The Architecture of Loss

The water glass sat between us like a border, condensation tracking down the curve like tears neither of us would cry. Jamie hadn't changed. Still wearing that faded orange baseball cap, the brim curved perfectly after years of the same obsessive ritual. We used to be the kind of friend who finished each other's sentences. Now we couldn't even start them.

"The new firm," Jamie said, finally, "it's a multilevel marketing operation. A pyramid scheme."

The word hung there. Pyramid. Ancient structures built on the backs of workers, reaching toward something they'd never touch. I remembered the summer we'd built a sand pyramid on the beach, convinced we could make it reach the water before the tide came in. We'd worked until our hands bled, until the sun set and our parents called us home. The ocean had taken it by morning.

"And you're involved?" I heard the judgment in my voice.

Jamie's thumb traced the rim of the glass. "I'm at the top level now. The structure protects its own."

The waiter brought our drinks. Something orange and citrusy, with a baseball of melon perched on the rim. Clever. Theme drinks for people who didn't know they were themes.

"You're selling dreams to people who can't afford them," I said, surprised by my own anger. "Just like last time."

Jamie flinched. The cap shifted. "I'm different now. I've been through the program. The pyramid — it's about rising up. Ascending."

"It's about exploitation."

"It's about believing in something larger than yourself."

The water between us seemed deeper suddenly. I thought about all the ways we'd failed each other over twenty years. The small betrayals. The radio silence. The slow erosion of whatever we'd been before life got in the way. This was just another failure, shaped like a triangle, built on the sinking feeling that we'd both been selling something we didn't believe in for a long time.

"Finish your drink," Jamie said, not unkindly. "The water's getting warm."

I watched an orange slice float in the glass, trapped in the surface tension. It would sink eventually. Everything does.