Sky Diving

Posted by Marci on Dec 2, 2010 in | 1 comment

The rumble of the plane vibrated my body as I sat on the floor and looked out the window staring at the landscape below. Steam rose from the volcanic hot springs of Rotorua, New Zealand. The incredible view didn’t relieve the terror I felt.

We climbed through the clouds and I thought, we must be getting close to our jumping altitude. I looked to my friend Brian. His eyes were wide with fear as he gave me the thumbs up. I smiled and turned back to the window. If I didn’t jump, I’d look like a chicken, but at least I’d be a live chicken. Why did I want to sky dive?

The pilot yelled, “We’re half way there.”

Half way? On land we’d decided to jump from 14,000 feet. Now that we were in the air, seven seemed good – we’d be on the ground much faster.

Another fifteen minutes passed and the pilot opened the door. My tandem jump guide clipped me to him and we moved towards the opening. I sat with my legs dangling out of the plane, as I looked at the clouds far below. The jump-master fidgeted, clipping and unclipping carabineers. I held to the doorway afraid to be pushed out without the man wearing the chute.

My heart raced and panic held my mind hostage. There’d only be a few minutes until the chute opened. I just had to get through the terror of not knowing if I would live or die.

The jump-master gave me the thumbs-up, and I copied his gesture. He crossed my arms across my chest and as we rolled I screamed,” HOLY…..” and before I could yell the expletive we leveled out and I was flying. “THIS IS AMAZING,” I ended.

My arms spread wide as the wind whipped around my face. There was no sense of falling; I felt like a bird floating on currents. I itched my cheek and the movement of my arm forced us to spin. The jump-master returned my hand to the side, “Can we do that again,” I asked.

“Not until you jump on your own,” he said. “Having fun?”

“I love it.”

As we came closer to the clouds, I could see rainbows in the mist. The guide released the cute and we sprung upward. “I don’t want the chute open. I want to keep flying,” I said.

We floated through the clouds and my hands touched the moisture. I remembered being a little girl in my mother’s arms making pictures out of clouds. “I want to touch them,” I’d told her, and now I was.

We broke through the cover and the green earth spread below. “How strong is your stomach?” The guide asked. “Can you handle a spinny ride?”

“Absolutely.”

He maneuvered the chords and we spun in large circles as we moved towards the ground. We touched down on the wet green grass and all I could think was, I want to do it again.