Poolside Resurrection

Maria swallowed the vitamin D supplement with lukewarm coffee, her hands trembling slightly. Another day, another pill the doctor insisted would help with the "seasonal affective disorder," though she suspected the real diagnosis was something her insurance wouldn't cover — the particular melancholy of being thirty-five and realizing this was it.

The corporate cafeteria buzzed with conversations she couldn't force herself to join. She'd become something of a zombie at work, moving through meetings and emails with a mechanical efficiency that frightened her sometimes. Her colleagues probably didn't notice. That was the thing about becoming the walking dead — nobody could tell the difference until you started eating brains, and Maria was too tired for anything that dramatic.

The apartment complex pool was empty at 7 PM, the water reflecting the dying light in streaks of copper and bruised purple. Maria slipped out of her work clothes and into her swimsuit, the chlorine smell hitting her like a childhood memory. She'd been coming here every evening for three weeks, sinking into the cool water and letting herself float, staring up at the sky until her fingers pruned.

"You know, that's the vitamin D deficiency talking," a voice said from the pool deck.

Maria treaded water, heart racing. A man sat on one of the lounge chairs, maybe forty, with gray threading through dark hair and eyes that looked tired in a familiar way. He held a bottle of pills — vitamin B12, she noted.

"I'm David," he said. "I've been watching you drown your sorrows in the shallow end for weeks now. Thought maybe we could compare notes."

She swam to the edge and pulled herself up, water dripping from her elbows. "Maria. And what notes exactly do we have to compare?"

David smiled, crooked and genuine. "The ones about how we're both zombies pretending to be alive, how the vitamins aren't really helping, and how this pool is probably the only place we feel real anymore."

Maria laughed, surprising herself. "That specific, huh?"

"I see you every evening," he said softer. "Figured either you were plotting something dramatic or just trying to remember what it feels like to not be dead inside."

She floated on her back, studying the first stars appearing above them. "What if we're both just tired, David? What if there's no grand existential crisis?"

"Then we start over," he said, and his hand found hers in the water, warm against her cooling skin. "But maybe we don't have to do it alone anymore."

The vitamin pills sat on the pool deck between them, two bottles of false promises. But as Maria looked at David, at the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, she thought maybe some things actually did help. Even if they weren't what the doctor prescribed.