The canister had always been there, rolling around at the bottom of his duffle bag. Whenever he packed, his fingers would graze over the smooth, gray top, but he’d never take it out, never look directly at it. Sometimes when he unpacked, the canister would get wound up in a dirty sock or wedged inside a pocket, and it would come up with a handful of laundry as he went to chuck it into the machine. Whenever this happened, Jake would carefully retrieve the black cylinder and tuck it back into the bottom corner of his bag. 

That’s where it belonged. That’s where it stayed. For years.