Tuesday 200 — #81

Everyone said face your fear.

So he tried.

Clinging to ladders, one rung at a time. Inching toward balcony edges, flesh-covered vise-grips shaking hands with guardrails. Occasionally sitting by windows on unavoidable business flights.

Listening to tapes. Hoping post-hypnotic suggestions would nest inside his subconscious, that neuro-linguistic programming could shrink mountains into molehills.

Marcelle swore skydiving worked for her. “You’re strapped to someone whose job is not to die. Why would he let anything happen?”

On his fortieth birthday, he took the plunge.

The lesson was exhilarating. His trainer was gentle, strong, and stunning. Who wouldn’t want to be strapped to Jedidiah?

The plane ascending, adrenaline coursing in his veins like F1s racing through Monaco.

Three, two, one … a push. The bracing air. Deafening white noise whipping across his perma-grin, blue skies welcoming him into flight.

Unimaginable freedom. Free-falling longer than expected. Time standing still.

Anticipating the jolt of the chute, springing him back into the clouds.

Jedidiah dancing behind him, grabbing at rip cords that opened nothing. Hearing a distinctly unmasculine “mother fuck.”

Learning he was never actually afraid of heights.

Warm piss flooding over his thighs, realizing his one true terror.

Falling.

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