Vitamins for the Waterlogged

Marcus stared at the vitamin D bottle on his desk — the third one this month. His doctor said he was deficient, but Marcus knew the truth: he just wasn't seeing enough daylight between the glass walls of his corporate pyramid.

"The new organizational chart," his boss had announced that morning, gesturing to the whiteboard. "We're streamlining into a clearer hierarchy." A pyramid, essentially. Marcus would be one of the many stones supporting the few at the top.

His phone buzzed. His son's baseball game at 4 PM. He'd promised to be there this time.

The gym pool was empty at lunch. Marcus slipped into the water, his body remembering the rhythm from college swim team days. Back then, swimming had been about competition. Now it was the only place he could breathe. The chlorine smell, the muffled silence, the way the water held him up when he felt like sinking.

His father had loved baseball. Season tickets, statistics memorized, weekend games in the yard. "Build character," his dad would say, tossing the ball. Marcus hadn't played in fifteen years, but he'd bought his son a glove last month. The kid kept asking when they'd use it.

Tuesday, after another restructure meeting, Marcus found himself in the vitamin aisle again. Staring at the promise of more energy, better sleep, less anxiety. The woman next to him laughed bitterly. "My doctor says I need vitamin D too. Said I should get outside more."

They'd ended up at a bar across the street. Elena from accounting. She told him about the divorce, the mortgage she couldn't afford alone, the way she'd started taking vitamins because she couldn't afford therapy.

"My dad died three years ago," Marcus found himself saying. "I keep buying baseball tickets thinking I'll take my son, but I'm always 'too busy' with this pyramid bullshit."

That weekend, Marcus took his son to the baseball game. The boy's face when his dad finally taught him to catch — that was something no vitamin could manufacture.

Now, in the pool, Marcus's phone buzzed again. Another meeting. Another layer to the pyramid. He pressed ignore, dove deeper, and stayed underwater until his lungs burned. Sometimes you have to stop breathing to remember what it's for.