Sharla Karbrook had once volunteered at a retirement home.

In all honesty, it hadn't exactly been of her own free will, and in fact was the direct result of having been involved in a teenage prank that had gone somewhat awry, leading her to having to choose a way to pay back her community. Of the available options, she chose this one, because it seemed the easiest. Sharla had once been an underachiever. Not cared about a damn thing in the world. This was the catalyst that changed all of that. Once arriving at the home, she was assigned to an older man, Peter Weathers, with whom she quickly became good friends with. Over time, Sharla came to appreciate her time with Peter, enjoyed learning about him, helping him. He, in turn, taught her about what he'd once done as a noted health guru. A man who had gotten famous for being a positive driving force for those who wanted to better themselves at a time where America was at its most gluttonous.

And now, here she was, in the back of an ambulance, being driven to the nearest hospital, after having what seemed like it might be a fatal heart attack. Her eyesight going in and out as she stared at the EMTS faces overhead, heard the radio chatter, could feel the rise of fall of every bump beneath their tires...Sharla had always been afraid this might happen. The sad thing was, this sort of event was usually a wake up call for those that survived them, to change their lifestyle, start getting serious about their health. But she was a licensed health professional. She had a popular Yoga show. She drank smoothies and endorsed active wear and she exercised on the regular. So...

..what the hell kind of lesson could someone like that take from such an event?

                                                      ***

4 months had passed since it had happened, and here Nat was, standing on the front porch holding another box of baked goods in hand, her earbud in as she chatted to Misty LeClaire on the phone.

"I haven't even rung the doorbell," Nat said, "What does one say in a situation such as this, it isn't like they sell sympathy cards for this kind of thing."

"Be honest, direct, compassionate. Be you, that's what people find admirable about you right, those traits?" Misty asked, as Nat raised a singular eyebrow.

"Where are you? What is that noise?" she asked.

"I'm at the racetrack," Misty said, "what you're hearing is the sound of hooves sloshing around in cold, wet dirt as they prepare to make me money."

"Are you gambling? I thought you were trying to write, are you getting notes on horses?" Nat asked, and Misty chuckled.

"Ya know, not every waking moment of my life is consumed by work," Misty said, "sometimes I do things normal people do, like, oh I don't know, have fun? You should try it sometime, it's supposed to be good for you, stimulate you mentally."

"I think I'm overly stimulated, thank you very much," Nat replied, before exhaling, reaching out and pushing her finger into the doorbell, adding, "this is tense, I feel uncomfortable."

"I know that's why you called me, because I know you the best," Misty said, "I spent months literally just observing you the way someone observes primate behavior in a zoo. I know all your ins and outs, the way you think, your routines and habits. That's why you call me whenever you're feeling scared because you're hoping that the person who knows at this deep of a psychological level might be able to help you either validate or invalidate your current feelings."

"...did you just call me a monkey?" Nat asked.

"I have to go, the race is starting," Misty said, and the phone went silent. Nat chuckled and shook her head, removing the earpiece from her ear as the door opened and there she stood, Sharla's mother standing there, looking worn out. Nat's face softened. She'd never once met Sharla's mother, but she knew of her, knew of the relationship they had, the kind of relationship Nat wish she'd had with her own mother.

"You brought more cookies?" she asked, glancing at the box in Nat's hands.

"I did, can I come in?" Nat asked, and she nodded, stepping aside, allowing her entrance.

It was always weird, coming into Sharla's home. Nothing had changed. Nothing had been moved. It was like a time capsule, just stuck in a specific moment in history. Nat walked into the kitchen and set the cookies down on the table as Sharla's mother, Marcia, went back to brewing her tea.

"How've you been?" Nat asked, seating herself at the table now as well.

"It's been hard," Marcia said, steeping the bag, "but you learn to manage. That's what life is, right, learning to manage?"

"I wouldn't say that's the outright definition of life, but yeah, it's a big part of it," Nat said, the both of them smiling weakly.

"It's hard," Marcia continued, "husband and I are divorced, I barely speak to my other daughter, and now...now Sharla...she always talked about you, you know?"

"Did she?" Nat asked.

"Mhm," Marcia continued, finishing making her tea and sitting across from Nat, sipping it carefully, cautiously; she continued, "she really thought what you did was admirable. She was for body, you were for mind. She felt like you two were kindred spirits in that sense."

"The irony is that both the things we fight so hard for betray us every chance they get," Nat said, "I've had so many mental breakdowns that I've lost count, and her own body turned against her. But I guess we can be martyrs for the cause, so long as it helps others."

"Why are you guys talking about me as if I'm dead?" Sharla asked, walking into the kitchen on her crutches.

Nat grinned. There she was. Out of bed and doing better every day. Her very best friend.

                                                      ***

Corrine liked grocery shopping.

She didn't like being in public, being around others, but there was a zenlike quality to grocery shopping that she just couldn't hate, that seemed to quell her otherwise eternal anxiety. She could stand there for what felt like an eternity, comparing brands, prices, cuts of meat, the ingredients in teas, and never once feel stressed or scared. It was nice. It was a brief respite from the stranglehold fear usually dominated on her brain. But that fear was about to become replaced with something else today, as she stood in the cereal aisle.

"Hey you," a voice said, causing her to look behind her and see Mary standing there.

"O-oh," Corrine stuttered, "yeah, hi, hello."

"What are you thinking of getting?" Mary asked as she walked up beside her and started admiring the wall of boxes for her own decision.

"Not sure, that's why I'm looking," Corrine said, "besides my girlfriend and I don't typically like the same kind of cereal, so I have to end up buying two anyway."

Mary nodded and kept looking, her silence somehow causing Corrine more distress than if she'd continued casual conversation. After a minute, Corrine plopped two cereals down into the cart and continued on her way, Mary grabbing one for herself and dropping it into her basket, following on her heels, walking alongside her.

"So, for what it's worth," Mary said, "I'd like you to come to this event."

"What is this event you speak of?" Corrine asked.

"Well, it's for my cousin, more than myself, but it'd be nice to have someone there who isn't family," Mary said, and Corrine chuckled. That was a mood which she could understand. Mary continued, "I mean, I wouldn't even be going if I wasn't expected to be, but I'm also doing the baking, so."

"Still haven't told me what it's for," Corrine said, stopping at the soups.

"Oh, sorry, uh, yeah, so it's for my cousin, he's finally gotten his degree in dentistry, so like I said, I'm doing all the baking and, ya know, it'd be cool to have some help but also some company, and you get free cupcakes or whatever pastry you want."

"Hmmm...you do present a delicious predicament," Corrine said, "alright, I'll come. When is it?"

Mary, now seeming giddy as a child on a day off from school, wrote down some information on the back of a receipt from her purse and stuffed it into Corrine's hand, then the two continued their shopping together. Corrine thought it was nice, to have her company sought out, especially by someone who had once meant so much to her, helped mold her into who she'd ultimately become. She wanted to have friends like this, friends from her youth, friends who'd known her outside of just working together.

Sadly, for Corrine, Mary didn't want to be just a friend.

                                                       ***

"You seem, what's the word, uh...like a total bitch?" Nat said, making Sharla smirk very weakly as she sat at the table and ate a piece of cake. Nat had rarely, if ever, seen her ingest sugar, so it was a strange thing to witness, but Sharla wasn't holding back. This was her third piece.

"Yeah, well," Sharla said, shrugging, stabbing her fork into the slice, "I guess maybe that's just what nearly dying does to a person. Lying in the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling, I thought to myself 'this is the kind of thing that happens to people who don't take care of themselves', but that just isn't true. That's a lie that I bought into because of the industry that I'm in. It happens to anyone, regardless of their physicality. It doesn't matter who you are, predisposition or lack of personal care or just random happenstance, it doesn't matter. It doesn't care. So why bother caring too."

"Jesus, Sharla, that's...grim. I mean, you're not wrong, arguably, but that isn't the mindset to take from an incident such as this, right?" Nat asked, raising her coffee mug to her lips and sipping, "I mean, just cause-"

"Do you know who Jim Fixx is?" Sharla asked, catching Nat off guard. Nat shook her head slowly, so Sharla polished off the end of her cake, dropped her fork noisily on the table then wiped her hands on her sweatpants, continuing; "Jim Fixx wrote the 1977 best selling book The Complete Book Of Running. He was credited with having helped start America's fitness revolution by popularizing the sport of running, being a jogger himself, and demonstrating first hand the health benefits of the act. Sure, we had other fitness celebrities in the past, like Jack LaLanne, or to some extent Richard Simmons, but the first was more celebrity than health nut and the second nobody took remotely seriously. That's why Fixx stood out. He was honest. He was...he was real."

Nat smiled. She always liked hearing Sharla talk in depth about her field of work. Sharla folded her arms on the table and looked down at the plate where the cake had just been.

"Then, in 1984, at the age of 52, he dropped dead of a heart attack. While running. During his autopsy it was revealed that atherosclerosis had blocked one coronary artery 95%, a second 85%, and a third 70%. Later on, in 1986, exercise physiologist Kenneth Cooper, after being granted access to his medical history and talking to Fixx's friends and family members, concluded that Fixx had been predisposed since his father died of a heart attack at 43, after a previous one at 35. Fixx also had a congenitally enlarged heart, which, I'm sure, didn't help matters."

Nat furrowed her brow and bit her lip, crossing her legs.

"Why are you telling me-"

"Because it doesn't fucking matter, Nat. You can dedicate your life to something, see the good in what you do, know that it's worthwhile, and it doesn't. fucking. matter. Firefighters die in burning buildings all the time. Comedians, the most seemingly light hearted people, kill themselvs on a daily basis. And health gurus drop dead from heart attacks. What we do, while we're here, doesn't matter. All we're doing is perpetuating a system that cares more about making money off these people than it does helping them. The health industry doesn't fucking care whether these people are healthy. It just wants to make them feel insecure enough about the possibility that they aren't so they'll spend money taking care of themselves, and 9 times out of 10...that stuff doesn't even help."

"Yeah, which is why people like you, who genuinely care, who are genuinely knowledgeable and can see the worthwhileness in the act, are so important to that ecosystem. Are you telling me that what I do doesn't matter too?" Nat asked.

"Does it?" Sharla asked, the two locking eyes. Nat wanted to cry as silence filled the room. This woman...this woman had been her best friend for a while now, and she'd long respected her belief in her work, and now, here she was, claiming that what they'd spent their entire lives dedicated to didn't matter one bit, was a total and complete waste of time. Nat and Sharla stared at one another for minutes on end, until Sharla finally stood up, took her plate to the counter and started to get herself another slice of cake. Nat stood up and approached from behind, hugging Sharla, taking her by surprise.

"I'm so happy you're not dead," Nat whispered, and Sharla wanted to cry.

"At least one of us is," Sharla whispered, causing Nat to squeeze her tighter.

                                                      ***

"...is what I do meaningless?" Nat asked.

She and Misty were seated at the bar of a restaurant, as Misty ate cheese fries from a basket and counted her receipts and winnings from her day at the track. Misty shrugged, ignoring the question. Nat sighed and finished her beer, then wiped her mouth on her jacket sleeve and shook her head.

"Sharla told me today everything she and I stand for and believe in is meaningless," Nat said.

"You know that you're allowed to form your own opinions on things, right? You're by no means required to just adhere to the beliefs of those around you, especially those who've just had their entire worldview shift thanks to an unprecedented and unexpected event occurring in their lives," Misty said, eating another few fries as she pulled out a small calculator and started tapping away.

"I know, I'm not...I'm not saying she's right, I'm just-"

"If you're not saying she's right, then why are you asking me for validation contrary to her statement?" Misty asked, stopping and looking at Nat. Nat smiled weakly. Misty always knew what to say, the true backbone to her life these days. Misty knew exactly how her brain worked, and she loved her for it.

"I guess..." Nat said, "...I guess, cause, she's a friend, a person, someone I respect and admire, who's opinion I value."

"Exactly, value, not take as gospel," Misty said, going back to her calculations; she continued, "I mean, if you ever reach a point where you're taking someones opinion as fact - outside of perhaps a scientist or a medical professional, and even then there's arguable wiggle room - then you're in a cult. That's a cult. Following someone blindly is what people do in parasocial relationships. Only you can attribute value to what it is you do. If you think there's value in it, then there's value in it. Simple as that."

Nat smiled warmly now, wider, nodding as she really took Misty's words in. Nat raised her drink to her lips and finished, then exhaled.

"So," she said, "how was your day at the track?"

"It was eventful," Misty said.

"Successful?" Nat asked, and Misty shrugged.

"Eh, success is relative. Did I make a lot? Not as much as I'd hoped. Did I lose a lot? More than I'd planned. But neither of those means it wasn't worth doing, since I enjoyed doing it," Misty said, stopping tapping at her calculator buttons and looking back at Nat, smiling back, "there was value to going."

And that was all she had to say for Nat to get it.