The Vitamin of Friendship

Every morning at 7:30, Arthur placed two small orange tablets on the kitchen counter. One for him, one for Eleanor. Even now, three years after she'd passed, the ritual remained unchanged. He swallowed his vitamin B12 with a glass of orange juice, remembering how she'd joke that they were taking their daily dose of marriage insurance.

Arthur caught his reflection in the hallway mirror—thinning white hair, deep creases around eyes that still crinkled when he smiled. At seventy-eight, he'd grown comfortable in this skin, these wrinkles earned through laughter and sorrow.

Today was special. His grandson Marcus, newly fifteen and gangly with his mother's unruly curls, was coming for the weekend. "Grandpa," Marcus had pleaded on the phone, "teach me padel. All my friends are playing."

The word unlocked something in Arthur's chest. Padel. He and his best friend Samuel had played for decades, every Saturday morning like clockwork, until Samuel's heart gave out last autumn. Now Arthur's racquet gathered dust in the closet, its grip still shaped to Samuel's handshake from their final game.

Samuel, who'd been the vitamin to Arthur's deficiency—always adding what Arthur lacked. Samuel, the friend who'd stood beside him at Eleanor's funeral, weeping openly when Arthur couldn't cry. Samuel, whose silver hair had once matched Arthur's own as they'd aged together like twin oaks.

Marcus arrived at noon, carrying his own racquet, eager and uncertain. Arthur found himself teaching not just the game—the soft thwack of the ball against the glass walls, the quick exchanges at the net—but something else entirely.

"Your grandmother always said sports were just friendship in motion," Arthur told the boy between points. He watched Marcus's hair bounce as he sprinted across the court, so much like Eleanor's had at his age.

By sunset, Arthur's body ached in the good way—the way it hadn't since Samuel's last match. He realized then: vitamins came in many forms. Some in orange tablets. Some in silver-haired friends who moved through life beside you. And some in grandchildren who carried pieces of your heart into futures you'd never see.

That evening, Arthur set out two vitamins again. But this time, he imagined Eleanor and Samuel both watching from somewhere beyond, their laughter mixed with the memory of ball against glass—friendship's endless game.