How to Fall

Why was I doing this? Surely this was a dream. There is no way that I would, of sound mind and body, volunteer to walk up one hundred feet of stairs to strap myself to a rope and freefall to the ground. And yet, every time I peeked over the railing, my head spun and my stomach twisted itself into fancy little pretzels. Nope. Definitely not a dream.
The stairs just went higher and higher, so that every landing felt like resetting a time loop, only I was getting farther from solid ground. It had seemed safe and sturdy at first. I mean, metal is normally a pretty solid material and my steps didn’t even make that much noise. But once you get to a certain height, nothing is stable. Why did the wind gently brush against my face, barely tousling my hair, yet cause the entire structure to tremble and shake? Why were the steps, (you know, the things you put the whole of your weight on?) only made of strips of steel that you could see right through when you glanced down to watch your step? And, most importantly, why the hell was I climbing up this unstable, semi-transparent piece of—?!
“Jack? What are you doing?”
I started and glanced behind me. Henry was looking at me with his chapped lips drawn in a hard line, his blue eyes full of the annoyance and impatience of youth. His green tee shirt flapped lazily in unison with his short blond-brown hair, uncaring of the wind chill. I used to think that I was resistant to cold, but for Henry it’s like a personal challenge. He’ll only ever wear a second layer if my parents force him into a jacket.
I don’t want to say I hate my brother, because that would be a lie. I don’t hate how he’s good at everything, from sports to school to video games. I don’t hate how he’s so much more social and outgoing than me. I don’t even hate how he’s so much taller and stronger than I was at his age, or how every single member of my extended family wonders aloud if he is going to be taller than me. Definitely not that. What was I talking about?
“Standing,” I told him. Because of course my stupid little brother isn’t afraid of heights. Why would he be? He split his chin open twice and didn’t shed a tear either time. Why would walking up a spindly tower with the sides completely open to the full force of the wind scare him? He’s eight. He’s innocent and invincible.
“Why aren’t you going?” my brother asked with the sympathy of a cat.
Because every time I take a step, my stomach dissolves. Because every time I look around I see that we are higher than the trees. Because every time I glance down my feet feel numb at the thought of tripping and falling over the railing!
I didn’t say any of that. I just turned around and continued walking. See, Mom! I’m not an instigator! I’m the responsible sibling.
Many days and nights passed before we reached the end of the line. It was full of kids ranging from insecure messes of twelve year olds to little, innocent six year olds who likely didn’t even know what they were doing up here. Henry and I were taller than just about everyone and I was by far the oldest kid there. Swell. Wonderful. As if I didn’t feel pressured and out of place already.
“But Jack!” I hear you asking. “Why not just go back down the tower if you didn’t want to participate? Surely no one was forcing you to face your fears and jump off of a hundred-foot tower in a controlled free fall?”
Oh, dear reader. How little you understand. You’re right, of course. No one was physically stopping me from turning around and walking back down the stairs. I was totally allowed to step out of a line full of pre-teens and walk back down the tower, passing by all of the other ten year olds as they ran up the stairs three at a time with that hyperactivity only children possess. I’d spend forever descending the stupid thing and meet up with my family at the bottom just in time for Henry to fall gracefully from the sky, a bright beam of sunlight breaking through the grey sky to illuminate my perfect little brother in a halo of liquid gold, the likes of which only Olympic champions receive as they are awarded the first place medal.
So yeah. Aside from that, and the fact that the stairway was only wide enough for a single child to ascend without scraping your arms against the old rails and filling them up with splinters, I could leave any time I wanted.
As we shuffled forward, the line slowly dwindling, I tilted my head back and stared straight up, inspecting the wooden rafters high above, the edges of my vision full of the soft grey hue of the sky. Because, I’m not sure if you know this (possible life hack incoming), but if you look up, you’re not looking down. Which means I can’t possibly know how high off the ground I am.
Unfortunately, this would-be perfect strategy had its drawbacks. I had to keep glancing at my feet every time the line crept forward, to make sure that I wasn’t about to bump into the kid in front of me. And so, with every step, the vertigo got worse. My feet bristled with pins and needles. My stomach twisted and roiled in protest like it had suddenly developed an allergic reaction to peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. My head swirled and shook like it had been pumped full of helium and I glanced over my shoulder just to see if my brother was releasing a balloon directly into my ear.
He wasn’t. Instead, Henry was entertaining himself by chatting it up with some of the kids behind us, whistling inaudibly to himself, and leaning over the railing to peer down at the distant blur of grey and green where the sane members of our family waited. See what I mean about him being an idiot? I looked away from my brother’s stupid, carefree actions and went back to staring at the ceiling as my toes tingled in my shoes.
The line gradually shrunk until I was watching the next person step off the edge. She fell with grace, walking out with sure, confident strides until one foot simply did not connect with the floor and she dropped out of view. “Okay, please put this on.” My head snapped over to a young woman with the green and brown uniform of the adventure park holding out a harness to the next person in line. The thing looked like the material seat belts are made from, with two loops to go over the shoulders and meet in back to form a loop for the clip to latch onto.
I stared at the harness. Oh. That’s how I saw that last kid go off. I was next in line. That’s truly when the weight of my actions hit me. I was about to strap myself to a cable and jump off a tower in order to fall at terrifying yet safe speeds to just get a reaction out of myself. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized I didn’t need that. I could turn around and walk back to the ground. The stairwell was narrow, sure, but all the people in line were little kids, I could squeeze past them. And who cares if they thought of me as a coward? I lived ten hours away and was never coming back to this place. As for watching over my brother, if I didn’t go, he was next, so I could just watch to make sure no one kidnapped him from the top of a tower and walk down after he jumped off. Sometimes, you don’t need to do the scary thing. You can just stay in your comfort zone and—
I stepped past the gate and the employee shut and locked it behind me. I strapped on the harness as the employee clipped me to the rope, to the machine. The harness was rough and rubbed against my collarbone very similar to when I would pull my seat belt out until it reached the safety limit and then be unable to move it off my body until I unclipped. Same sort of feeling, too. Like I was trapped, held against my will by something I could take off.
“Okay, you’re all set,” the employee told me. “All you have to do is follow the arrows—” She gestured to the small yellow symbols that pointed from where I stood on the main platform to the edge of the outstretching board. You know. In case you were confused on which of the single exit you were supposed to go to. “And fall. Don’t jump off, it can mess with the winch. Just walk off normally and you’ll land in the designated square. You understand?”
I don’t remember replying, so I assume my head must have made a curt up and down motion. She let go of my shoulder and stepped back, pressing some button that opened up the far side of the stage. You know. The part closed off for safety reasons. The section I was now supposed to go out on. The only exit.
I shuffled forward like the condemned man on a pirate ship, only instead of a sword prodding my back, it was the gazes of young strangers, the employee, and my brother, all urging me on amid the cool silence that seemed to have befallen the entire world. As if God himself was holding his breath just for me as I edged closer to the end of the plank.
I tried to keep my head up and not let my eyes fall down. It was annoying, not being able to just stare at the sky, or simply close my eyes. One misstep and I’d fall. Did that even matter? I was going to fall anyway.
The board creaked and dipped as I went farther out. The wind, which had been a calm, soundless, gentle breeze just minutes ago, now raged like a snowless blizzard. Odd how it didn’t move my clothes as much. But it was raging. It had to be. Where else would that ceaseless roaring be coming from?
The end of the walkway drew closer and closer and I could gaze down past the edge and see the little square boxed in by a white picket fence so that the boundary stood out starkly against the grey and green ground.
I stood at that edge for one heartbeat, two heartbeats, three. If I remained frozen any longer, people would start to notice. More specifically, my brother. So, with all my other options either stupid or impossible at this point, I took one foot off the platform, moved it forward, and walked onto open air. Even knowing that I wasn’t going to step onto anything, my stomach still decided to drop. My weight followed my foot and I fell off the platform.
This is where the disconnect between what I knew in my head and what I felt in my body happened. I knew I was safe. I knew how the whole experience worked. The machine I was connected to allowed the rope to unravel at just the right speed so that the person it was holding was safe, but to them it felt like they were untethered. It was all a trick, a tangible illusion, to stimulate my fear. Unfortunately, my body fell for it.
I dropped, staring at the ground far below, and my vision telescoped. The distance between me and the ground seemed to elongate, space stretching like a rubber band. I was falling, but for an instant, my body felt like I was rising up, cut off from gravity. It was terrifyingly surreal. I’ve always wondered what flying of my own volition would feel like and I had simply assumed that it was similar to jumping up and just not falling back down. But now I know. That was what it would be like. Released from the pull of the earth.
The odd vertigo faded after just a couple of seconds and my vision went back to normal. I could see the ground steadily approaching, the white square growing larger and larger as I descended. I could see my parents and my sister standing just outside the landing zone, with a different employee hovering near the edge of the square. Out of the way, but close enough to intervene if something went wrong. I’m not entirely sure how his presence would help if the rope snapped, but whatever.
I hadn’t been able to construct rational thoughts during the last ten seconds, but now that my journey was almost over, I wrangled back a little bit of control from my thoughts. This had been a once in a lifetime experience. Even if I were given the option again, I knew I sure as hell wouldn’t be taking it. Had to make the most of this one then, right? I shifted my position slightly so that when I landed on firm, solid ground, I did so on one knee. Like a superhero straight out of a movie.