Time moves slower for things that move at a greater speed.


    It seemed true to her as she sat in the white lobby that smelled of nothing but alcohol and old people. She fixed the hem of her rusty skirt for the umpteenth time. It had never occurred to her that the world was a terribly slow place.


    There were no clocks in the lobby, but the glass window gave a full view of the sun. Before she realized it, whole seasons had passed. For a long time, it felt as though she hadn''t moved at all.


    "Ms. Belice," a nurse in a baby-pink uniform appeared in the doorway. "He''ll see you now."


    She nodded as the nurse hurried away. Taking three deep breaths, she felt nothing. Feeling encumbered, she left her tote bag on the sofa chairs in the lobby and followed the nurse.


    "And how are you today, Ms. Belice?" the doctor with an exceptionally pointy nose asked.


    She wondered why Jews had pointy noses. She’d seen it in movies, but apparently, real Jews were the same. She wondered if the body knew it belonged to a Jew.


    He’d moved her appointment up this month because of Yom Kippur, which she knew nothing about except that it was a religious holiday. Though she didn’t care much for these appointments, the change in schedule had messed up her plans.


    Today, she was supposed to go to a bathhouse. Her landlady had told her that certain bath salts at a certain inn atop a certain mountain would be good for her condition. Of course, the lady knew nothing about her condition, but she was at that age where women start to feel they’ve seen enough of the world to make a judgment about anything and everything. Not that it bothered her, of course—she knew the landlady meant well. And besides, the lady had brought her an apple pie last week, which she’d never had in her life.


    The appointment always went the same way. She’d lose the doctor after precisely the first question—which was always, "And how are you today, Ms. Belice?"—and then he’d proceed to explain all sorts of worldly and otherworldly things that she knew nothing about.


    When it was over, he would expressly get up and shake her hand vigorously for a long time, nodding his head and saying what sounded like gibberish, words she was too lethargic to make sense of. Then, he would fix his glasses and bow his sparkling shaved head—a sight she always had a full view of while standing because she easily towered over him, though not because she was particularly gigantic.


    The gist of all these arduous and customary explanations, she assumed, was a breakdown of her life expectancy. She wouldn’t have cared if the doctor came out and told her she had eighteen months left of her brief, unfulfilling life instead of ranting about everything she couldn’t even begin to grasp. But since he was so enthusiastic, she reckoned he looked forward to these appointments, so she made it a point to show up every time. It would have made no difference to her if he had just stared at her face the whole time.


    The hospital had never been so vacant before. There wasn’t a sound in the corridor as she paced toward the lobby, passing by the lone nurse at the reception counter. They nodded to each other, and she moved on.


    The reddening sun peeked through the window as she walked into the lobby. Her tote bag sat solemnly in the same place she had left it. The warmth of the day wafted up from the earth outside. She noticed a few plastic hand fans near the window—probably there for the old folk.


    She picked up her tote bag, which she had meant to take to the bathhouse. Feeling the weight of the scarce items on her shoulder, she decided that night was as good a time as any to visit the bathhouse atop a certain mountain.


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    Perhaps it was the time of day, or maybe nobody wanted to be out—the roads were all empty. It almost looked like a ghost town. She could feel the touch of time as it passed her by. The sun slowly set, the street lamps flickered on, and moths started to buzz around them.


    She didn’t hasten toward her destination. After all, she was going to get there one way or another.


    She had never once thought about the appointments after leaving the hospital threshold, but today was different. For some reason, she couldn’t get the nurse’s lush blonde hair or the doctor’s pointy nose out of her head. The handshake had felt longer, and the warmth of it still lingered on her palm. She had a feeling that it had been her last appointment.


    Her mind wandered, fluttering over the crooked wooden bench on the side of the road, to the annoyingly asymmetrical tiles on the path, and dancing all over the place in the dim lights as she silently floated through the night.


    She had imagined the mountain trek would be a struggle, but she hadn’t needed to take a single breather. Before she knew it, the wondrous mysteries of the night were behind her, and she stood at the mouth of the bathhouse. A curtain hung low, adorned with Chinese characters that probably read Bathhouse.


    The place was all lit up, despite the late hour. It must have been around midnight.


    She nodded to the old lady at the reception, who didn’t return her greeting. The woman was smoking a pipe, and for a minute, it was hard to tell whether she was even awake.


    "If you’ve been drinking, you’re not welcome," the old woman stopped her with her staff as she was about to step inside. "No puking in the water."


    "I haven’t had a sip," she smiled coyly, making no hurry to get past her.


    The woman scrutinized her before returning to her meditation. She assumed that meant she was good to go.


    The bathhouse was nearly empty. A few tired maids—old women who probably worked in the villas at the top—lingered about. She was relieved; it was practically like being alone. It truly was her day.


    She took short baths. The longer she rinsed her skin and bones, the more apparent her weight loss became. She imagined she must look hideous to an onlooker.


    Soaking in the hot water, she let herself spread out, melting away in the heat.


    "Fancy seein’ yer face here," a familiar voice scooted closer.


    She opened her eyes. Her solitude had been breached.


    "Whacchu doin'' all the way out ''ere in the boonies?", the cheery looking girl asked.


    Her dark hair put the night to shame, and there was something penetrating about her gaze. She hated scary people like her. And yet, that intimidating face glowed even in the dead silent place like the bath house. Perhaps, she wasn''t all that scary.


    "My landlady said it''s a place with bath salts. I haven''t seen any yet, though. You, Ysobell?", she asked, minding her manners.


    "It''s the wrong season for bath salts. They only do that in the winters, when business is good. Ya know, premium service and such", Ysobell grinned, happy to educate, "I come down ''ere when my folk are down ''n all. It''s a nice place fer a smoke."


    "I don''t think the owner would appreciate it", she mentioned in passing, resting her head back, staring emptily at the rising vapor.


    "Where ya been, today?", Ysobell asked, sensing that today was no conventional day for her.


    "All over the place. I couldn''t sit still", she answered candidly, "I lost a friend today."


    "Oh, aye? And how''s that?", Ysobell relaxed back.


    "He lied. I didn''t care. But he called me a liar. I''ve... never lied to him, you know. But I know he lies. He lies all the time", she kept her gaze at the ceiling.


    She didn''t realize until then, that what she''d been feeling all day was called ''hurt''.


    "Ya sure that''s all?"


    "It is enough, isn''t it?"


    "For endin'' a friendship?"


    "I called him a brother."


    "It ain''t ''nough."


    "What do you suppose then, Ysobell?", she demanded, lifting her head, looking at Ysobell.


    "My old man says its impossible to get along with anyone on this Earth. You know what that makes him?"


    She sat clueless.


    "It makes ''im a bad businessman. An'' true enough, he ain''t ever done no good business in his life. He''s disappointed... hopelessly disappointed, and he''s all alone. Or anyway, he would be, if I didn''t hand his ass back to him every time he spouted such nonsense", Ysobell yawned, "What''s that tell ya, then?"


    She still had no clue, so she paused for a while and pondered.


    "Don''t you gotta talk to ''im and set things straight? What''s with nickin'' it all and that?", Ysobell grinned her usual teasing grin which, as far as she was concerned, could mean anything.


    "I could. But he''s never been wrong, you know. He''ll tell me all that and I''ll begin to think he''s right and that I was wrong, after all. And that does nothing good for anybody. Come to think of it, I''ve never heard a word of apology come out of his mouth. I don''t know if he can say such a thing. He''s like that, you know, that brother of mine."


    "And ya still hang with ''im?", Ysobell questioned.


    She sighed, saying nothing and staring emptily at the hot water.


    "You know, I''m not locked in. I''m not here, but I''m not elsewhere either. I''m actually everywhere. I''m always wandering. I''m very free. I didn''t tell you the truth last time. Maybe I lie too", she paused, "But I don''t suppose your father has ever been betrayed. I''d like to think that''s a life worth living."


    Ysobell stayed silent for a while, listlessly watching the waves in the water.


    "Aye, he''s not. And aye, it is! It''s a wonderful life, isn''t it?"


    She smiled, almost to herself.


    "Aye, it is!", Ysobell exclaimed, suddenly hurrying out of the tub, "Well, if ya need a smoke, I''ll be outside. Don''t stay in the hot too long now, ye hear?"


    She nodded, smiling still.


    The night walked on, slowly pacing, and yet it felt as if time had stopped. For once, after running all her life, she had come to a halt.


    And yet, time didn’t move.


    It stood still.