First of all, I know nothing about skydiving. It had never occurred to me, until recently, that it was something I would even do. I could never do something that . . . scary. After all, as so many have said to me, why jump out of a perfectly good plane? I always thought they had a point, and for me to try it? It just really wasn’t going to happen. Until recently, when I decided that indeed, jumping out of a perfectly good airplane had several things going for it. For one thing, it just sounded like a hell of a lot of fun. I don’t know why it sounded like fun, but it did. I do know that we all have different ideas of fun and others are always doing things I don’t particularly regard as a good time, but they seem to enjoy themselves. So there was that. It seemed like fun.

It was also, I reasoned, a sport I can actually participate in. Thanks to my old friend fibromyalgia, my legs don’t always hold up well. Oh sure, they work, but not always for long distances. How perfect is a sport that’s in the air?

So I decided and that was that – once I decided, I was going to do it, and since I’d decided to do it, I wanted to do it as soon as I could. So as soon as charming husband could afford it, he who currently has the most money, I made an appointment for October 24^th, a Saturday, for a tandem jump. How could this possibly be scary when I wasn’t even the one in charge of the jump? I’d have a whole experienced person attached to me.

I looked forward to it. I couldn’t wait. The week before my scheduled tandem jump it rained. And then it rained some more. Then it stopped raining, and then it rained some more. I was not pleased. I didn’t want to delay, and it’s getting late in the season – I don’t want to be cold. (I’m a wuss.) Friday it didn’t only rain, it poured the proverbial cats and dogs, and I lost my car in a parking lot, causing me to think I should be signing up for AARP instead, but only in the most superficial manner.

On Saturday morning the sky was the sort of deep blue of mid-fall, the air almost smelling of fall apples, Friday’s clouds gone far away, and it was a perfect day for any sort of outdoor activity, but most especially for falling from the sky. I never really believe I’m doing something until I’m doing it, which is why I seem so calm. It’s an act. But I wasn’t scared, despite my avowed fear of heights.

Charming husband and I drove to the facility, and my first and most difficult task, once we arrived, was to fill out the paperwork, in which I basically promised not to sue the facility should anything go amiss, such as me hitting the ground and going splat, or me spraining an ankle, or anything at all happening to me that could possibly happen, such as tripping on the ground on the way to the plane. One section was devoted to letting me know I should have my affairs in order, just in case. Charming husband kept trying to see what I was filling out, but when I told him I was waiving his right to sue and he said he’d sue anyway, he didn’t care, I didn’t let him see the papers.

Charming husband has been totally supportive and will also skydive later on, so it’s not as if he objects. He just doesn’t want me in the form of a pancake, despite his fondness for such things.

Anyway. After the paperwork we waited around, and then I was called in for training, which lasted ten minutes and consisted of the following important information: how to arch, avoiding the propeller at the front of the plane, the left control is for left, and the right for right, keeping our feet up until our jumpmaster says we can put them down because if we have four legs and two minds trying to land at the same time it’s not going to go well, and . . . I forget. Something of immense importance, no doubt.

Then we waited outside for my load to be called. While waiting charming husband pointed up to the sky and said, “Look! See the plane? They’re coming out now.” I looked directly up where he was pointing, and I saw . . . blue sky. Lots of blue sky, and nothing else. I kept saying, “Where?” Other waiting people were looking too, and still I could see nothing but sky. And then, something small and far away, and then another. I couldn’t even tell what they were, but they were up in the sky, and they were falling, like daylight stars.

They came down slowly, or it seemed slow to me. It was pretty awesome.

Finally they called my name, and I went scampering in to see what would happen next. Perhaps scamper is too strong a word. Anyway, I made my way in, and I met Dave and Dan, one my jumpmaster, and the other my cameraman. I paid extra for that, since I knew no one would believe me with proof. Me, skydiving? Right, everyone would say, as if.

Dave, or Dan, asked me a question about the video, and Dave, or Dan, gave me a jumpsuit to put on. How fun! I love new fashions. I think jumpsuits are a good look for me. Then he had me put on the harness. I don’t really know what all was going on, since my jumpmaster fastened and tightened everything. All I had to do was stand there and behave myself. He gave me goggles, and a cool little hat that I had to try on.

We stood outside for a bit with my cameraman getting video of me and charming husband. And then we went out to await the plane. My jumpmaster checked my straps again, and gave me some instructions. My cameraman told me to get in the plane and then turn around and give him a thumbs up. Like, I don’t have enough on my mind, I have to be directed? We got in the plane, several groups of skydivers, and we sat on long benches all in a row, my back to my jumpmaster, my front to my cameraman’s back, and we ascended. They’d show me their altimeters on the way, to show me how high we were going, and the cameraman would point his helmet cam back at me for pictures. The land got smaller, the farms and waterways became visible, and I started thinking about Sim City . . .

My mind is a weird place.

I watched the altimeters impatiently, thinking 13,000 feet was so far away. I didn’t mind it being far away, I just wanted to get there.

And then we were. My goggles were tightened from behind, straps checked to make sure I was securely attached to my jumpmaster, and I was told that I’d go forward, get on the floor, hang my feet out and curl them underneath. They asked if I was ready. I said, something appropriate like indicating assent, wanting to go and see what was waiting. The first group, experienced solo jumpers, crowded around the door, and it opened, and they were gone. I moved forward, got on the floor, swung my feet out, my cameraman, hanging onto the side, and we were out, just like that, away from the plane, away into a wide open space, doing nothing more than falling towards earth. I think I yelled with the excitement of it all, and then stopped, not wanting to disturb the quiet of the racing wind. It was all I could hear, the wind rushing past us, or us rushing past the wind, as it were, and we were belly to earth. I put my arms out, and I was flying.

Then the damn wind tried to take my goggles, and I grabbed at them. I wasn’t worried about the goggles, but first the goggles, then my glasses would go next, and those things are expensive. Besides, we were going about 120 mph, and that couldn’t possibly be good for my eyes. So I held onto my goggles, and we fell in quiet space, Dan and Dave motioning and me just hanging on to my goggles. I think I was smiling.

The chute opened suddenly, a slight jerking motion, and the sound of the wind stopped, and I could hear again. I could see for miles and miles and miles. It was a perfect fall day, and I was in the air, floating to earth. I tried the controls, turning us left, and then right, seeing the mountains and the land which looks so much more organized from up high than it does from the ground, and then I started feeling slightly nauseous.

Oh. Airsickness.

I know what you’re thinking. No, I did not throw up. I was well behaved and did not embarrass myself.

Eventually, after about 6 minutes, we floated down to the drop zone, and I lifted my legs up so they wouldn’t get in the way, but then when he said I could put them down I somehow ended up on my butt instead, a graceless landing but totally without incident. It was as if I’d just sat down. “Well, that works too,” my jumpmaster said, and then he and the cameraman, who was already down and recording, helped me up.

My first successful jump on a blue fall day was over.

Later charming husband asked if I wanted to do it again, and I said I wasn’t sure. I almost lost my goggles, I got airsick, and my bra was spectacularly painful with the straps.

Minor details. Since then I’ve been looking at the paper they gave me when I left, which tells me what I’d have to do to in order to get certified to jump solo. It’s an orange piece of paper, and it details the next 6 jumps I’d have to do, a couple more tandem, then a few hours of school, then some more jumps, supervised solo jumps. And that’s the part that’s scary, me in charge of getting me down safely, no one else. This wasn’t scary at all, but that?