Embracing the Sky

I think back to that day and wonder how it would have felt to jump.  Wind whistling past my face--- would it have felt like sharp pins and needles scraping my nose and cheeks, or would it have felt like sliding down an endless tapestry of silk?  Would I be warm as the adrenaline rushed through my body, or would I be thinking wistfully of a blazing fireplace or a sunny day at the Bahamas?

       You remember that day too, I can tell.  We met at the airport just as the sun slid above the horizon, illuminating everything with brilliant splashes of green and blue, the dew on the grass twinkling like thousands of tiny prisms.

      “This is the day!” you said.  Your eyes sparkled with excitement as they scanned the black ribbon of the runway.  “Today we do something so crazy, reckless, and spontaneous that we’ll never forget it!”

       I nodded, my throat tightening a little.  You were ready to throw yourself down to the earth.  I was content to stay on the ground and let my imagination soar to the great heights you wanted to survey personally.

       The expression on your face reminded me of the time we traveled to California with our friends.  It was the first time we had ever seen the ocean.  Right away you wanted to learn to surf.  You begged me to come as well.  I finally conceded when you won the bet on who could feed the most seals in the shortest amount of time.  I still remember your shouts as you fell off your board into the water again and again.  At the time, I thought learning how to balance on a piece of fiberglass supported solely by cold water molecules was the craziest thing I had ever done in my life.

        But at this moment the jump leader met us outside the hangar, a small, heavy-set man wearing blue overalls stained with black blotches of oil, grease and gasoline.  Casting the stump of his cigarette to the ground, he smiled.  His teeth were yellow, and several were missing.  It looked like he must have lost the bar room brawl.  “Yeh ready?” he shouted.  Motioning us over to a wall covered with the all the gear necessary to conquer the world, it seemed.  In the middle of the wall was pasted a small, tattered and yellowed paper illustrating the proper skydiving safety procedures.

Two hours later, after the leader had finally briefed us on all things parachute, we were ready.  The short squat one, Thomas, was going to jump with me, while his partner, Marcus, was going to accompany you.  As we finished shrugging on our gear, Marcus grinned at us, “Remember, if being in a plane is flying, then you’re swimming when you’re in a boat!”
As we headed for the plane, you glanced at me.  You practically danced with anticipation.  Your step couldn’t be any lighter, despite the fact that you were weighed down with all that equipment.  In fact, you reminded me of Neil Armstrong, jumping across the surface of the moon on one of those black and white television screens.  I returned your smile, but it was halfhearted and uneasy.
As I followed behind you on the way to the plane, watching you trudge along with the parachute on your back, my mind wandered back to the time we hiked a mountain in Colorado near your home town.  I had been following you up a winding dirt trail, following your red backpack, wondering just how much longer it would take to get to the top.  Suddenly you became excited and jumped back down in that Neil Armstrong way I adored, grabbed my hand and pulled me up the next few yards of trail.  We stopped at a precipice (I stood a good distance back while you stood unconcernedly at the edge) pointing out the landmarks standing out among the whispering pines and aspen that your father had shown to you the countless times you had followed him up this trail.

       The plane lurched as it ran across the runway, its wings outstretched as if to embrace the sky, the home it was returning to.  It raced along the runway and leapt into the crystalline sky; the wind bore it higher and higher.

       Sitting beside me, you embraced me and kissed me, as well as you could with our packs, and our helmets, and jump suits serving as barriers of contact between us and the sky, as well as ourselves.  After a while, you were content to hold your bare hand in mine.

       There were no windows in the bay, remember?  The only light was issuing from the fixture above us as well as from the window in the cockpit door where the pilot and his co-pilot sat turning dials and knobs, laughing, twisting back in their seats to watch my face grow paler as they flew higher.  I knew they were making bets on whether or not I would jump.  Maybe they were also betting which parts of the plane my vomit would splash against, noting the green tinge in my face that I felt had to be showing as well.

       Finally, it was time.  The bay door opened.  The wind now roared past the gaping mouth of the plane.  We struggled up to the edge, getting ready to jump.  Awe and amazement washed over me as I looked down.  The whole world looked so small and so large at the same time.  Small hills covered with small roads, a landscape which still managed to fill my entire view.  Suddenly, I did not feel as bad.  I can do this, I thought, I want to do this.  Then I saw you, or rather, felt you.

       You had clasped onto me.  Your knuckles were white, frozen together with an icy fear I knew no one could break.  Your face was pale, and your eyes, filled with sparks of excitement before, were now wide and unblinking, gazing down at the world beneath us with great trepidation.  You looked up at me with beseeching blue eyes.  You were shaking.

       The way you held onto me then took me back to that time I rushed to be with you in that cold, quiet hospital.  It was a snowy day in December, just a little before Christmas.  The small, dry flakes drifted through the sky as I struggled towards St. Andrew’s.  You met me at the doors.  You had just watched your father die--- had felt his life slip through your fingers as you clutched his hand, trying to hold him in.  I embraced you as tightly as possible as you trembled with grief.  “It’s all right,” I had said.  You had seen death that day, and I am sure you had seen it again in the plane, looking down at the earth below.

       The jump leaders were urging us to pair up with them and jump.  I took one last look down at the model train world, and I smiled over at you.  I shook my head “no” to Thomas, and slowly helped you back to the benches.  
You ripped off your helmet, panting, once the bay door was closed again.  I handed you a doggy bag as you started crying.  “It’s all right,” I told you.  “It’s all right.”
        
       Once we landed, you threw your equipment back against the wall shouting something like people have to be complete idiots to want to do something as crazy and reckless as that.   I smiled behind you, looking back up at the afternoon sky.  Even though we didn’t jump, it was definitely a day I would never forget.  Would I ever know how it felt to embrace the sky?