The Parachute Jump
By
Mario V. Farina
Copyright 2016 Mario V. Farina
All Rights Reserved
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[email protected] Are you sure you want to do this, Mr. Martin?" Belle Banion quizzed me closely as I stood on the wooden platform and prepared to jump to the mound of sand a few feet below.
Of course I wanted to! I had wanted to make a parachute jump for about a year. People would ask me why. I had memorized the answer: because everyone, in his or her life must attack the demons that keep them enslaved. Fear of heights was my phobia, and I felt that a parachute jump, would prove to the world and to myself, that I could face this fear and conquer it.
Participating in an eight hour training course was a requirement. The course consisted of both lecture and practice. Belle, an attractive brown eyed woman in her mid-forties, was our jump instructor. We had attended an introductory lecture and were now gathered as she prepared us for our first physical test, a four-foot drop to the soft sand.
After I had assured her that I was sincere about going through with the training, she addressed the small group of men and women who were standing on the platform.
Bill had the perfect look and demeanor of a jump instructor. She was taller than most women and solidly built. In white helmet, dark goggles, army fatigues, leather gloves, and heavy black boots, she presented an imposing image. By contrast, I looked exactly like the junior college English professor that I actually was. In my fifties, short, and thirty pounds overweight, I must have presented a curious appearance, especially since I was wearing a business suit while the others were in jeans.
My greatest claim to fame, up to this time, was a book of original puns I had authored a year ago. Now, I had the audacity to attempt a feat for which I was uniquely unqualified.
Belle must have felt that I needed special coaching. She turned her attention to me last. To each person she had given the order, "jump, and roll forward." To pass, each of us had to make three sequential drops of this kind. "This is the way that you must land in the real jump," she cautioned. "Be sure you fully master the maneuver." She stared directly at me as she said this.
The burly, mustached garage mechanic made the jump properly as so did the teenaged high school girl. The muscular telephone repair man had no difficulty. The physical education instructor showed an easy grace as she walked to the edge of the platform, smiled, then dropped off. She rolled forward elegantly and picked yourself up at the bottom of the mound in one smooth motion.
It was my turn. "Can you do that?" Belle asked.
"Of course," I replied, trying to feign a confidence that I did not possess.
I walked to the edge and looked down. "How could four feet of space appear to be twenty?" I wondered. Then, from fear of ridicule, more than belief in myself, I stepped off. When I landed, my shoes dug into the gravel and I fell forward spraying sand to my face. I looked up at five bewildered faces and gave them an embarrassed grin.
"We'll have to try that again, won't we?" Belle sighed patiently.
The others made their second and third leaps successfully while I was still attempting to master my first. Concentrating on the fact that I must roll forward, my subsequent falls were better, but still far from acceptable. Finally, I was able to accomplish a jump with some primitive form of a roll.
Belle had an angelic look on her face as she reached out her hand to help. Breathlessly, I trudged up the ladder to the platform. "That's one," she announced. "Now two more."
The next two efforts weren't perfect, but Belle accepted them as successful jumps number two and three. Arriving home, I took off my clothes and put them in a plastic bag. They badly needed a trip to the cleaners.
The next day, Belle conducted a lecture on the topic of how to release one's main chute if it doesn't open. She pointed out that, skillfully done, one can release a parachute in three seconds. She demonstrated that it's all done to the count of three. One, both arms to chest, release pins. Two, open latches. Three, arms up. With actual parachutes strapped to our backs we had to show that we could perform the procedure within the three second rule. As before, the others were able to execute the movements easily in three seconds or less. It took me ten at first, as I fumbled with the latches, then five, and finally, three. Belle smiled approvingly. But though she tried to disguise it, her eyes displayed a considerable amount of apprehension.