The Lightning in Her Palm

Margot found the fox carcass on her Tuesday morning commute, its rust-colored fur already stiffening against the asphalt. She'd seen it healthier just yesterday, darting between the office buildings with something in its mouth—vital, almost triumphant. Now it was roadkill, another thing that used to be alive.

At work, Gary from accounting stopped by her cubicle for the third time that week, tilting his fedora at what he probably thought was a rakish angle. 'You look tired, M,' he said, leaning too close. 'Maybe you need a vitamin D supplement. I could pick some up.' His palm grazed her shoulder when he stepped away, lingering just long enough to make his meaning clear.

She'd been filing the HR complaint for three weeks. Her supervisor said they were 'building a case.' Meanwhile, Gary's daily vitamins became increasingly specific—B12 for energy, magnesium for stress, zinc for what he called 'vitality.' The joke around the office was that he'd open a pharmacy.

The lightning storm broke during her commute home, the sky fracturing into white veins that illuminated the highway in strobe flashes. In that harsh electric light, she saw the fox again, still there because nobody in city services gave a damn about a dead animal on the less-traveled exit ramp. She thought about pulling over, about moving it somewhere softer than asphalt, but she kept driving.

She thought about her mother, who'd died at forty-seven, and how she'd kept her vitamins in a weekly organizer that Margot still had somewhere in a box. Her mother had believed in prevention, in preparation, in the idea that if you did everything right, you could somehow outrun mortality.

Gary's hand on her shoulder the next morning carried the weight of a thousand small violations. 'I got those vitamins for you,' he said, placing a bottle on her desk. 'For your health.'

Margot looked at the bottle, then at him, then out the window where the sun was already bright and unforgiving. Somewhere on her exit ramp, the fox was still rotting into the pavement.

'I don't need your vitamins, Gary,' she said, and finally, finally pressed send on the email to HR that CC'd the district manager. 'I need you to keep your hands to yourself.'

The lightning had already struck. Now came the thunder.