There they go, the first three out of the plane: Sandra, Sean, Marcus. We wish them luck. It’s a long way down.
The domes of their parachutes gleam in the sun.
No telling where they’ll land, either–stuck up in a tree, buried in six feet of cow manure, or dropping into a stadium filled with cheering people.
It sure is a long way down.
Rob and Patry are up next. They’re pulling on their ‘chutes now. Rob looks pretty serious, but calm. He’s out of there. Patry gives me a thumbs-up, grins, jumps.
A fuck of a long way down.
Gregg, sitting next to me, is grinning from ear to ear; why is he so goddamn cheerful ? Oh well, he’s done this before.
There he goes.
I look around; smiles and nods from the folks behind me.
I look back toward the hatch; nada. There’s no one in front of me.
I’m up next.
I sure hope this chute works. It ought to: I packed it myself.
Of course, that means I have no one else to blame if I pull the cord and bedsheets and pillow cases come flying out. Old snotrags and dirty laundry.
The wind whipping in the open hatch is numbing my fingers.
Here I go.
Wait a minute–which cord do I pull again?
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