“Don’t get attached.”

Our company’s motto.

I always found it a bit ironic, being that we literally and physically needed to stay attached to survive.

Our job is epically joyful, but we need to take it seriously. We risk our lives and that of our patrons by harnessing up, and diving head-first at 30,000 feet.

We are tandem skydive trainers, and that fateful summer, I learned how to fly. I had never felt such bliss. The winds of change carried me up into the peakest of heights, both in thrill-seeking and love.

You know when your coworker warns you that the new guy is cute but not to get involved? Well, I seem to be especially prone to that which I can’t have, and my heart didn’t know that it was sabotaging my wellbeing by falling head over heels in love.

We were perfectly matched from day one. I was tasked with taking the new guy up for his first flight, where I would pilot. He got to enjoy the ride while we both took in an especially colourful and spectacular sunrise view. We soared together for what seemed like hours, and landed on our bottoms, laughing and rolling in a nearby field.

Many moons passed over successful flights had, and one particular harvest moon we sat by a fire and celebrated his graduation to pilot status. He would now go on to teach newbies how to fly.

That night we fell asleep in each others arms. Each of us knew that to be together would end our careers. Pilots could not be emotionally or relationally involved; we needed to stay clear headed to keep everyone in the air safe.

I had an idea. At the end of the summer I would take a leave of absence and get transferred to a nearby town for work. I wanted to keep everything a secret, both to avoid tipping off my boss, and to leave it as a surprise for my soon-to-be beau’s birthday.

The day came. I sprang out of bed. I got to work early, letter in hand. I went to pack up my things and checked the locker room to see if he was there. He was gone. Already up taking a new girl on a flight.

Our radio girl burst through the glass doors, tears streaming down her face.

“There’s been a terrible accident”.

Those words echoed in my ears. I didn’t need to hear what I already knew to be true. I ran for the exit. Tripped over my shoes. Landed onto the concrete with a skid. Blood and gravel deep in my face. Tears screamed their way out as I writhed in agony and heartbreak on the parking lot ground.

We buried him a few days later, in the field where we rolled and played. Our favourite tree in the distance. His favourite song singing in the wind.

Don’t get attached. Easy to say. Impossible to practice, when love gets in the way.