Greener Pastures

The spinach wilted under the balsamic vinaigrette, much like Marcus's enthusiasm had wilted somewhere between his second and third gin and tonic. He was talking about the pyramid scheme again—though he called it 'multi-level marketing' or 'direct sales' or whatever euphemism they'd taught him in those weekend retreats I wasn't invited to anymore.

'It's not a pyramid, Sarah,' he said, pushing his salad around his plate. 'It's about financial freedom. Residual income. Being your own boss.'

We'd been friends since freshman year, when he'd let me cry on his dorm room floor after my first breakup. Now I couldn't remember the last time we'd talked about anything that wasn't a 'business opportunity' or a 'investment strategy' that required five thousand dollars upfront.

'I read an article about Amway,' I said. 'Their structure literally forms a pyramid.'

His jaw tightened. The spinach caught in his teeth made him look ridiculous, but I didn't tell him. I used to. That's what friends did.

'You're negative,' he said. 'That's why you're stuck in that corporate job, making someone else rich.'

My corporate job paid for this lunch. He'd forgotten his wallet, again.

'I'm happy for you, Marcus,' I lied, and the lie felt like something rotting in my mouth. 'But I can't invest right now.'

He checked his phone. Seventeen notifications from his 'upline.' Twenty-three from his 'downline.' His entire social circle had been replaced by people who only saw him as a rung on a ladder they were all climbing toward some invisible summit.

'This weekend retreat,' he said, eyes lighting up. 'You should come. Just to see. No pressure.'

The waitress left the check. I reached for it automatically.

'Next time,' he said, already standing, already planning what to say to the next person, the next friend, the next mark.

I watched him walk away, another leaf of spinach stuck to his lapel, and realized I was mourning someone who was still sitting right there.