Det er for sent at hoppe fra. Jeg kan kun hoppe ud nu. Jeg er fastspændt. Det suser. Jeg tænker desperat over en undskyldning, der kan få mig ud af dragten. Ned på jorden igen. Uden at jeg skal springe.

Jeg ved allerede at alle undskyldninger vil komme ud som en løgn. En gennemskuelig løgn.

Fordi det vil være løgn.

Jeg vil ikke alligevel. Jeg tør ikke.

Eller jeg vil gerne.

Men alt indeni mig skriger. Det er ikke mig, der skriger. Det er alle dele af min krop.

Mine lunger gør ondt, ribbenene gør ondt. Storetåen, knæene, det yderste af mit hår, der flagrer hårdere og hårdere.

Hvorfor har de ikke fortalt mig, at jeg skulle have håret strammet til med elastikker. hårnåle.

Fordi den der flyver det lille røde fly er en mand. Og fordi den jeg er spændt fast til, er en mand.

De har ikke tænkt over det, for de har ikke langt flagrende hår, der kaster sig ind i ansigtet og foran øjnene, der sidder bag de stramme briller.

De virker ikke bange. De virker heller ikke spændte eller glade, som jeg havde forestillet mig det.

Det slår mig, at de er irriterede på mig. Fordi jeg ikke har det sjovt. Fordi jeg ikke får det meste ud af det. Eller fordi jeg er besværlig.

Jeg føler mig i vejen. Tung som jeg står der fastspændt til den unge lyshårede mand. Dreng?

Tung at danse med.

Gammel.

Som når jeg står og taler på kontoret med min telefon flagrende i hånden, og den 25-årige medarbejder griner og siger, at min telefons lygte er tændt. “Som en rigtig boomer”.

Det betyder, at de synes, jeg er gammel. Utjekket kan det vel oversættes til.

Det er også dét, jeg føler lige nu.

At jeg er for bange til at jeg også kan være cool.

Det er ikke cool bare at hoppe ud af et fly.

Man skal også kunne gøre det med en særlig stemning i kroppen. Er det glæde? Eller en form for naiv spænding. Mod på livet. At tage en stor bid af livet.

Det kan ikke lade sig gøre for mig.

Jeg er uncool.

Også selv om jeg kaster mig ud af et fly i 1000 meters højde.

My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it. “I don’t want to do this, I don’t want to do this,” I think to myself. “Why do I keep doing this to myself? Why am I always getting myself into things that scare me so much?”

I’m holding down the vomit I feel coming. My stomach is a fluttering kaleidoscope of butterflies. I feel myself shiver and shake with a mix of the frosty afternoon air, and the pure horror of the high fall I will be jumping off in a short amount of time.

“Dianne, it’s your turn!!” The excited, yet surprisingly active and fit, middle aged lady called. My heart sinks. That’s my name.

I waddle over to the edge. I get the final safety rope attached to my harness and prepare for the jump. “One, two…” the lady says. I inhale. I close my eyes and think of all the little things I was scared of as a child, and compare them to what I’m doing now. Time seems to slow down. I feel an awkward kind of calm and gratitude. “Three!” She finally says as I’m gently pushed over the edge. Soaring through the air, I feel alive.

Then I hear the rope crackle. crack, crack…snap!

Suddenly, I don’t feel so alive anymore…

I can’t explain My enfatuation But I can feel it Everyone can see it It’s wrong but I want to know How slow will things go Without you by my side

Betrayal is the greatest form of sadness Without it we are thrown into madness From thinking clearly we all seem to elevate Our minds are left to self validate The lease inside my mind Eating me alive I can’t seem to find My way Is it possible to love Without being stuck on a glove

With my head in the clouds But my feet on the ground I look up to the sky For a bit of guidance But it seems All I Can do Is scream From the inside I’m trapped from the inside While thriving on the outside

Thrilling. I’ve been waiting for this instant. Exhilarating. I wanted to do this. I’ve been called a daredevil. I wanted to live up to the name. Bungee jump. Why not? Now I want to go. Yet I’m not so proud. I look at the gap between the bridge and the ground. Why? Thrilling? Terrifying? I feel alive. I get stuck. I want to jump. And I don’t. Should I? I should. Will I?

Vulcanised rubber strips Between me and death's grip Just a slip and I'm dying in a gallows choke Just a trip and I smash into the valley below Just a rip and They haul me up crippled and broke But it's for charity So I laugh and I joke About my impending bungee rope horror And I hope Hang on so tight to sweet bloody hope

Well, Not a surprise. At least not a welcome one,

Oh, Every compliment, A backhand.

You see, There is always something Bigger than you.

And guess what, There is always someone Worse off than you.

Sooo When you bring your Petty shit to my door

Guess what, It ain’t here no More!

Bye…

Gazes held, Smiles shared. With new eyes And new feeling.

Waists held, Longing shared, With new eyes And new care.

Warmth held, Lusting shared, With new wants, And new care.

Patience held, understanding shared. With new fears And new care.

…

❤️

The ground beneath me got further away the more I stared down at it. We were 25,000 feet in the air. I didn’t know you were allowed to jump from a cliff this high. But here I was.

The wind whips at my hair and I peer over the edge of the platform. The height of the drop takes my breath away, and I feel my breakfast start climb back up my throat. I force it back down and take a shaky breath. “This is for him,” I remind myself. “It’ll be worth it.” I pat my harness and double check the bungee cord clip again in reassurance. Everything seems secure, almost suffocating in its snugness, but the knowledge doesn’t take away my fear. “You ready?” James asks. “As ready as I’ll ever be.” Brandon wanted this, I remind myself. After this, only three more items until his bucket list is completed and his soul is finally laid to rest. “Let’s do this,” I mutter. Out of the corner of my eye, I see James flash me a thumbs up. Then, before I have time to chicken out, I leap into the void awaiting below.

Instructor Jeremy secured the final piece of equipment with a clank against the green patina covered bridge. I stepped up to the launch point and looked out at the vast wilderness ahead of me. The river below us forged a path through a valley enclosed by snow-capped mountains.

Last year, cancer was winning. This year, I was in remission. It sounds cliche, but I beat death and I wouldn’t waste it. Was I terrified of bungee jumping off this scenic bridge? Yes. Instead of considering reasons to step back from the ledge, I leapt.

Wind whipped through my hair and my stomach found itself in my throat. I screamed from a mix of exhilaration and terror. Just when I thought my cord wouldn’t catch my fall, I bounced flawlessly.

I did it!