Despite its small size and location in the middle of nowhere, Edgingwood, West Virginia boasted a number of unexpected attractions. There was the famous 15-foot tall brontosaurus statue that stood solemnly in Heidi Marsh’s front yard on the edge of town. Her grandfather had been the paleontologist credited with the discovery of the brontosaurus, or so the story goes.

Then there was Joseph Thornton’s “Big Garden,” as the people of Edgingwood called it, where he bred oversized pumpkins, carrots, and eggplants for entering in the state fair. He was a retired submarine helmsman, and cranky, but during the cold months his neighbors were happy to have his comically-sized extras.

And, of course, there was the true hidden gem of Edgingwood. The marvel that brought fame to this little town: the Edgingwood Hot Spring Bathhouse. For just ten dollars anyone could bathe their troubles away in the large, hot-water baths—one for men and one for women.

Located along the southeastern border of West Virginia, on the foothills of the Appalachians, Edgingwood was founded at the site of this hot spring. The bathhouse was owned and run by the town of Edgingwood itself, it being so popular amongst its residents. God was often thanked over dinner tables for the miraculous bath.

Ken was in the bath at his usual hour: late. He often bathed alone, as most of the townspeople usually left by ten and the tourist crowd rarely stayed past dinner. But he wasn’t the type of man to complain about a grand, earth-heated bath all to himself. He stared up at the stars and let the water relax his muscles, sore from waiting tables and washing dishes at the diner in Hardon, the next town over. He enjoyed feeling the water bubble up from the crevices between the smooth rocks under his feet. He imagined its journey from boiling, subterranean depths up past his appreciative limbs and into the air above.

That night, a man Ken didn’t recognize opened the door to the bath. Ken watched him walk across the smoothly-paved ground towards the row of shower heads. The man removed his towel and started washing himself under the running water. He was just taller than average and his brown hair was cut short. Ken guessed he was in his late thirties. Having finished rinsing himself, the man approached the water, finally noticing Ken.

“Good evening,” the man said, unfazed by Ken’s presence. “Hey,” Ken said.

Ken noticed, now that he’d gotten closer, that the man’s face was notably asymmetrical.

His left eyebrow rested slightly higher than his right one, and the left side of his mouth had a faint upward twist. It certainly didn’t make him unattractive, but it was the type of thing that could be unsettling if you studied it too hard.

Once in the water, the man reached back behind him and produced a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from under his towel. He took one of the cigarettes and placed it in his mouth before pausing and looking over at Ken.

“Want one?” the man asked through the side of his mouth, motioning with the box. “I’m alright, thanks,” Ken said.

The man lit the cigarette and took a long drag. The smoke leaking out of his mouth hovered briefly before blending into the steam and dancing up into the cool night air. For a while neither of them spoke. The man stared off into the distance. He continued to smoke the cigarette, flicking the ash onto the ground by the wall of the bath. Every time he puffed the cigarette, he let out a low hmmm.

The man finished the cigarette and ashed it, finally looking over at Ken. His eyes hovered over Ken’s upper body, visible above the water.

“How old are you?” the man asked Ken.

“Twenty,” Ken replied thoughtlessly. He was used to other people striking up conversations with him in the bath. He couldn’t tell if it was to make up for their discomfort or if it was just the nature of being naked around others, but the bathhouse patrons were usually eager to talk, often about things they otherwise might not discuss.

“So you’ve fucked a woman,” the man said.

The abrupt comment made Ken pause for a moment. He nodded because it was true, though he wasn’t sure why being twenty should mean that he’d had sex.

“How about a strange woman?” the man asked. “A strange woman?” Ken repeated, confused.

“Yes, a strange woman. Have you ever fucked a strange woman?” “Strange how?” Ken asked.

“Strange in the conventional sense of the word. Strange, like bizarre. Odd. Like a deaf woman, or a woman with exceptionally long hair, or a woman who only owns green clothing.” the man said.

Ken considered the women he’d slept with, then said, “No, not really.”

The man nodded, as if giving his approval to Ken’s words, and said no more. He lit another cigarette. Hmmm.

Though Ken was normally happy to chat with other bathers, this newcomer’s oddness made Ken unusually uncomfortable. Earlier than he normally would, Ken stepped out of the bath, wrapping his towel around himself. As he drew near, the man twisted in the water and reached out his hand.

“John,” the man said.

“Ken,” Ken replied, shaking John’s hand.

As Ken moved about his sleeping parents’ house, turning off the lights, locking the front door, and finally going up the stairs to his bedroom, he thought about the unusual meeting he’d had that night. He couldn’t guess why someone from out of town would be at the bathhouse so late. As he laid in bed, staring at the Springsteen poster that hung on the wall across from him, he felt itchy. Unsettled. He replayed his meeting with the stranger, John, in his mind again.

Something about it was velcroed to his brain.

Ken didn’t go back to the bathhouse for the next few days. The thought of running into John made the hair on his forearms bristle. Though, over those few days, when things were slow at the diner or while helping his father prepare meals, he often found himself daydreaming about strange women. He imagined women with large ears, women that smelled like tomato soup, women that only spoke in riddles. And every time he did, his penis grew hard in his pants. The strange women invaded his sleep too. He dreamt of having sex with women with exceptionally hairy arms, women who smelled like new car, women whose breasts were covered in fish scales. Each time he woke to the resonant sensation in his fingertips or nose, and soiled sheets.

The more time went by, the more the thoughts about his meeting with John and the fantasies about the strange women occupied his mind. He went so far as to ask one of his coworkers, a waitress at the diner, Shelly, what the strangest thing about her was. She laughed him off, making a joke about her hair routine.

He was even compelled, for the first time in his life, to walk to the gas station and buy a box of cigarettes. He bought the same kind that John had been smoking—Marlboros with the red and white box. The smoke and the taste of tobacco stung his throat, but he finished one of the cigarettes and felt a sense of accomplishment.

After five days, Ken returned to the bathhouse. He stopped in at his usual hour after his shift at the diner, and, like usual, he found himself alone in the water. Soon his worries about returning faded. He’d had a busy shift, and he’d missed the way that the spring water felt on his skin, the way it simmered into his sore muscles. Before long his mind wandered to another strange woman, this time one whose eyes had no irises. His penis grew in the water, and he was reminded of the issue he hoped to resolve.

As if Ken had been broadcasting his thoughts, the door to the bath swung open and John entered. After rinsing under the shower, he stepped up to the steaming water. “Ken. Good evening,” John said as he sat down in the bath.

Ken was still in shock at John’s sudden appearance, and all he could manage was a nod in return.

As he did the first night, John produced a pack of Marlboros from under his towel and put one between his lips before shaking the box at Ken. This time Ken obliged. He leaned over and held the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger as John lit the tip for him. John nodded, as if he’d expected the change. He didn’t react at all to Ken’s prolonged coughing, lighting his own cigarette that he’d been holding with the corner of his lips. Hmmm.

The cigarette calmed Ken as he inhaled its contents. Much to his relief, his penis calmed as well. He observed and tried to copy the way that John smoked. The way that he held the cigarette in between his middle and index fingers, the motion of his arm as he brought it up to his mouth, how long he inhaled and exhaled. He even copied the hmmm. John didn’t pay this any mind either.

“Where you from?” Ken asked after a series of coughs. “New York,” John said.

“New York as in New York City?” Ken asked. “That’s the one,” John said.

“Well, shoot. That’s quite a ways away,” Ken responded before taking another puff of the cigarette, this time managing to suppress his cough. “What brings you all the way out here?”

“An itch,” John replied. “An itch?” Ken repeated.

“Yes, an itch. Like, you know, a whim.”

“So you heard about this town and randomly decided to come?”

“Well, not exactly. Firstly, I had never heard of this town before I happened upon it the other night. Second, the itch wasn’t random. It never is. There’s always an inciting incident, some event that gives me the urge to get into my car and drive. Do you understand? The event can be any sort of thing, but when it happens a compulsion overtakes me and I can do nothing to abate it. I must leave. Though where I go is indeed random, as you say. I just drive where I feel like for as long as I decide. I like to think I have a nomadic instinct. I’ve passed through many little towns, Ken. The other night I just happened to end up in this one,” John said.

Ken did not understand, but he nodded like he did, like how John nodded. John took a long drag, finishing off his cigarette. He ashed it against the paved stone that lined the bath.

Hmmm. Though Ken had smoked less than half of his cigarette, he copied John, taking a long drag and ashing the rest. Hmmm.

“The truth is,” John continued, “I’m a wealthy man, Ken. Back in New York I was a powerful man too. I worked on Wall Street. I made big numbers into bigger numbers, you see? But, at the end of the day, I’m just a man. And I’m the type of man who gives into his desires, his compulsions, his whims. That’s why I’m here tonight, Ken. I had a feeling like I should come back to this town, to this bath. What do you call it again?”

“Edgingwood,” Ken replied.

“Edgingwood,” John repeated with a chuckle. “I came back to Edgingwood because some part of me felt like I needed to. I was brought back, understand? Maybe it’s the way the tips of those mountains in the distance peek over the walls of the bath, or the way the moonlight mixes with the bathwater, or maybe it’s you, Ken, but something pulled me back and here I am.”

Though Ken was having trouble making sense of what John was saying, he hung onto his every word. The way that John spoke convinced him that his words were important.

“What was the event?” Ken asked. “What brought on your itch?” John grinned at Ken, like he’d been expecting him to ask.

“A strange woman,” John said.

Ken’s blood started pumping quicker, but he tried to appear relaxed. “Strange how?” he asked.

John didn’t answer right away. Instead, he sighed deeply and turned again to his towel, grabbing another cigarette and bringing it to his lips. Hmmm. The night was colder than usual, and a brisk gust of wind brought Ken to lower himself in the bath, letting his shoulders slip into the warm blanket of water. 

“Her name was… well… let’s call her Natalie,” John started. “Natalie demanded that all of her interactions be perfectly transactional. Like, if you held the door for her, she’d make note and hold it for you next time. She had a whole system of values for things, like that a wave was worth the same as a nod, and that a bagel was worth the same as a donut, but a muffin was worth one-and-a-half bagels,” John said, pausing to smoke his cigarette. Hmmm. “And this system applied to everything. Every action, every gift, everything. It all had a precise value, she’d say, and it bothered her if things weren’t even between people. This applied to every relationship she had, she told me, though I never knew anyone else that was close to her.”

“That is strange,” Ken replied, trying not to reveal his excitement. “What happened?”

John looked down to the clear water in front of him and smoked more (hmmm) before he continued. “Well, I came to know Natalie through my work, and from the start I was intrigued by her. I’m a man of instincts, as I told you, and I was drawn to her. She was undeniably beautiful, but I’ve known many beautiful women. What was so striking about her was her conviction. She truly believed that every relationship could and should be explicitly transactional in every way.

Down to the last detail,” John said. Ken held his head still above the water, the whole of his attention on John’s words. “I asked her out and she agreed, but only on the condition that she would pay for 53% of the meal—the extra three percent being because I had been the one to ask. We met at a nice restaurant and the more we talked, the more drawn I felt to her. She wasn’t demanding, as you might imagine, but rather, how should I say it, reassuring? Every kind word was repaid, every question answered charmingly and paired with a return question, every silence gracefully abided. And she never missed a beat. You could guarantee with one hundred percent certainty that she would catch your toss and throw it back with the exact same speed and power, no matter what form that toss took. It sounds nice, doesn’t it?” John asked.

“Sure does,” Ken responded.

“Strange as her way of thinking may be, there is a certain security about it. Knowing exactly how to measure responses, interactions, relationships. In a way, it removes a lot of worry. And there was security in having a relationship with her too. She always gave as much to you as you gave her, which can’t be said of most people. Though, of course, I was only able to experience this side of her because she too took an interest in me,” John continued. “But, to be honest, if that were all of it I wouldn’t have been so taken with her. At the heart of it there was just something alluring about her strangeness. Does that make sense, Ken?”

Ken nodded his head vigorously, and John smiled as he puffed his cigarette. Hmmm. “After the restaurant,” John started again, “we went right to my apartment. We continued our conversation there, and after a glass of wine we went to my bedroom and had sex. I’m sure you’re wondering how sex figured into her rules of transaction.”

Ken nodded again.

“Here’s how she explained it to me: sex is something that women own. It was hers to give away, and so sex with her was a service that I needed to pay her for. It was also something that she could use to repay me. Of course, I wanted to have sex, so I agreed to repay her however she saw fit. She decided that the compensation should be food, specifically two eggs and a piece of toast in the morning, taxi fare back to her place, a piece of jewelry she’d noticed that an ex had left in my apartment, and a complimentary text message to be sent the next day.”

John paused there, finishing his second cigarette and leaving Ken on the verge of begging to hear the rest.

“But the sex wasn’t what I thought it would be. It was just alright. Not the best I’ve had, but far from the worst. Pretty much exactly average,” John explained. “She was kind of robotic. Like every movement was rehearsed.”

“I see,” Ken said, disappointed. He’d been hoping that John’s story would climax with a detailed description of the sex. He felt like he was close to getting rid of the strange women out of his head. He wanted John to keep talking. “But, wait. If she did everything transactionally, and your sex was average, wouldn’t that just mean that you were average?”

“What? No,” John replied. “Oh. Okay,” Ken said.

“I’m good at sex, Ken. I am. Lots of women tell me how good I am. Okay? It wasn’t me, it was her. She was average,” John insisted.

Ken wasn’t sure what to say, so he just nodded. Past the steam that wormed through the air between them like white drapes swaying over an open window, John was silent too. Ken could tell that he was upset. It was the way John’s shoulder muscles had tensed up, the way his pupils had contracted ever so slightly. He stared at Ken for a long time. Long enough that Ken grew embarrassed and looked away.

Hearing a splash in the water, Ken looked back and saw that John was now standing in the water, his body fully exposed, holding something in his right hand. Another cigarette. John brought the cigarette up to his mouth. He moved his arm slowly and deliberately, continuing to stare at Ken. John did not light the cigarette. Instead, he let it fall into his mouth and started to chew. Ken could hear the sound of the paper and grainy tobacco being torn apart in John’s mouth. Wordlessly he kept chewing, starting at Ken the whole time. Completely uncomprehending, Ken stared back. John swallowed with a gulp and then, looking satisfied with himself, turned around and stepped out of the bath. He leisurely gathered his things and strolled out of the bathhouse without another word.

Ken sat stupefied in the now silent bath.

When his shock wore off, Ken couldn’t help but giggle to himself. He tried to suppress it, not understanding why he was laughing, but he couldn’t. His giggling grew into full-blown laughter. His laughter then grew loud, booming around the empty bathhouse and up into the dark sky. Tears started to stream out of his eyes, and snorts began to interject his laughter by. As he laughed, he thought about the strange man, how he’d begun to trust and even admire him. He thought about the cigarettes, the women, and the laughter kept coming, like vomit, expelling the impurities he’d inadvertently swallowed. Finally, as his sides began to sting and his laughter slowed to a chuckle, he thought again of the water that flowed up from the stones beneath him.

He imagined its path up from beneath the earth again, but this time the water’s journey was much more complex. He imagined the water criss-crossing, zig-zagging, and doubling back as it made its way through the rocky ground until it finally burst up into the bath that warmed his body. And he felt calm as it flowed past his legs and dissipated into the steamy air.

He wore a smile as he left the bathhouse. On his way home, Ken drove past the familiar houses, the familiar giant vegetables, the familiar dinosaur. What a strange world, he thought.