PUNK PROSE: Two Truths and a Lie by Pam Avoledo

  Two Truths and a Lie

              I hiked in an ice cave in Iceland 

I followed  the tour guide through the narrow corners in a maze of snow. Mist blowing on the drifts as I stared at the emerald glass ceiling of ice. Connor, a 30ish man and I debated whether the sky blue wall  was a cloud hovering above or a dragon spreading its wings, targeting us with its eyes for entering its home. I walked on the skeletal ribs of the tunnel and onto the mountain.

I jumped off the Park Inn Hotel in Germany

        

          The people were spots below and I was a bird perched on the metal plank Two, one, the  woman counted  and I was released into the soak stained buildings and sky. The man looks up, gesturing with his hands while I’m suspended over the fast food restaurant in the hotel. “How was it?” the man asks and I say I’m alive, I’m living, every nerve within me is a knife. 

I’m married with two kids.

You left early that Friday, which was unusual for you. You only took half days. I didn’t see your car on Monday. Neil sat next to me in my office and said you were gone. 

I wanted to place my hands on your shoulders and whisper to you that it was going to be okay again. I wanted my head on your temple, my hand stroking your back. I wanted. But you were let go by the company, by me months ago. Someone has your desk and I take the long way past it. You’re ten minutes from me and I turn my head from left to right while I go to the grocery store, the restaurant, and  downtown Royal Oak with my friends, speech ready, trying not to miss you. 

--Pam Avoledo