There was a woman whose husband had recently asked for a divorce
And she was sure the trouble began with the scar she got on her face
The story was not a memorable one, she lamented
It had not happened during some grand adventure
At the hands of a nefarious villain
Or from the tip of a famous, named sword
Her marriage wasn’t in great shape before the scar
But it had taken a pretty serious turn with the facial addendum
And now her husband wasn’t interested in keeping the job
She wasn’t interested in seeing him off just yet
And so she’d come to an extravagant means of last-ditch heroics
Her plan brought her thousands of miles away
To the middle of a jungle with no name
That had been so poorly constructed it had a massive hole
Cut right out of its heart, a drop hundreds of feet down
Into the unknown of darkness
Rather, the previous unknown of darkness
For the modern world had found ways to explore this hole
And found at its bottom a marvel long sought
The Fountain of Youth
Which, as it turned out, was inaccurately named
It did not grant one renewed youth
Or immortal life, or any measures that fought advancing time
Rather, it battled injury. In its waters
Small cuts could be healed
The damage of large wounds lessened
Broken bones moved just slightly back toward the mean
And, what drew her to this place in nowhere named
Scars dulled, maybe even erased
“This is what you want?” her guide asked
While they looked down over the edge of the world
She nodded because it was true
She wanted to wipe away the scar to get back her husband
And her previous life
The guide went first, and she soon followed
Water cascaded onto her helmet
Roaring in her ears, preventing any chance of a second thought
Misfiring from a place she purposefully ignored
At the bottom her thick boots set down on slick stone
Her guide helped her to a small deck
Set away from the waterfall’s ceaseless tumble
Where she unclipped her helmet
And ran her fingers, for the last time, over the scar
That had almost ruined her life
“Once it’s gone, it doesn’t come back” her guide warned
“Yes,” she said. “Isn’t that the point?”
He shrugged and pointed to the dark pool fed
By the thunder of falling water
“It’s not vanity,” the woman defended
Though from what attack she could not have said
“I’m doing it to keep my husband. He wants to leave
Because he can’t look at this and still see me.”
Her guide smiled and pointed to the pool
And said, “Say that again when you return.”
She whispered a prayer, knelt by the water
And slipped her head into the frigid pool
She felt nothing but the shock of cold
Heard nothing but the muted sound of the waterfall
And the little voice in her head that said
What her heart had so far refused
The guide asked when she walked back onto the deck
“How does it feel?”
She shrugged. “The same, which I had not expected.”
“You know now why you came to this place?”
She had been afraid, for a long time, long before today
Of hearing these words, because they didn’t feel safe
“You didn’t come to keep your husband
He’s already gone
You came to look at the face in the mirror
And see yourself again, because it has been much too long.”
The Tall Tale Year 