[Critique Group 1] Marcia submission Age Before Beauty

[Marcia Wick]

(draft) no time to proof closely as my Mom is in the hospital.thanks
everyone!

A parachute story inspired by Leonard's parachute poem

 

Age Before Beauty

Marcia J. Wick, The Write Sisters

Copyright October 2017

Word Count: 1068

 

 

Dad's 93rd birthday is Tuesday. We will celebrate with his favorite pie and
ice cream, although he won't remember our party the next day.

 

The anniversary reminds me of another special birthday which Dad won't
recall. The year he turned 80, I turned 50. He and I Separately hit on the
idea of celebrating our big day by jumping out of an airplane, with a
parachute of course. When we discovered that we both had happened upon the
same adventure, we decided to do the bigg jump together.

 

My older daughter, 16 at the time, strongly objected to my risky endeavor.
She imagined becoming an orphan on her mother's birthday. I presumed the
tandem jumper who would be attached to my back did not himself have a death
wish, and so I put my life in a complete stranger's hands that day.

 

Dad and I watched a brief instructional video, after which we were require
to place our signature on page after page, waiving our right to return to
sue or haunt anyone in the event of injury or death.

 

We struggled into jumpsuits while our instructors talked us through,
step-by-step, what to expect after we departed the plane.  My instructor
yanked and pulled on the straps and buckles of my harness, demanding my full
attention. The voices of family and the complaints of my daughter faded as
my jumping buddy manipulated my body, pivoting me through a practice dance
on the ground, preparing me for what to expect in the air.

 

He stood behind me and tugged me tight into a bear hug, clamping my crossed
arms to my chest. Next, he demonstrated the deliberate tap on my back which
would indicate the moment I should lift and spread my arms like wings,
stabilizing the tumultuous first part of the free fall. I tried to absorb
the cascade of information overflowing my limited brain bucket. I noticed my
dad's instructor demonstrating the same gestures, explaining that it isn't
possible to talk while free falling from 13,500 feet above sea level at 120
miles per hour.

 

My instructor assured me that he would deploy the parachute after a
30-second free fall, that's about a mile of nothing but dropping like a rock
through the thin air. Once under the canopy, we would drift gracefully above
the Royal Gorge and Arkansas River with panoramic views of the Rocky
Mountain Range.

 

None of this would I see, being visually impaired, nor would I glimpse the
ground coming up to greet me. The instructor assured me that he would tell
me when to tuck my knees up to my chest and be poised to spring upon hitting
the ground. The thought of terra firma suddenly seemed too solid for
comfort.

 

Dad and I giggled and our hearts raced as we waved "so long" to family and
friends. They applauded our mutual adventure, some of my siblings jealous
that I was the one sharing this once-in -a -lifetime experience with our
dear old dad, others relieved that I was the one who had volunteered.

 

We were led out onto the tarmac and climbed a portable set of stairs to
discover the outside shell of the jump plane concealed an interior stripped
to the bone, barely large enough for the four of us to sit back-to-back on
the hard floor. Naturally, I had assumed the plane would have seats, but in
fact there was not even a canvas flap to close the open doorway.  Dad and I
backed away from the void as engines drowned out our voices and the ground
disappeared. Shoulder to shoulder with my aging father, I realized Things
were getting serious. 

 

My instructor commanded my focus to distract me from my heightened
nervousness. Dad's did the same. I felt my father tense as he listened to
his guide. Until then, I had imagined, like in the movies, that we would
maneuver toward the door attached to some sort of zip line while a commander
called, "Go, go, go!"

 

As it was, our fellow jumpers pulled us in tight, our backs to their chests,
our butts between their legs; I felt oddly familiar and trusting with my
jumping partner in this intimate position, my life literally in his arms. It
was then that I realized Dad's life was also in the care of a complete
stranger. I hoped he felt implicit trust as did I.

 

"Who goes first?" Dad's fellow jumper asked. Not planned ahead, I quipped,
"Age before beauty, right Dad?"

 

In an instant, Dad's trainer shifted, inching up to the yawning exit. Dad
reacted, his fingers locking like a vice grip to the door frame. The guide
urged him to release his hold while prying the right hand loose. He nudged
Dad further toward the gaping passage and, before I could catch my breath,
they were gone. 

 

Whoosh, I watched my father fall out of the plane. Daddy, come back, I cried
in my mind, Meanwhile, I was unaware that my guide had shifted and was
moving me toward the expanse ahead. Blink, we were falling, twisting,
jerking, the force of the fall plastering my skin to my skull. My mouth
opened and closed, opened and closed. I wanted to scream in jubilation, the
thrill was so thrilling, but no sound came out. Time and space stood still.

 

A tap, then a more urgent nudge, reminded me to uncross my arms which were
gripping my chest. I spread myself open like a butterfly, my hands and feet
free in front of me. Like flipping a switch, the force of the fall
stabilized and we continued free falling through the cold air with nothing
relative by which to judge our speed or distance. It's an eternity, when
there is nothing but air under your feet.

 

Too soon, the parachute opened, interrupting our freedom from time and
space. We slowed, gliding in a controlled fashion round and round, round and
round, down and down, feeling the pull of the ground.

 

My new best buddy assured me that my father and his partner were also
drifting without distress. Laughter and relief erupted, along with
disappointment that the best part, the free fall, was already over.

 

Reality and my family on the ground reappeared as I tucked, bumped, hopped,
and rolled to a stop, my glee overtaken only by the sounds of my Dad's
laughter and my daughter's tears.

 

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