In college, in the dorms, his roommate would drink Tang.
Rob had been there with him when the roommate discovered the powerful psychotropic effect that the orange beverage induced. Just the smell of the powder, he had said, sent a cascade of recollection through his mind. He would suddenly be privy to details surrounding toys, days, people; all for which he had no context, no reference.
Then it would be gone. And as the fragments of his childhood fused back into his subconscious, Rob could see the pain in his roommate’s face. Fighting a losing battle against badly wired neurons and misfiring synapses seemed an excruciating thing. Never, Rob had thought, was the roommate more desperate than when he was coming down from one of these trips.
Rob could understand this. In fact, he thought the roommate lucky. To find a way back, if only for a moment, was something of great value. To him, it aligned with the idea that we spend our lives trying to recreate the happiness we felt in the womb.