Vitamins for the Soul

Marcus stood in center field, his baseball glove practically sweating through the leather. The coach called him 'a natural,' but honestly? He'd rather be at home with Buster, his ancient Golden Retriever who snored like a chainsaw and didn't care if Marcus could hit a fastball or not.

That was the thing about being fifteen—everyone expected you to pick a lane and stay in it. You were either a jock or a nerd, popular or invisible. Marcus was stuck in the middle, a walking identity crisis with cleats.

Then there was Tyler, aka 'The Bull,' the team's star pitcher who took himself way too seriously. Tyler lived for baseball, breathed baseball, probably dreamed in baseball terminology. Last week, he'd spent twenty minutes explaining how pitching was 'like chess but with more torque.' Marcus had nodded along while thinking about how Buster would rather chase a squirrel than engage in strategic warfare.

'You coming to the party after the game?' Tyler asked, already confident Marcus would say yes.

'Maybe.' Marcus adjusted his cap. 'My mom's making me take these vitamins before I go anywhere. She's convinced I'm deficient in something.'

Tyler laughed, but not in a mean way. 'Dude, you're fine. You hit that double last week. That's all the confidence you need.'

But that was the thing Marcus couldn't explain—it wasn't about confidence. It was about how none of this felt real. The baseball practices, the parties, the whole performance of being a teenage boy—it all felt like someone else's script he'd been handed without audition.

Later that night, instead of the party, Marcus found himself running through the neighborhood park at midnight. Just running, no destination, sneakers hitting pavement in a rhythm that finally felt like his own. Buster wuffed happily beside him, the old dog somehow keeping pace.

The summer air smelled like cut grass and possibility. For the first time in months, Marcus wasn't performing. He wasn't the baseball player, the quiet kid, the whatever-everyone-expected him to be. He was just a fifteen-year-old running under streetlights with his dog, trying to figure out who he actually was when nobody was watching.

Maybe that was the vitamin his mom had been trying to give him all along—not something you could swallow, but something you had to find for yourself.