I have been waiting for life to begin. Always believing that when one thing fell into place, that everything else would follow. But it’s not worked like that so far, so why do I still believe it to be true?
Maybe what I should be focusing on is how my life feels right now. Not in the future, not when the paper is in a better place, not when my mother says she’s proud of me, not when I meet someone or change my hair or read a new book that will transform my life. All the time I’m spending imagining is robbing me of experiencing my life as it actually is. It takes me away from now. It takes me away from the life I’m living. Or leading. Or maybe sleep-walking through.
Lost in thought, I now realise we’ve taken off and we’re rising. One of the guys opens the sliding door on the side of the plane, revealing the hatch that we will be leaping from. We are incredibly high in the air, above clouds, in a very cold grey stratosphere over the earth. This must be the place.
Then John Boy tells me we’re only halfway up.
Halfway?
So much for my calculations.
I watch my altimeter slowly go up – 5,000 feet, 7,000 feet, 9,000 feet, 11,000 feet, and then finally to 13,000 feet. That’s a little over two miles!
The plane circles the area. I think we’re close. I think it’s time.
Very suddenly, the door slides fully open and freezing cold air rushes in. The nun and her tandem partner begin to inch their way towards the opening and, just like that, they topple out into the vast, white wilderness. It is surreal seeing somebody drop out of the door and disappear into the sky, but not anywhere near as surreal as knowing I’m going do the same in about fifteen seconds.
My heart is thumping, and my mind is racing as a million and one thoughts go through my head. Palms sweaty, my vision tunnels, and all I can hear is the loud sound of the propellers along with that tiny voice inside screaming holy shit as John Boy and I creep towards the plane door. It’s our turn now. There’s nobody left here but us.
Soon, I am at the opening of the airplane. I curl my legs over the side and against the belly of the plane, as instructed, my toes hanging over into the abyss, but I can only manage to prise one eye open.
I cross my arms over my chest. ‘I can’t do this. I can’t move,’ I say, my voice rasping and tight. Even I did not expect to be this scared. This is a whole new level! My body has taken over and I can’t release my hands. They are clenched tight and rock solid, my skin stretched white over my knuckles. It’s like my body is telling me no! In the same way that you can’t hold your breath past a certain point or keep your head under water. It’s survival instinct.
I think of the botched skydive YouTube videos I shouldn’t have watched last night… I can’t… I just can’t… I can’t help it. The fear has gripped me. I’m not in charge of my own body, my own words. I just know I cannot do this. This is crazy. I tried to trick and distract myself with life-affirming hype and that may have been enough to get me up here, but it’s not enough to get me to the end of this. I just cannot freakin’ move from this spot.
John Boy is tilting himself outside of the hatch, ready to lunge forward. ‘You don’t have to do anything, just let go… let go of everything, all your fear, all your thoughts, just relax and leave it all to me. I’ll do it for both of us. Just let go.’
I shake my head and shut my eyes. ‘I mean, I really can’t do this. I’m too scared… I’m too…’
‘Yes you can, Lily! Don’t you dare bail on me.’
I hear the words echo over and over.
Don’t you dare bail on me!
I remember the last time very similar words were said. I had Adam’s hand in mine and I begged him over and over, don’t you dare bail on me. Please, don’t, not now, not here, not ever…
But that was before I knew that actually there was no going back. There was no going forward. There was only free fall. Adam was in love with Hannah. He wasn’t in love with me. This was not pre-wedding jitters or cold feet. This was him telling me that we were finished. Done. Broken. Unfixable.
Then I had no more choices. No more ways to go or places to turn. I let go of Adam’s hand and I stopped begging. I walked out of the church. Down the aisle I should have walked as a married woman. A tear-stained bride heading past the packed pews, breaking out in the wrong direction.
And if in that moment, I could have thrown myself out of this moving plane, I would have done it. My body wouldn’t have resisted. It would have been far easier, much less scary than catching the eye of confused guests, of a concerned vicar, of my disoriented grandmother and downward-gazing mother.
John Boy squeezes my hand. ‘Lily, I bet you’ve done scarier things than this…’
Oh yes, that’s certainly true. I have done scarier things than this.
‘And believe me, on the other side of your fear, the other side of those clouds, is pure freedom, elation and nothing you’ve ever felt before. It’s not falling – it’s flying.’
I look at him. I want to see the other side. I want to feel the other side of fear.
I nod. ‘Okay.’
‘That’s my girl. You ready to fly, Lily?’
I am. I am finally ready.
‘Ready, set…’ And we launch into the wind.
In one graceful swoop, we are free-falling 13,000 feet in one giant leap of faith, adrenaline and excitement. There is only one way to go now and we’ve got to roll with it.
The earth gets very close, very quickly, and if my fully conscious skydiving partner doesn’t pull the parachute soon, we will splat. This is what John Boy calls the ‘fun’ part. I open my mouth to scream but nothing comes out because it feels like my throat has been sealed tight. And the wind-rush is so powerful, I can’t shut my mouth closed! I’m a human wind tunnel hurtling against the earth. Sweet Jesus, I actually deserve to splat. This shouldn’t be legal.
Finally, after the longest minute of my life, John Boy pulls the chute. There’s a light tug and then we are floating. The biggest difference now is how quiet it is; with the rush of the wind gone, it seems like the most peaceful, serene experience ever, gently gliding through the air.
‘Is this the other side?’ I shout to John Boy and he nods, smiling with his eyes. And I agree. It feels like the other side of something all right. A better, brighter side.
This is the moment when I properly appreciate that we’re still alive, that it’s done, that the whole thing actually becomes un-fucking-believable. These few minutes after free fall, when the parachute opens and we soar through the sky, looking down at the most spectacular views, the rolling hills, the river, the town, the animals. John Boy was right, this is flying. Perhaps this is what makes us appreciate life so much. In that moment when you realise how fragile but miraculous your life is, you want to live it to the fullest. I am terrified, no doubt about that, but I know that I’ve been through worse and survived, that there must be something in me that is bigger than bailing out, stronger than that, despite my fear, pushing me further than I thought I could go.
I thought I’d feel like I was plummeting to the ground, but I don’t. I don’t really even get the sensation of falling. The world is so far away, and the wind resistance is pushing up against us, holding us, it feels like we’re just floating in place.
We land smoothly and softly on the grass. John Boy high-fives me. ‘You could be good at this! I think you’ll be back.’
I shake my head and throw my arms around him. It seems the right thing to do, like he rescued me up there, maybe even before we left the plane.
Christopher runs towards me, camera in one hand and a bottle of bubbly in the other. I pop the cork and let the shower of bubbles spray all over us, and I take a sip from the neck and hand it to John Boy, laughing from the pit of my stomach. Now that I’m on terra firma, I feel on top of the world.
It feels like a lifetime since I was on solid ground; Christopher assures me it’s been twenty-three minutes.
It’s only Monday, and this is already shaping up to be a hell
of a week.
Christopher puts down his camera and gives me a huge hug, ‘You did it! Trust me now?’
I hold my face in my hands and nod. ‘Yes! I do! I can’t believe that just happened!’
And then we’re both laughing so hard I’ve got to bite the side of my hand. And somewhere in between breaths, he catches my eye and tells me that I’m amazing. Hearing that for the second time in one day, now that’s a record.
He promised that everything was going to be just fine. And sure enough, it was. Maybe that belief he has in me is catching.
Lily-1, Fear-0.
Nine
I’ve been up since 5 a.m. Can’t sleep. Can’t stay under the duvet any longer… too much to do. Too much to feel, too much life, too much energy, too much gratitude for the big, sprawling day of opportunity ahead of me.
My eyes spring open and I jump out of bed, leaving Chaplin asleep as I dust off my old bike and go for a cycle as the sun comes up. Glorious. I watch the fan of warm, light oranges and pinks creep up from the horizon. The sun slowly lifts its head, beating back the cold grey shadows until they fade to a perfect, clear blue sky. And I think to myself, I’ve been up there.
Back home, I take a long, hot shower, using all my best toiletries that smell wonderful – rhubarb and rose – and I’m lathered in luxuriant bubbles. Then I blow-dry my hair properly in sections with a round brush and not in my usual upside-down shake and blast frenzy. I put on my make-up at my little vanity table as I sing along to the radio and finally snip off the tags and slip on a new blue dress that I have held off wearing, waiting for some unidentified future occasion to justify its purchase. But today is as good an occasion as any. It feels that it is the beginning of something new. And that’s the funny thing about beginnings, you often don’t realise that they’ve already started.
I make fresh coffee as I fling open my windows and let the early morning sunshine breathe its buttery warmth into my little kitchen. Breakfast is a delicious, nutritious one of eggs and toasted bread with fresh cherry tomatoes.
And then I do something that I’ve actually wanted to do for a long, long time. Maybe, something that wouldn’t qualify as a very exciting bucket list item but, none the less, something I long to do more often, more regularly, something that really makes me happy. I take out my light blue Moleskine notebook, sit in the morning sunlight with Chaplin in my lap and I write.
I pour out everything that is in my head, loving the feel of my hand brushing against the soft, silken, cream-coloured pages and watching in quiet fascination how the once blank space fills with dancing ink and cursive flounces. A bit like the skydive, I’m often fearful before I do this. That’s what keeps me away from it, the paralysing nerves that convince me that I’ll sit down and no words will come, that I’ll stare into the abyss of the empty page with nothing to say, no mark to make, the mute, vacant face of failure staring back at me.
The last few submissions to Gareth hadn’t exactly bolstered my confidence. I wanted to break into longer features, so I’d drafted some and sent them to him, but his feedback was that they were too long, too detailed, too personal/emotional/girly. The last one I’d sent I got no feedback at all, which I guess meant he couldn’t be bothered to even read it. This crushed me altogether and I felt silly for even trying. Like I was kidding myself that I could ever write beyond car-boot sales and classifieds.
But this morning, whether it’s still the adrenaline coursing through my veins from yesterday’s skydive or the real beginning of a new me, I’m not yet sure, but I feel brave. More than brave, I feel the fear, my hand quivering, my breath stuck in my throat, but I sit with it anyway.
And guess what? I start writing, and words come, and the world doesn’t end. And by the time I’ve finished, I’ve written eight pages. And it feels good. Really damn good.
I’m starting to appreciate how lucky I am. There are so many situations that I could have been born in to that would never have allowed me to live my life the way I do. What if my chance on this earth was as a cavewoman being dragged around by my hair, or a medieval concubine, or a slave riddled with leprosy, or an unloved daughter traded for livestock?
Unloved daughter. Well, maybe my new outlook doesn’t change everything. True, my mum is a complete narcissistic pain in the backside, but she’s living her own life, far away, without a chance in hell of ever returning to the low-lights of Newbridge, so even that cloud has a silver lining.
And the main point is, I will survive. More than survive. More than just show up. It is time I lived my life without the snooze button. I’ve got lots to be excited about. A lot to live for and look forward to. I get to do a bucket list without being at the end of my life. That’s a win-win.
So, with my new-found appreciation for my serendipitous existence, I make a pledge to myself that, from now on, I’ll make the most of my time here on this planet. I’m going to embrace opportunities and give things a try, approach things with hope, be a person that knows I didn’t waste any of my chances. And if I ever do slip into a state of existential apathy ever again, I’m going to take myself back up to 13,000 feet and throw myself out face first. And that should see me right.
But no need for that this morning. This morning is the first morning in as long as I can remember that I feel like I’ve stolen away a perfect day before it was even supposed to start. And I’m going to make sure the feeling continues. I’m going to walk into the newsroom. Editorial check! STRUT into the newsroom. I’m not going to lie or downplay how I’m feeling. I’m pretty bloody proud of myself. Okay, significant downplay there, the truth being I feel unbelievable.
I texted my mum last night and she hasn’t replied. This is a great sign. It means she’s completely stumped by the news that I went through with it and that I’m ecstatic about it. And that makes me feel every shade of wonderful, that I’ve already challenged her view of me as the mortified eight-year-old stuck up a climbing wall. Maybe I’m challenging my own view of myself and what I’m all about. And that’s exciting because who knows what new doors this may open. For the first time in a long time, I’m excited; there’s a world of possibility to explore.
I check the time, delighted to see that I’ve got an hour and a half before I set out to work. As if he can hear my thoughts, Chaplin meows and rubs his tail against my bare ankle. I snap a quick photo of him and text it to Mr Clark’s phone, just so he knows that he’s getting on fine and being well looked after. I haven’t heard back from him yet, but when he does feel better, I’m sure he’ll be in touch and I’ll arrange a visit. Chaplin in tow.
I open up the pantry and find I’m stocked up with eggs, flour and sugar and a few remaining jars of my grandmother’s lemon curd that I made weeks ago. Mary likes it, so when I make it, I always pass her a few jars as a small token of my gratitude for all her leads.
Chaplin begins to purr.
‘Oh, so you think so too? Well, it’s settled then, as we’ve got some people to thank. If we get cracking now, we’ve just enough time to rustle up some tartlets and start spreading the love.’
Ten
‘What the hell?’
I arrive in the office to a standing ovation. A home-made banner hangs from two coat racks reading ‘Congratulations!’
I stand in utter confusion and disbelief, slowly placing my bag and Tupperware box of lemon tarts on the nearest desk. It is only 8.30. Why is everyone here? Why is anyone here? This place is usually dead for another hour or so at least.
But these guys are very much alive. Amy wolf-whistles me with two fingers stuck either side of her mouth. Jasmine and Dylan are whooping and clapping and howling, ‘Go Lily!’
Even Mark salutes me with one finger.
‘What is actually going on here?’ I ask them. Why are they so excited? They all knew I was doing the skydive, so why this? Have I missed something?
Amy tiptoe-runs in her too-high heels to me, taking both my hands in hers. ‘When Christopher came back to the office yesterday afternoon, he asked us to
help pick the best photos for the campaign… Oh my goodness, Lily, I heard you mention that you were frightened, but the look on your face! You looked like you were going to the gallows and that was before you were even kitted out. You were deathly white and then all shades of greenish grey. You must have been absolutely crapping yourself, girl…’ She grabs the back of my head and presses me into her ample bosom. ‘But still you did it! Like a true professional, an inspirational leader! And even more than that, you did it for us!’
I attempt to shake my head in disbelief but can’t whilst wedged in Amy’s chest. I pull back for air. And that’s when I see it. Dylan and Mark step apart and roll out a life-size, colour poster of me mid-air, in my wind-blown orange jumpsuit, my face stretched in a smile wider than I’ve ever seen, my two thumbs up, a rainbow parachute filling the background with eye-popping colour against the electric blue sky. This is an amazing picture; it looks like it belongs in a gallery or an award-winners collection. I can’t believe that person there is me.
‘Who? What? When did…?’
I hear the door click open behind me; it’s Christopher, with a tray of coffees.
‘Lily! What do you think? The tagline will read, the Newbridge Gazette— Wait a second…’ He hands Jasmine the coffees and stretches out the top of the poster. ‘The Newbridge Gazette – before you make up your mind, open it.’
I am speechless. It’s perfect! ‘You did this? So soon?’
He shrugs. ‘Least I could do after what you put yourself through. You’ve really raised the bar now.’
‘And the tagline? You came up with that too?’
‘I thought the idea of opening your mind would work well with the parachute image, and this is my favourite shot. I mean, you look like you’re having the time of your life! So, it just came together. With the help of these guys, of course. Dylan sorted the graphics, Jasmine got us a great deal on the express printing and Mark hooked in a huge account with Escapades Travel and Tourism, which is insane, so ad sales will see a massive upturn which should make McArthur and Jennings very pleased. We set up a Gazette Local Projects charity link for donations and sponsorships – I thought it would be good if we use anything we raise to support the nun with her roof fund? We should be able to get a couple of quid for her and I got a great shot of her landing too. So great team effort all round.’
For Once In My Life: An absolutely perfect laugh-out-loud romantic comedy Page 11