was easier this way—to leave in the dead of night without saying any goodbyes. Simon told himself it was for their sake, to make it easier for them, but a small part of him knew that was a lie.

The taxi driver pulled up in front of the airport and handed Simon his bag, his face lit up with a smile when he gave him the last of his pesos. He wouldn't need those once he was back in the States. Grandpa had always said a little kindness goes a long way, he thought fondly. Speed-walking through the airport, he managed to check in with just minutes to spare. Following routine, Simon took off his shoes and placed his electronics in the bin before passing through security. Scrolling through his phone, he put on his earbuds and played some classic rock music to pass the time. Once he found his gate, he joined the crowd and waited until the airline worker called for them to form a line.

Simon attempted to fix his appearance in the window's reflection, trying to make himself somewhat presentable for the day ahead. There was nothing he could do about his mismatched outfit, thrown together in the dark. It consisted of a wrinkled band shirt, blue jeans, hiking boots, and a light tan jacket. I look like a wrinkled mess. He rubbed the sleep out of his green eyes and scratched at the stubble he had forgotten to shave off. After months of exploring the city and nature, his usually, pale skin now had a tan. "Why can't you cooperate today, please," he grumbled, in his futile attempts to tame the mess of blond hair. Realizing there was no point in worrying about it any longer, he put his hands down, knowing that his awaiting family would judge him regardless of how he looked.

Simon scrolled through his phone looking at all the pictures he had taken during his time in Argentina. He had always loved to capture memories and places in pictures. He thought of them as moments in time stolen as his personal treasure. Retrieving his worn journal from his backpack, he began brainstorming lyrics based on the events of the morning. Will meet again someday? His pen lingered on the line he'd written the last words from Ramone sticking to him. As his pen scribbled, he tried to encapsulate Ramone's parting words to him in a song that he knew would never be played.

Buzz! An image of Alex his blonde-haired cousin filled his screen as the phone call buzzed for him to answer. Answering the call, he stuffed his journal into his jacket pocket.

"Hey," said Alex.

"Hola," Simon replied.

"Have you boarded your flight yet?"

"Not yet, we're lining up to board. What's up?"

"Okay, good. It's Grandpa... he's struggling to eat anything. The nurse says it's not going to be much longer," Alex said, her voice filled with worry.

"Shit," Simon swore. What if I won't make it in time to say goodbye? "Tell him I'll be there in 14 hours. I was going to keep it a surprise, but mention that I have a present for him. I got Gramps a rare book while I was in Ireland."

"Okay, I can do that. Do you have a second present packed for your favorite cousin?" teased Alex. "I haven't seen you in two years since you left, so it better make up for all that missed time."

"First off, you're my only cousin!" Simon replied jokingly. "I got you a scarf at the market in Istanbul, purple since it's your favorite color. Keep my parents off my back and it's yours?"

"You know my weakness is anything purple. I'll happily accept your bribe," Alex said, and he could practically see the pleased look on her face. "But I don't know if I can keep them off for long…"

"Why? Can't you hide me from them when you pick me up from the airport?" he asked curiously.

"About that, don't get mad," warned Alex. "Aunt Briana said she would be picking you up. She already left for the big city."

Goddamn it, not my mother.

Internally, Simon groaned at the thought of having to see her, especially after how they left things at the funeral. Seeing that it was almost his turn in line, he gestured for the person behind him to take his spot as he moved to the back of the line. "Was there no one else? I already know the tongue-lashing and gaslighting will start as soon as I get in that car," Simon said, frustration evident in his voice.

"Simon, I know, and I'm sorry. I don't like Auntie any more than you do, especially after everything that happened after Tommy's funeral. I would come to get you myself, but I'm the only one fending off all these greedy relatives from Grandpa. They think their last-minute acts of pity will get them added to the will," said Alex, exasperated.

Simon was well aware of his family's modus operandi. First, they would act as if they cared and express some emotions to lower your guard. Then, they would guilt you into doing what they wanted, and before you knew it, every decision was being made for you. And if you dared to protest, they would make you out to be the bad guy. They had attempted to do exactly that after his best friend's funeral in their small Oklahoma town. He grimaced at the memory of blowing up at his parents during the funeral reception when they implied that he should stay and work at the family's restaurant. It went against everything Simon and Tommy had dreamed of—to leave the confines of that small town and explore the world. Their false claims that Tommy would have wanted him to stay only fueled the long-standing anger within him.

Simon's thoughts were interrupted when he realized that he was the last person in line. Handing the boarding agent his passport and ticket, he tried to bid his farewells.

"Alex, I'm boarding the plane now. I'll be there soon, okay?"

"Okay, make sure you arrive safely, alright? And Simon... I'm here for you. You know I always have your back. Call me once you land," Alex said.

"I promise, I'll be there before you know it. Thank you... and I love you, cuz," he said, as he walked through the tunnel and onto the plane.

"Love you too, cuz," Alex replied, ending the call.

Glancing at his seat number, Simon made his way to the middle of the plane and searched for a compartment to stow his backpack. To his dismay, most of the spots were already full. Thankfully, a flight attendant waved him over and informed him that he would need to remove some items from his backpack to fit into the last small opening. Swearing under his breath, he rummaged through his backpack and transferred a few items into his pockets. Once his backpack was smaller, he found his assigned row and squeezed past a fellow passenger to settle into the window seat.

Settling into his seat, he watched as the plane taxied along the runway. Taking out the small book he had tucked into his jacket pocket, he attempted to divert his thoughts from the upcoming day. It was a worn-out copy of The Hobbit, a book he had read three times before during previous travels. It provided him solace in knowing that he wasn't the only sheltered small-town boy embarking on an adventure in the vast world. His mind wandered, making it impossible to focus on the book. But what if I can't make it in time? What will I even say to my parents? Will I miss Tommy's infectious grin? Simon put it back in his pocket and rubbed his face with his hands, feeling a mix of anxiety and exhaustion.

As the plane gained speed and began to tilt upwards, he instinctively tightened his grip on the armrests. No matter how many times he had flown, he could never quite get used to this part. Once the plane leveled off, Simon contemplated how much Tommy would have relished the thrill of being in the air. His friend had always been in his element when it came to anything daring, exhilarating, or downright reckless. He reminisced about the countless times Tommy had dragged him into various misadventures around town, much to the dismay of his parents. Even after all these years, his influence lingered. Meeting Tommy had shattered the protective shell he had built around himself.

Rubbing the music note tattoo on his forearm, Simon recalled the days when they had formed a two-man band in their parents' garages. Though they hadn't been particularly successful, Tommy's drumming skills and Simon's talent with the electric guitar made them infamous in their small town. It became routine for local police to shut down their garage performances, while drunk teenagers scattered across the neighborhood. A smile crept onto his face as he remembered the time Tommy had stage-dived during their school's talent show, crashing onto the gym floor as Simon facepalmed on stage. His eyelids grew heavy as the breathtaking view of the Andes mountains below lulled him into a peaceful slumber. Succumbing to fatigue, his body sank into a deep sleep.

* * * * *

"Simon, I don't have much time left. Cough, cough, cough," said a feeble voice just out of view.

Simon sat up from his chair, he looked around dazedly, searching for the source of the voice. The bedroom was so hazy that it was hard to make out the details. Confused, that he didn't wake up in an airplane he tried to grasp the situation. In the corner, he spotted a bed with an old man propped up by several pillows and bundled in blankets. Moving closer, he saw the familiar white mustache and laugh lines that were so familiar to him. Grandpa!

He moved to his Grandpa's bedside, relief washing over him."Hey, I'm right here, Gramps. I'm glad I made it in time. I hope all my letters reached you well." said Simon, relieved he made it in time. He averted his eyes as he felt like he had to apologize. "I'm sorry, I haven't come back until now."

Chuckling, Gramps reassuringly patted his arm. "There's no need to be sorry, son. I received them just fine." said his Gramp's before he coughed loudly. "I wanted to tell you something before the end."

As Gramps spoke, the haze around him seemed to diminish as his hazy form grew more solid. Gramps grip tightened on his arm, and Simon looked up to meet his gaze.

"What... what is it?" he asked hesitantly.

"Ever since that day, you haven't stopped running. I didn't have the strength to chase after you, so I waited. I'm sorry for that, but Simon, you don't have to run anymore. You don't have to choose to be alone, son." His mustached face was touched with concern and care as he spoke to him. "Tommy wouldn't have wanted to see you like this."

Simon felt the weight of those words hit him, feeling like the void within him, the same void he'd been running from, slowly begin to fill again. BANG! Before he could respond, loud noises erupted from outside the hazy room. Voices screamed and cried, and chaos loomed just beyond the walls. What's going on?

"Simon, remember what I said. I love you."

* * * * *

Simon jolted awake, cool tears on his face as he woke from the tranquil dream to pure chaos. Passengers were screaming, babies were crying, and the flight attendants were failing to calm the crowd. Frantically, he looked around the plane, trying to grasp the situation. Is it a terrorist attack? Did someone die? Is the plane crashing? Every horrible scenario flashed through his head until he saw the real reason. Seated next to the window, he had a clear view of the right-wing engine on fire as the blue of the ocean beckoned below. The intercom sounded on as the pilot's voice called for everyone to brace themselves.

The instructions washed over Simon as the numbness from what he saw slowly began to register. We're going to crash. The plane tilted at a downward angle, pushing him back into his chair as the cabin filled with louder screams. Pressed against his seat by the force of their descent, he could only watch as the ocean grew closer. His racing heartbeat drowned out the screams of the cabin as everything else seemed to slow.

Memories flashed through his head faster than he could acknowledge them before they sped away from his thoughts. His parents taught him how to cook the restaurant's menu with hope in their eyes, he cheered from the sidelines as Tommy scored the winning touchdown, his Gramp's smile as he showed Simon his collection in the library, Alex danced at their garage show as he lost himself in his guitar, nights spent drinking alongside all the friends he had made while traveling before leaving in the dead of night to start over in a new city, and finally, he saw his best friend's peaceful face as he lay in his coffin.

All these moments and more flashed through his head. Simon closed his eyes and tried to make peace with the idea of never saying goodbye to so many. There's so much I didn't get to do, he thought, resigning himself to his fate. As the plane crashed into the ocean in a fiery inferno, Simon Everland died.