Freefall Summer

by Tracy Barrett

  “He opened just fine,” Randy was saying. “We tracked away, and when I was open I looked back, and everything looked okay.”

  “Nobody’s blaming you.” Noel sounded grim.

  Oh no, please not Denny, I thought, but there was Denny on the edge of the field, squinting up at the sun like everyone else.

  I went over to Louisa. “Who is it?”

  “That college kid who did an AFF a week ago.” She sounded tense.

  “Travis?” Oh no.

  She nodded. “He was totally freaked out last weekend, but he came back during the week and did the rest of the course.”

  What was he doing? Proving something to the girl who Randy had been flirting with? Of all the bad reasons to skydive, proving something to someone else is about the worst.

  “This is his second solo,” Louisa said. “He did fine the first time. I probably should have run through steering once more, but he seemed okay, and honestly, how hard is it to steer?”

  When Denny glanced in my direction, I waved at him. He trotted over and shrugged off his harness. “What’s going on? Where’s he going?”

  “He’s supposed to be heading this way.” I looked at the wind sock. “I don’t know why he isn’t.”

  My dad said into the microphone, “It’s normal to drop a little when you turn. You’re tucking in an edge of the parachute when you pull down on the toggle, so of course there’s less of it holding you up, and you’ll descend a bit faster. It’ll go back to normal as soon as you release the toggle.”

  The student must have answered, because my dad said, “No, you’re just fine. You’re nowhere near the ground, and you have lots of room to play with. Now let me see you pull on the right toggle a little. Come on…” He looked at Cynthia.

  “Travis,” she supplied.

  “Come on, Travis. Let’s see a little turn.” After an agonizing moment, the right-hand edge of the canopy bent down a bit. Travis let go of the turn almost right away. He must have screeched, because my dad winced and pulled the headset away from his ears.

  “That was great.” He settled the headset back down. “Do it again, and hold it down a little farther and for a little longer. You’re still heading downwind, and unless you turn into the wind, you’ll have a rough landing.”

  He turned the microphone away from his mouth and said, “Randy, go out and ride along the road west of Knoxton. He’ll come down out there someplace.”

  Randy started unbuckling his harness, but before he could finish I ducked back into the office and grabbed my dad’s car keys off the hook. I ran to the lot and started the car. My dad was talking to Travis and didn’t even turn around. My heart was pounding, and it wasn’t just because I was afraid that something would happen to Travis. I felt guilty that I had talked him into jumping when he was so scared. Maybe if I hadn’t convinced him, he wouldn’t have jumped last weekend and he’d have quit. Or he might have waited until he was in a better frame of mind.

  I tossed my phone onto the dashboard and adjusted the seat. The passenger door opened and Denny hopped in. “Would it help if I watch where he’s going while you drive?” he asked.

  “Sure. Call my dad and tell him we’re going to get him. It would take Randy too long to get his rig off and everything.” I gave him the number as I pulled out of the lot. Denny relayed the message and I turned onto the road.

  If Travis hit the power lines, it would make no difference when we got there because he would have already sizzled. If he didn’t hit them and he did an okay landing, the worst that could happen would be landing in a cow pie. But if he was freaked out, he might botch the landing and break something. Or worse.

  I had to slow for an Amish wagon. I gripped the steering wheel, muttering, “Come on, come on,” and as soon as the road widened, I zoomed around it. “Do you see him?” I asked Denny.

  “Pretty much straight ahead. Heading left.”

  “This road curves right soon,” I said. “I think if I turn left at the next—” My phone rang. “Could you get that? It might be my dad. They can see him from a different angle.”

  It was Cynthia. After conferring with her, Denny said, “She says it looks like he’ll come down near the farm with the vegetable stand. You know the one she means?”

  I nodded as I tore into the left-hand turn, scattering gravel. “We’re heading for it now. Do you still see him?”

  “Yep. He’s getting awfully low.”

  “Facing into the wind?”

  There was a pause while Denny looked at the trees to see which way the leaves were blowing. “I don’t think so.”

  The kind of canopy Travis was flying has a forward drive of about fifteen miles per hour. So if there’s a wind of, say, ten miles per hour, that means a jumper heading downwind will be going forward at twenty-five, which would mean a really hard landing. But if he faces into the wind, he’ll be going only five miles per hour. That’s why it’s important to be turned the right way.

  We were pretty far away, and it looked like Travis was going to come down on the other side of a small hill. I didn’t know if my dad could see him anymore. That meant my dad couldn’t talk him through the landing, and since Travis was so wired, he’d probably flare way high and come crashing down. I sped up.

  The road curved around the little hill, and I caught a glimpse of the green-and-white canopy, and then I saw Travis. He was holding the steering toggles but not pulling down on them. The power lines stretched across the road, marked by what looked like basketballs.

  “Ruh-roh.” Denny glanced at me.

  “Call my dad, quick, and tell him to tell Travis to pull his feet up.” He did, and Travis bent his knees as he went over the road. I don’t know if he would have brushed against the power lines if he hadn’t, but it would have been close.

  The road dipped around the hill, and I lost sight of him again. Denny muttered, “Come on, come on, come on,” although whether he was telling me to go faster or willing Travis to do a good landing, I didn’t know.

  The road sloped upward, and there was Travis. He was still heading downwind, but luckily the wind had dropped some. I drove as close to the field as I could, slammed on the brakes, and raced out of the car. I yelled, “Flare! Flare right now!”

  I hoped he could hear me and also that he would manage to do it. And miraculously, he did. He pulled down on the toggles—he was so close now that I could see his lips set in a tight line—and the forward motion of the canopy slowed. He swung forward nice and easy and touched down. Anybody could have stood it up, but he didn’t even try, or maybe his knees were wobbly, because he stumbled forward and collapsed. He lay facedown without moving.

  Denny came running. At the crest of the next hill was the little farm stand, with a few cars and pickups near it. Some of the cars were heading our way—curious whuffos, probably. I hoped at least one of them was a doctor or nurse or paramedic.

  Before we reached Travis, he sat up and leaned forward. He puked on the grass, pressed his hand to his chest, and puked again. Phew. Not seriously hurt if he could sit up by himself. Denny said into the phone, “He seems okay. We’ll call you back as soon as we know for sure.”

  I pulled off Travis’s goggles. “You okay?” I asked. “How was the landing? Did you hurt anything?”

  “I don’t know,” Travis confessed. “I was just so glad to be on the ground that I didn’t even notice.” He started to push himself up to his feet, but I told him to wait a minute and gathered up the canopy. I nodded at Denny and he gave Travis a hand up.

  “Nothing hurts,” Travis said, leaning to one side and then the other, testing his ankles.

  Denny handed me the phone. I told Cynthia, “He’s on his feet. He didn’t hit too hard, I don’t think.” We walked to the car, watched by a silent group of whuffos. They were probably disappointed not to see any blood or broken bones.

  Now that it was over, I wondered what my dad would say when I got back. I rehearsed my answer: “I have a license, it’s a country road in the middl
e of the day, I drove carefully, Randy would have had to take off his rig to drive, and that would have taken too long…”

  I don’t care, I told myself. Let him get mad. I did the right thing.

  As I helped Travis settle into the backseat, one of the whuffos said, “I don’t see why anyone would jump out of a perfectly good airplane.” I knew that Denny was now a for-real jumper because he rolled his eyes and grimaced at me.

  I called my dad. “We’re on our way back,” I told him, and held my breath.

  “Tell Denny not to call me again while he’s driving,” he said. “And take it slow. I want Travis to have some time to process what happened before I talk to him.” I was tempted to tell him that I’d been the one driving, but reason prevailed, and all I said was that we’d take our time.

  “Why don’t you drive, Denny?” I asked. “I’ll sit back here with Travis.”

  “So what happened up there?” Denny asked Travis as we drove off.

  I glanced at Travis. He was looking out the window, his hair matted to his head. “I’m not sure. It suddenly all seemed so real, you know? Every time I made a turn, I kind of swung out and it felt like a roller coaster, and I realized how much faster I dropped. It panicked me, and I thought that if I just let go of everything and let it happen, it would all take care of itself somehow.” He had the grace to look embarrassed.

  “The canopy ride didn’t bother you on your first jump?” Denny asked.

  Travis shook his head. “I was so full of adrenaline that time that I didn’t notice.”

  I didn’t want to embarrass him further, so I asked carefully, “Did they tell you about heading into the wind?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And about the power lines out in this direction?”

  He didn’t answer, and I saw that he was white. I shouldn’t have reminded him about how close he had come to frying himself.

  “Pull over,” I said urgently. Denny did, and I jumped out and yanked the door open just in time for Travis to throw up onto the side of the road. I took a bottle of water out of the trunk. It was warm and so old that it probably tasted like plastic, but I didn’t think he’d notice. I gave it to him along with an ancient piece of gum I found in the glove compartment.

  Travis lay down in the backseat—I didn’t have the heart to make him buckle up—and I sat in the passenger seat, next to Denny.

  At the DZ everyone was going about their business again now that the excitement was over. My dad led Travis into the office for a “debriefing,” which I knew would end with him telling Travis that he recommended that he stop jumping, at least for now. He wouldn’t let him jump at Skydive Knoxton again without going through another AFF course. I didn’t think Travis would ever come back, though. I think he’d had enough of trying to impress that girl.

  All of a sudden I burst into tears. I clamped my hand over my mouth to hold in the sobs and ran to the hangar, which was blessedly empty. I buried my face in a musty old canopy and cried and cried.

  When I finally stopped I sat up and wiped my eyes, knowing that I was smearing dust and dirt around my face. What the hell had just happened? Why was I crying?

  Because if he’d died, it would have been your fault, said the cold little voice inside of me.

  I knew it wouldn’t have been my fault. But knowing you’re not responsible for someone’s death and feeling it were two different things. That was something I’d known forever—at least ever since Dr. Mike.

  I’d thought, until Angie finally convinced my dad to take me to Dr. Mike, that it was my fault that my mom had died. Even years later, when I knew that the problem had been a bag lock, I thought that if she hadn’t been so distracted by my crying, she would have been able to clear it.

  I also thought my dad blamed me for her going in. Sometimes I caught him looking at me in a way that made me wonder if he’d overheard me whining that day, or if she’d told him about it. I couldn’t ask him and he’d never bring it up, so I’d never know.

  And then I’d talked Travis into jumping last weekend, when he was so scared that he probably should have stayed on the ground. That jump had gone okay, which had probably encouraged him to think it would be a cinch the next time. But it looked like his terror ramped up instead of getting better. That happens sometimes. You’d think that if someone jumped and lived, they’d start getting over the fear, but sometimes it gets worse.

  Someone came in, and I turned my back to the door so they wouldn’t see my tear- and dust-streaked face. I started to pack the rig on the top of the big pile waiting for me, but my hands were trembling. Adrenaline, I told myself. Not guilt? Not a reminder of…another accident, perhaps? that cold little voice asked.

  “No,” I muttered. “That was totally different.” The complete opposite, in fact. I’d tried to talk my mom out of jumping that day, not into it, and besides, I wasn’t a little kid now. I didn’t believe in magical thinking anymore. What I’d said to my mom had nothing to do with what happened then, and what I said to Travis had nothing to do with today.

  I took a deep breath, willed my hands to stop shaking, and got to work.

  When I went into the office a little later, Cynthia was on the phone with a vendor, not paying any attention to Travis, who was talking to Randy. I lingered a bit to eavesdrop, but Randy’s tone was so low that I could catch only a word here and there. He looked devious, or maybe he just looked like Randy. There wasn’t much difference.

  “—Jump Ranch,” I heard Randy say. “They won’t check.”

  Travis murmured something and I could guess what Randy’d been telling him: that if he wanted to jump again, he could always go to the Jump Ranch. As long as he had the logbook showing his AFF jumps, they’d probably figure it was his own business whether he freaked out or not.

  Randy glanced at me and said something to Travis, who also looked at me, and then they rose and left. What, did Randy think I was going to tattle on him? Jerk.

  Cynthia finished her conversation and asked me to mind the phone. While I sat there I pulled up the website of Theo’s camp again. I stared at Theo and the girl—Ali—on top of the mountain. She was grinning straight into the camera, but he was looking down at her with a smile so sweet, it almost broke my heart. It was like he was proud of her and amazed by being with her all at the same time.

  Cynthia came back. “Thanks for taking over,” she said as I quickly closed the page.

  The way Theo was looking at Ali bothered me all the way back to the rear of the hangar, where I told myself that there was some logical explanation, and the next time I talked to Theo I’d find out what it was, and then I’d feel stupid for even worrying about it. It was just because I was still upset about Travis. That’s why I was letting myself get all worked up because of a picture of my boyfriend, who loved me, and a girl he hadn’t even known this time last week.

  I wished there was someone I could talk to. Not Angie, who was worried about Leanne and her grandkids. I’d already unloaded enough on her. Julia would still be at work, and later she’d surely be doing something with Justin.

  No, there was only one person I wanted to talk to about this, and she was dead.

  The sun lingered on the horizon. Norton flew a sunset load, which was really pretty because one of the canopies was white and reflected the pink and orange of the sky. The jumpers on that load would pack their own rigs, so I was done for the day. I cleaned up and took my log sheet to the office.

  My dad was on the PA system, calling a meeting of all personnel. I started to leave to make dinner (which meant microwaving some boxed mac and cheese, and grilling hot dogs), but just as I reached the door, my dad said, “All personnel, C.C. You’re on salary now, remember?”

  I couldn’t very well complain about the policy so soon after my promotion, so I came back in and sat down. Cynthia stayed behind the desk, Leon and Noel sat on the floor, and Randy and Louisa came in and sat on folding chairs, like me. My dad stood in front of Cynthia’s desk.

  “I don’t thi
nk I need to tell you,” he said, “that what happened today could have been much, much worse. The boy was lucky. He barely missed the power lines, and he came down very close to the road. We’re also lucky that there weren’t a lot of whuffos around. The last thing we need is for someone to post pictures or, God forbid, video of a mess like that online.” I winced, thinking of the video of my mom. “We need to reexamine how students are prepared so we can try to prevent this kind of thing from happening again.”

  “He just freaked out, Dave,” Randy broke in. “If someone’s going to freak out under canopy, there’s no way any amount of training is going to prevent it.”

  “True,” my dad said, “but I’m not really talking about training. I’m saying that the instructors should watch for signs that freaking out is a possibility.”

  That raised a chorus of “It’s always a possibility” and “How are you supposed to know that?”

  Noel said, “You can never tell. Before Denny did his first AFF, I’d have said that he’d be a screamer all through freefall. You never saw a greener face in your life. But he bombed right out and handled his canopy like a pro, and look how many jumps he’s done since then.”

  Louisa added, “Me too. I thought he was the typical rich kid who would do one jump and never show up again, but he can’t wait to get out the door. So you’d have lost a good AFF student and probably a future jumper if you’d asked us if he was going to freak out.”

  “I’m just asking you to try to tune in a little more to what they’re thinking,” my dad said. “Get to know them.” I shot a look at Randy and sure enough, he was smirking. If he said something stupid about always being ready to get to know some of them—nudge nudge, wink wink—my dad would fire him for sure.

  “So how can you tell a student who’s just the normal amount of nervous from one who’s going to fall apart?” Leon asked.