Skydiver
Vitaly crawled towards the front of the plane and settled at the door. It was off-white and unremarkable, except for the fact that it would soon be open. There was also a small window in the door, a window where Vitaly caught sight of his reflection. He was young, his eyes clear, his whole life ahead of him.
Another gear check. This happened almost subconsciously, hands running over the chest and leg straps of his carefully packed parachute. He tucked his thumbs beneath the shoulder straps and tugged at the fit, then grazed across the ripcord. Everything as it should be. The altimeter on Vitaly’s left wrist showed 13,000 feet. Almost time.
The voices of Vitaly’s instructors echoed in the moments before the jump. A lot of work had gone into this, and soon it would be a reality. He fastened his helmet’s uncomfortable chinstrap, adjusted the goggles over his eyes, took two deep breaths, and opened the door.
Nothing depressurized. No one was sucked out of the plane. Things just don’t work that way. Vitaly would be exiting the aircraft of his own accord. He reached for the door frame. He steadied himself. He rocked once, twice, and then tumbled forward into the abyss.
Maybe his mind needed a moment to catch up with his body, because to Vitaly, the first few seconds of the free fall were almost non-existent. It’s doubtful he could remember them if he tried – such was the exhilaration of the open air.
Flying. Boundless. Free. In every direction, endless possibility.
Once Vitaly’s consciousness caught up, it slammed into his core and lungs, emitting a silent scream of delight. It was a strange sensation to outpace his own voice. He yelled again and again, louder and longer, but caught only the smallest whiff of ascending sound. Whatever air he expelled whipped past and was lost like a droplet of water amid the whole of Niagara Falls.
And yet, Vitaly was not intimidated, not in the slightest. He dove headlong into the unknown.
Diving, turning, flipping, spinning. Once, he rolled into a backstroke and as he swam across the sky, Vitaly looked up from whence he came. The tiny plane floated across a blue backdrop, a distant dot in an endless expanse of sky. Vitaly couldn’t help but laugh at how far he’d already traveled. A thought occurred: he’d better hustle if he was going to get in a good butterfly and breaststroke before pulling the cord. But then, that was just a guess. Vitaly hadn’t checked his altimeter, or even looked at the ground the entire time. After all, it was still so far away.
After the breaststroke, Vitaly attempted a sort of dolphin kick. Somewhere in the back of his synaptic sea he imagined a chorus of dolphins singing a rousing — if a bit pitchy — rendition of “Goodbye and Thanks for All the Fish.”
Alas, it was time to pull the ripcord. He always knew he would have to settle down one day. That’s how it worked. At last, that day had arrived. He reached across with his right hand, grabbed the cool carabiner and yanked it swiftly downwards.
Nothing happened.
Nothing to alter Vitaly’s descent, that is. He had pulled the cord. It was loose in his hand, but he was still rocketing towards the earth at a terminal speed. The ensuing shot of adrenaline exceeded anything Vitaly had ever experienced. The thrill of flying instantly devolved into the panic of falling.
As his body began to shake and became very cold, Vitaly realized the depth of his isolation and again started to scream.
He slapped at his shoulders in a desperate attempt to release the parachute. Nothing. His hands slipped from the fabric and flailed into the open air, grasping for purchase. He tussled with the sky, with his garments, with himself.
After the initial shock faded, he found an ounce of clarity and remembered the reserve chute.
The mass of colored fabric awoke like an ancient Chinese dragon. It snapped to life and billowed forth with equal parts majesty and ferocity. Finally, loose from its cage, the great beast roared, flexed its wings, and broke free of its bonds – all of them. Ropes have never held a dragon, not for any meaningful amount of time. And so, the man, still abstractly harnessed to an empty ambition, watched helplessly as the untethered dragon soared into the sky above him where it lit upon a fickle breeze and sailed away, never to return.
Vitaly unfastened the chinstrap of his ridiculous helmet and tossed it aside. The wind, ever present, took the opportunity to remove a few strands of his long flowing hair, but Vitaly didn’t notice. He was lost in his own mind. He pulled at the zipper of his jumpsuit so that it opened in an uncomfortable flapping rip that did little to slow his fall from space. Nothing would stop his descent now. That much was clear. His fall was inevitable.
Then, for the first time, Vitaly actually looked down. Below, still somewhat shrouded in mist and fog, he saw his eventuality. The sight sunk into his chest and he turned away, rolling onto his back for a glimpse of happier times. Above him, Vitaly saw memories, both pleasant and painful, stretching upward along the route he had taken. Some hovered so close he felt the need to reach for them. But like everything else, the past slipped through his fingers and rapidly receded into the distance. Vitaly watched as his memories ascended into the heavens, higher and higher until nothing was left except a whisper in the clouds.
The death of his youth. It had all happened so fast.
Edits and revisions ran through Vitaly’s mind – all the things he would go back and do differently had he known things would turn out this way. But it made no difference what he might have done, given another jump. There were no other jumps, and no amount of bargaining or slick maneuvering was going to alter his descent. The sum of all things led to this, as it was: Vitaly, cold and alone.
Perhaps that’s the moment Vitaly found perspective.
Because, with great effort, Vitaly reached inside his open jumpsuit, to his street clothes and a back pocket where his wallet resided. He used his body to shield the wind, but it was still a seemingly interminable interlude before Vitaly was able to open the wallet to a picture of his beloved.
Anamaria.
The two dimensional image of Anamaria was beautiful by any standard, but Vitaly saw so much more. He knew the depths that the photo only hinted at. He knew the sound of her laughter, the touch of her fingers. He knew the kindness in her heart and the countless little moments in which that kindness was made manifest. He knew the many ways in which he, Vitaly, was better for knowing her.
Vitaly kissed her and held her close as the chaos swirled around them. His hands were stiff and his joints ached from the constant battering of the wind, but he loved her and protected her, until the time came when he could hold on no longer. After a time much too short, Anamaria, beloved, passed on and faded into the ether.
He watched for her memory in the space between breaths, certain at various moments of seeing her afterglow among the distant cloud formations. Those ageless wonders ranged like mountains above mountains, fluid in their permanence – ever rising and eroding, forming and reforming, being reborn again and again.
The wind found the hole where Vitaly’s heart had been and blew straight through him. It was ruthless. The wind laid claim to everything. But now Vitaly turned and faced it head-on. More hair flew out by the roots. His skin dried and creased like paper. Everything hurt.
But Vitaly did not look away.
Vitaly steadied his gaze, and as he did, the mist and fog that had obstructed the ground pulled away. This revealed a landing zone that was not ground at all, but water – a large lake with a surface smooth as glass – and in the water, a reflection. Vitaly felt certain it was his own, though he looked nothing like his former self. Through the goggles, his eyes appeared bloodshot and tired, but there was a depth to the image that was not there before.
Time dilated, and Vitaly floated above the surface of the waters. He couldn’t see past his own reflection, but he wondered what it was like on the other side. Would he find Anamaria there waiting for him? Would there finally be silence? Would there be peace?
Vitaly readied himself. And with open eyes, he tumbled forward into the unknown.