After Sam, there was no more daily-vitamin, I sort of curled up, unwilling to give my body the extra years of what I could only picture as alone years. Then months gathered up in folds and when I pictured time like that: some blanket ocean frozen on its way in, I started trying to rejoin the human world.
I started craving certain foods again, imagining their flavors and textures in my mouth and not just taking in a portion of some nutrition that tasted only, always of sawdust.
So it was when I remembered smoothies the milky pastel shapes and the mellow tartness that I went down to Edith's and asked for a mango-peach and watched as a woman at a nearby table arranged a collection of vitamins that she took and washed down with a chai latte.
Vitamins, I remembered now, that ritual of faith each morning as I made sure to make a piece of toast and swallow the colorful handful consisting of one multi. extra C,E, calcium and magnesium and fish oil. I always took that one last, reveling in the look of it, a drop of sunlight, a single teardrop of gold. I remembered my birthstone: topaz and how in childhood its color was such a color but later it got a publicist, a marketing campaign and could mostly only be found now in shades of blue or a chocolaty color called smoke. I recalled the gems class that I took one spring break and found out that true gem-diagnostics don't employ color so I have no way of knowing if the little placard in my costume jewelry box that reads "November: Topaz" bears any resemblance however golden or smoky or blue, to anything in the real mineral world.