First there’s noise; deafening shrieks of wind and a grumbling, angry engine. There’s a painful, twisting feeling in my stomach as if it’s being cranked and grinded by clock gears, tighter and tighter and tighter. There’s the weight of a two hundred pound Australian strapped to my back, pressing against me, too tightly. Far too tightly. Everything’s too tight and too loud and it’s suffocating me and I can’t breath and the voice in my head is screaming and screeching over and over again. Why? it asks. Whywhywhywhywhy? Why would anyone in their right mind jump out of a perfectly good airplane?
But then there’s nothing.
And then, everything.
I am flying. I am actually, properly flying. How is this possible? How is this even possible? There’s the world spread out underneath, and there’s the sky and the clouds and oh my god how are we above the clouds? How is this even humanly possible?
And it is cold. The wind howls and screeches, blasting frozen air over every part of my body. But it doesn’t matter, because I am skydiving. I am actually doing this, and how could I ever think this was going to be scary? This isn’t scary; it’s brilliant and exhilarating and breathtaking and insane and freaking amazing, but it isn’t scary. Not one bit.
I am above the world. Below, there is a vast patchwork quilt, sown with winding blue strands of silk, and dotted with tiny dabs of smeared green ink. Above, there is only blue, infinitely giant and eternally ancient. In that moment, this is all there is. There are no deserts or mountains or great cities, only this sprawling lake of blue and green swirls. But I know that beyond the reach of my blinking, wandering eyes, titanic peaks stretch to the heavens, and a vast city claws its way over the fragile earth, tearing and biting, draining it dry. The scope of it all is majestic, impossible to fathom. But that’s what skydiving does; it snatches you away from your former life, dropping you into a world where anything, and everything, is possible. And it’s kind of amazing.
I am grinning. Ginning so widely my cheeks ache, and screaming, screaming with an uncontrollable delight and euphoria. I can almost taste the freedom of it all, the biting tang of wind and sun and crisp, frosty air. My screams match the shrieking of the wind, and suddenly I am singing a duet with the sky, harmonizing with eternity. I am the world and the world is me, and I am so, so incredibly happy. This is the best thing I did all year. This is the best thing I did all century.
Suddenly, there’s a yank of sharp pain and everything falls away. The deafness, the cold, the feeling of floating is gone, immediately replaced by an earth that is somehow more vivid, more colourful, more tangible than before. My senses come rushing back; the roaring in my ears and the scent of a fresh summer breeze. My feet are dangling into open space as the parachute slowly floats through the bright blue sky.
My partner in this madness asks me how it was. I had completely forgotten he was there, strapped to my back. Free-fall had felt like nothing but me, alone in the never-ending sky. I answer him eagerly, as a chorus of voices echo through my head. You jumped out of an airplane. You jumped out of an airplane. Youjumpedoutofanairplane youjumpedoutofanairplaneyoujumpedoutofanairplane.YOU JUMPED OUT OF A FREAKING AIRPLANE!
I steer the parachute through the sparkling, jem-like sky, twisting in circles and figure eights. My stomach plunges to my toes as we wind through the sea of clouds; if freefall is like floating in an ice-cold lake, open canopy is like riding the wildest of roller coasters.
But before I know it, five minutes have passed and the instructor has taken control of the parachute and is prepping us for landing. No, I think desperately. No, not yet. That was too soon. Just stay up in the air for another two minutes.
But there’s nothing to be done. The sky is already melting out of view as the ground rushes up faster and faster, and I can see the airplane hanger and the field where other jumpers are landing, and is that my dad and brother waiting on the down below?
The green field swings up at us, alarmingly fast, and I lift my legs up then set them down on the firm, hard ground. The ground, where humans are supposed to live. Not the sky. So why does the ground feel so wrong?
I get pictures taken, and hugs from Dad and even Alec, and a fancy looking certificate, and I am smiling and everyone is smiling and everything is perfect and amazing… but there’s only one thought playing in my head like a song on repeat.
When I can I jump again?