The jump coordinator opens the door, and the change in pressure sucks the air from my lungs. The pilot holds, cruising in a steady line along the flight path. The first guy gets in position. He’s given the all-clear and he lets go, disappearing from my sight. The second guy has his turn. He moves out to the jump position, waits for the signal, and he’s gone.
I move to the open door and ease myself outside the plane. The air rushing by tries to rip me out and hurl me to the ground. That’s when the euphoria starts to creep in, seeping its way into my head. My mouth turns up in a smile. I’m on the verge, in that place before the climax. Soaring above the world, death chasing me, nipping at my heels.
I get the nod and let go.
I fall away from the plane so fast the noise of the engine is instantly gone, replaced by the deafening blast of the wind. I spread my arms and legs wide, loosening the flaps of my wingsuit, and catch the air. It lifts me up, jerking me higher, and I tip to the side before I correct and get my balance.
I’m fucking flying.
I holler into the air, my voice fleeing behind me. The wingsuit keeps me gliding, more than falling, as I cut through the air. The world is so far away it’s meaningless. I’m in the sky, riding the motherfucking wind. Elation barrels into me, crashing through my mind, leaving nothing in its wake. I’m as clear as the sparkling water of the lake below me, higher than any drug has ever gotten me.
The ground gets closer and I lean to the left, staying on target with the landing zone. I’ve done this jump dozens of times—enough that I’m starting to crave more. I want to go higher. Faster.
I started out skydiving, and after hundreds of jumps I wanted something else. I went on a bungee-jumping kick one summer, but those jumps are over too fast. I started BASE jumping off buildings and bridges. Even the near-miss I took off a cliff in Nevada didn’t faze me.
When I met a guy who did wingsuit diving, I knew I had to try it. I was addicted from the first jump. It’s like skydiving on steroids. The suit catches the wind, and you ride it like a fucking bird.
I don’t have much time before I have to pull my chute. I spread my arms wider to catch more of the wind, and it lifts me a little higher. I’m saturated with adrenaline, falling so fast I’d never survive the crash if I hit the ground. The landing site comes into view and I hesitate, my hand on the cord. I need to pull it, but I’m not quite ready. It’s too fucking good; I don’t want it to stop. I’m flying and falling all at once, the rush through my mind and body so much I almost can’t breathe.
I’m completely alive.
Three seconds. That’s all I have left.
Two.
One.
I pull the cord and my chute billows out behind me, jerking me upward as it catches the air. The harness tightens around my chest.
I float toward the ground, steering as I go. The ground crew is waiting. The other two jumpers are already on their feet, repacking their chutes. I pull on the steering lines, keeping my approach steady. The ground surges toward me and I’m hit with another kick of adrenaline. Landing is another rush, a moment of danger, the time when things often go bad.
But death won’t take me yet.
I nail the landing, running as my feet touch the ground, my chute falling behind me. My breath comes fast and the euphoria holds.
I’ll be high for hours after that jump. It was perfect.
We pack up our gear, and a truck takes us back to the hangar. This will be my last jump at Lake Elsinore for a while, but they have such a good crew I’m going to have to get down here again soon. I’m moving back to Seattle in the morning—whether permanently or just for a few months I haven’t decided yet. I’ll have to see how things go with the company I’m buying.
I get another little hit at that thought. I’m taking a big risk, both professionally and financially. But that’s why I can’t resist. If this gamble pays off, I’m not only going to make a shit ton of money, I’m going to make a huge impact in the markets I’m targeting. No one ever got anywhere without putting themselves out there and taking chances. Those chances are what I live for. I go from one to the next, always craving another. Always craving more.
I’ve had a great run in San Francisco these last five years. I’ve achieved everything I set out to do, and more. Now I wonder, what sort of rush does Seattle have in store for me?
3: Selene