skydiving

I was completely out of control, but I was attached to one who knew what was going on and who was in control.

The air roared past my ears as we free-fell towards the ground.

My mind strained to remember my instructor’s directions, even though I could no longer hear his voice.

Arch my back, kick my bottom, hands hanging on to my harness chicken wing fashion.

Content that I’d followed instructions, I could enjoy the ride.

Exhilaration.

Free-falling.

Amazing.

He pulled the chute, the free-fall ended far too soon. I wanted it to last forever.

Now he guided my hands into the chute’s handles, asked me if my harness was comfortable. Everything was fine.

He told me he would be loosening the connections that held us. I’d drop a bit lower, so inches would separate our bodies.

Now, here, I felt a glimmer of fear. I knew it would be safe, I knew I’d still be attached. But it wouldn’t be the same. Once he’d lowered me, I wouldn’t be able to feel his presence. Would I be able to make it without that sure sensory feedback reminding me that I was safe?

I would choose to trust, I told myself–and so I did.

I relaxed as the distance grew between us.

I was still safe, still connected, still hearing his voice. He was still guiding the chute.

He asked me if I wanted to do anything fancy–circles, loop-de-loops, or the like. “Or would you rather just hang out?”

It was hard to push the words from my lungs: “I’d rather just hang out.”

“That’s okay,” he told me, “we’ll just hang out.”

And so we did, arms outstretched, hands in the chute’s handles. We hung there, suspended between sky and earth, observing the scenery below as we softly drifted along.

My head started spinning. I willed it to stop. I was enjoying this too much to be sick.

I wanted to see.

I told my instructor that I was getting dizzy. He encouraged me to breathe deeply, said he’d go gently.

I breathed, my eyes taking in everything I saw.

Beside me, Joanna and her instructor were doing crazy moves.

I smiled and breathed and wished I could be flying forever, and never.

When the time came for the actual jump, I didn’t have opportunity to be terrified.

I had to get on my knees, and let my butt scootch between my knees so the instructor would have enough room to get on top of me and get himself (and the chute) attached.

I felt tugs and clicks as one attachment point after the other connected.

Now my butt needed to come up a bit, the instructor couldn’t get close enough to tether us together.

I tried to obey, lifting my bottom infinitesmely–but I guess it was enough. We were connected.

Now I needed to swing my right leg out onto the ledge.

In ground practice, I’d been the only one of the girls who’d made it all the way to the ledge on the first try. Everyone else’s legs were too short to easily traverse the distance.

In the air, it was completely different. I swung my leg out and the air caught it, pulling it beyond the ledge.

I used all my strength to lift my foot above the ledge and move it forward to a secure resting point.

The tap came to my left shoulder.

It was time for me to grab a strut and then dip down onto my left elbow so the instructor could get himself out through the doorframe.

He tapped my shoulder again, reminding me to let go of the strut.

I was falling. He was falling right behind me. Except not behind me. With me.

I had no fear.

No fear at all.