Total pages in book: 262
Estimated words: 268603 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1343(@200wpm)___ 1074(@250wpm)___ 895(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 268603 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1343(@200wpm)___ 1074(@250wpm)___ 895(@300wpm)
“You flown before?” he asks, raising his voice above the sound of the engine.
“I’m a qualified commercial pilot,” I respond. “Rotorcraft. And I have a couple of sailplanes.”
“This’ll be easy for you.”
My laugh is hollow.
Yeah. No. I’m a pilot for a reason.
I’m in control.
I take a deep breath as the plane leaves the runway and begins its ascent. Snohomish Valley falls away as we climb higher and higher into the cloudless sky.
Matt and Elliot are talking crap. Ben joins in. I block them out and think of Ana.
What’s she doing? Is her wardrobe complete? I think of her in my arms this morning, wrapped around me. I place my hand on my chest where her finger traced small circles.
Calm, Grey. Calm.
As we near 12,000 feet Ben hands me a leather cap complete with chin strap, and some goggles. As I put them on he runs through a quick reminder of all that I need to know. The other instructor opens the rear door; the draft is almost deafening.
Shit. This is happening.
“You got that?” Ben shouts, referring to his quick refresher.
“Yes.”
Ben checks the altimeter on his right wrist. “It’s time. Excited? Let’s go.” We shuffle toward the open door, the sound of the single engine and the wind rush even more thunderous. I glance at Elliot, who gives me a thumbs-up sign and a fuck-you grin.
“You asshole!” I yell, and he laughs. I cross my arms and clutch on to my harness like my life depends on it…because my life depends on it. Then I’m hanging, attached to a man I don’t know, over fucking Washington and the Snohomish Valley. I squeeze my eyes shut, and for the first time in a billion years offer a prayer to the God that abandoned me years ago. Then I open them again.
Whoa. I can see the Cascades, Possession Sound, the San Juan Islands—and nothing but air beneath me.
“Here we go,” Ben shouts, and launches us out of the aircraft.
“Ffffuuuuuccccckkkkkk!” I bellow.
And I’m flying.
Really flying, above the earth. Either I don’t have time to be afraid or the adrenaline streaking through my body has blotted out the fear. It’s super-exhilarating. I can see for miles, and because I’m not behind glass or plastic, it’s hyper-real. I’m in the sky, cloaked in it. It’s holding me up. The rushing sound of air as we dive to the ground is familiar, like an old friend. I free my hands and hold them out to feel the wind racing through my fingers. Ben holds a thumb up in front of my face and I return the compliment.
This is beyond amazing.
Scanning above, I get a glimpse of Elliot and Matt. And Sandra comes whooshing past us, the camera turned toward Ben and me. My grin is goofy.
“This is great!” I call out to Ben as we surf the sky.
I see Ben raise his wrist. We’re at 5,000 feet. He tugs at his rip cord and we slow immediately as above us a multicolored canopy unfurls. The nature of the dive changes from terminal velocity to slow motion, and all is quiet as we hang in the air. My anxiety evaporates, replaced by an inner calm that surprises me. I’m on top of the world, quite literally walking on air. Ben’s got this; he knows what he’s doing. And from somewhere deep in my mind, the thought materializes in my head: I hope that my marriage to Ana is this thrilling and this easy.
The view is breathtaking.
I wish she were here.
Though it would give me a coronary watching her jump out of a plane.
“Want to steer?” Ben asks.
“Sure.”
He hands me the risers; I tug on the left and we turn, slowly and gracefully, in a wide circle.
“Dude, you’ve got this,” Ben calls, patting my upper arm.
We do another circle before Ben takes the risers back in order to steer us toward the landing zone. The ground is approaching at speed, and I lift my knees as instructed as Ben gently drops us to the ground. We both land on our asses, and the ground team is there to welcome us.
Ben unclips his harness from mine and I stand, feeling a little unsteady from the adrenaline rush. Behind us, Elliot and Matt land, Elliot whooping like a gorilla again—his favorite form of expressing excitement.
I pause and catch my breath.
“How was it?” Ben asks.
“Man, that was sublime. Thank you.”
“Great!” He offers a fist-bump and I return it.
Elliot rushes over to join us.
“Fuck, man!” I exclaim.
“Rad, huh?”
“I was shitting bricks.”
“I know! It’s good to see you finally losing your fucking cool for once. It’s a rare event, bro.” Elliot laughs, but his grin reflects mine. “Better than sex?” he asks.
“No…but close.”
Fifteen minutes later we’re back in his pickup.
“Dude, I could use a drink after that,” I say, and I can’t shake my shit-eating grin.