The Vitamins We Swallow

Marcus stood before the mirror, swallowing his daily **vitamin** with the same grim determination he applied to everything at forty-five. The gray spreading through his beard like morning fog refused to be wished away, not even with the expensive supplements his doctor insisted would make him feel twenty again.

He grabbed his lucky **hat**—a worn fedora that had belonged to his father—and headed to the **pyramid**-shaped office building downtown. The architecture was supposed to inspire innovation. Instead, it just gave everyone headaches and reminded Marcus of ancient structures built on the backs of slaves.

" **Bear** with me, Marcus," his boss said, cornering him by the coffee machine. "The merger's happening, and we need to discuss your position."

The corporate euphemisms always made Marcus think of his friend Elena, now three years sober from a multilevel marketing scheme that had nearly bankrupted her. She'd been the **fox** in their friendship—clever, adaptable, always landing on her feet. Marcus had been the cautious one, the steady one, the one who'd stayed in his cubicle while she chased dreams.

Now he was being asked to choose between severance and a demotion. The HR representative's smile didn't reach her eyes as she explained the "strategic realignment."

"Take the package," Elena had told him over drinks last month. "You've been talking about that woodworking business for a decade. Sometimes the universe throws a brick through your window because you built the wrong house."

That evening, a real **fox** appeared in his backyard—a lean, russet creature that watched him with evaluating eyes. Marcus poured his nightly vitamin into the sink.

"You looking for something better too?" he asked.

The fox flicked its tail and disappeared into the darkness, and for the first time in years, Marcus didn't feel like waiting for permission to choose his own direction.