the air

Once, when I was in someone's small, private plane, I really felt it, that nothing is holding you in the air. How pointless it was      to grip the armrests when turbulence     hit.       How I hadn't considered the air,      much less the pilot      or the plane.

The other time that I got to be in a small plane was a few years before, when I was at school, and I went up in order to jump out. 

So cool. It wasn't like skydiving you do on vacation today. Not tandem. No square chute to step you lightly on the ground. 

We didn't go up as high I don't think. Half a mile as I recall it. Noisy, rickety little plane, with the seats ripped out. Three of us, and an instructor, not sure if the pilot was alone up front.  

The first guy to jump [we were in the jumpsuits and workboots they'd given us to wear] he had done it before, and this time he changed his mind, didn't want to step out on the wing. 

I was next, and I did, step out on the wing, and noticed that I wasn't scared, and how fucking weird that was. I checked again. Because I don't always know what I'm feeling. Does that happen to you?

These layers and aspects and noise, and you don't always instantly know,

understand,

recognize

what's happening in you.

I had to check again.

But, I wasn't. I wasn't scared. So weird. But, I couldn't hang around thinking it over. I should go, do what they told me: push off the wing. 

The thing that I remember most about the way down was how slow the air was and me in it.

 

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