my shaking hands through
the loops, and I was too
weak to pull effectively. I
could feel him pulling the
cords for me from above.
Other jumpers had
described the long, leisurely
parachute descent after free
fall as relaxing. But I couldn’t
relax—I was too aware of
my weight in the harness, my
feet dangling, the familiar landmarks
far below me. There was the train bridge.
There was the beach. There was the
highway leading home. Barry spun us
around and I felt sick, hated him for a
moment, and quavered that I didn’t
like that. The fall went on and on. Finally
we neared the desert and Barry took
over steering entirely, reminding me of
my role in landing.
He twisted us from side to side, tack-
ing like a sailboat to shed speed as we
came in over the dunes. Then he gave
me the signal to pull my knees up
(I did my shaky best) and pull down
hard on the chute straps. I braced for
impact, but my feet never touched—
suddenly I was on my belly in the sand,
Barry on top of me. He unclipped the
right waist clip so he could
roll off of me as the ground
crew approached, cheering,
and freed me completely.
The crew and other jump-
ers clustered around; some-
one helped me to my feet. I
tried to smile, but my cheeks
and lips felt as wobbly as
my arms and legs. I stared
at the sand and dug around
inside myself, trying to find some pride
in my accomplishment, some kind of
silver lining with which to cover up the
apparently bottomless chasm of fear I
carried inside me.
Later, after I’d stripped off my har-
ness, helmet and jumpsuit, after I’d
calmed down enough to safely attempt
the drive home, I did find some pride.
I had done it, after all. I hadn’t backed
down, pulled the plug at the last minute
and forfeited my money and my dignity.
I hadn’t clutched on to the airplane as
we rolled out of it, killing us all. I hadn’t
screamed the entire way down.Truth and Consequences
Of all the liars in the world, sometimes the worst are our own fears.
RUDYARD KIPLINGI have a fear of being boring.
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