The Fountain of Youth

"Well, you're right about that," Natalie agreed. "But how do you know they work if they haven't been approved?"

"The guys in the lab told me these things will break down the aging process, with no nasty side effects. That's why they're calling TimeWarp the fountain of youth. It stops the little microbes that cause aging; it'll stop the progress of your pancreatic cancer, too."

Sam's newly acquired pathological compulsion had reigned supreme for the day.

* * * * *

Six months had passed since Sam had given Natalie her supply of TimeWarp. Natalie's health had continued to spiral downward.

"I don't understand it," Sam confided to Thurston, "Natalie should be getting better. Or at least not getting any worse."

"Why not?" asked Thurston, "Not to sound crass, but she's in the clutches of a diabolical disease."

"But... but..." Sam wrestled with the decision as to how much to disclose. He had no desire to rot in a federal penitentiary. But Thurston was his friend. And, better than that, Thurston was the smartest person he knew.

He decided to take the plunge. "She's on TimeWarp."

The bombshell had dropped. Thurston's face registered no hint of an explosion. He was indeed the master of the poker face. Instead, he voiced a simple, "And how is that possible?"

"Let's not get into that," Sam retorted, "the less you know, the less you become an accessory after the fact. And the less testimony you can provide at my trial."

"I know nothing - nothing," answered Thurston in his best Sergeant Schultz imitation. Among his other dabblings, T.G. was a Hogan's Heroes aficionado. He still had yet to unravel the creepy irony of a situation comedy having been set in a Nazi prisoner of war camp.

"So, anyway," continued Sam, "Nat's been on TimeWarp for six months. But she keeps getting worse. It should be slowing down her aging process. And slowing down the progress of her cancer."

"Oh, man, I'm so sorry - but you're mistaken," Thurston responded, attempting to flex the atrophied empathy muscle that surely existed somewhere deep in his heart.

"What are you talkin' about?" asked Sam.

"Well, it's like this," replied Thurston, "I became curious about the rumors I was hearing about TimeWarp. I wanted to find out about the method behind it. So I looked into it. Cashed in a few chips, so to speak."

"And what did you find?"

"Well, I thought TimeWarp might be using an indirect method rather than a direct one. I didn't see how it could effectively inhibit each and every type of virus and bacteria. They're mutating all the time. So I postulated that it used an indirect method instead. But I was baffled by how it could slow down the passage of time in individuals, without resorting to speed-of-light travel. In that sense, my thinking was flawed, even though it was right about the method being indirect," Thurston admitted, flashing a sheepish shrug.

"How so?" offered Sam, trying to suspend his growing confusion long enough for Thurston to complete his explanation.

"Speed-of-light travel causes the traveler to age more slowly than someone at a fixed location. It's called 'time dilation'," he explained. "Time dilation slows down the actual passage of time, not the sensation of the passage of time. And that's where my postulation had failed to grasp the loose thread."

"I'm not sure I follow," Sam replied.

"The solution is quite simple. TimeWarp affects only the sensation of the passage of time. Like an athlete who's 'in the moment.' And to complete the simile, it likewise enhances cognitive and physical performance. But first and foremost, it gives the user the perception of time passing slowly. It will be used for people who fear aging - to slow down that ever-accelerating sense of time flying as we age. It's not a cure to anything that's dependent on the actual passage of time."

"Oh, shit," gasped Sam.

* * * * *

Myron Fleischmann sat across the oak desk from Armond Devereaux, watching the cloud of bewilderment blanket Armond's face. Devereaux had demanded that Myron be present when he made the call to get the latest news on TimeWarp. A confidential memo had apparently found its way to one of Kevvexx's competitors.

"So it's a treatment to provide the mental perception of time that's associated with youth, not to slow down physical aging?" Devereaux huffed into the speaker of his relic-of-the-past desk phone. He scowled with disgust in Myron's direction.

Myron looked away. He heard Devereaux thanking the president of Lantrum Pharmaceuticals Ltd. for the update. Myron sneaked a glance back at Devereaux.

Frowning, Armond swiveled in his executive chair. He steepled his fingers. It had long been his means of projecting a false aura of deep reflection. It had become a habit. But the ploy had evolved into a harbinger of genuine contemplation.

Armond's misty idea finally crystallized. It would be okay! TimeWarp wouldn't affect the life expectancies of the people owed benefits under policies in his existing annuity portfolio. And for offering exciting new benefits on prescription drug coverage, he could charge higher premiums to medical insurance clients going forward. The chief actuary's nightmare was still just a figment of his pea-sized imagination.

"I think I like it," he smiled.

Myron breathed a sigh of relief and wiped his glistening brow. It apparently didn't matter that he hadn't beaten the duplicity out of the old researcher at Kevvexx.

* * * * *

Sam held Natalie's hand as he sat by her bedside. He pondered the question of long life while watching the rise and fall of her chest as she struggled for breath.

The irony of it all was that the word "long" can mean either "extended" or "slow and lingering." Sam was filled with remorse at making Natalie's last few months "slow and lingering" when he had intended instead for her life to be extended.

The cancer had wreaked havoc on her formerly vigorous body. Her skin was jaundiced. She had experienced severe weight loss. There were purple splotches mottling her legs. She would no longer eat. And the pain kept growing.

Sam felt Natalie squeeze his hand. Her eyes opened and her lips began to move. Sam leaned closer in order to hear her raspy whisper.

"Promise me you'll treat every woman the way you treat me, Sam," implored Natalie.

Sam squeezed Natalie's hand.

"A wise priest once taught me," she continued, "that even priests are human beings. You need to learn that even pretty women are human beings."

Sam felt something welling up behind his eyes. "They have to be," he sniffled, "You're the prettiest woman in the world, and you're the best human being I've ever known."

"Now you're exaggerating," she smiled weakly, "just drop me down a notch or two on the pedestal, and bump the others up a few." She drew an arduous breath, then continued dreamily, "Remember that they're somebody else's sister, or at least someone else's daughter. And we're all God's creation, deserving of being treated like brothers and sisters in the human family."

Sam began to sob. He lay his cheek against Natalie's. "I need you to stay and teach me. I can't do it without you."

"Sure you can. I'll be in your heart," soothed Natalie, "And I'll ask for help for you from the other side."

And she faded off to sleep. And in her final words Sam found an ace that he could keep.

* * * * *

THE END