I remembered at what I thought was an odd time that I'd read somewhere
that the person who invented the parachute did so before humans had the ability to
fly. I was on top of a peak in Sedona, Arizona that was desperately
steep. I realized that whomever invented the parachute was motivated by one of two reasons: he thought enough of life that he believed one day he would fly or he was consumed with the inevitability of falling. Either way, he had bad timing, inventing the means to land softly before he could leap from the sky.
I’ve thought of this again recently when I was moving down a glass elevator from the 25th floor of a hotel. The height wasn’t as steep as the peak in Sedona or as tall as the 59th story and those that came after, but it was high enough to remind me of the risk of falling, especially when I’ve been warned not to, not here.
The person who rode the elevator down with me told me once that I am unsentimental and strong, but that I can be so---girly, was the word he used---at the same time. I’m not sure which one is the facade. Is the parachute a product based on the certainty of gravity or the faith of flying?
It was a warmish October day, but still officially fall, so I wore a scarf over a shirt with no sleeves. If anyone was watching me, they’d observe nothing out of the ordinary: a girl rode down an elevator next to a man who likes most about her that she doesn’t give in to the scents and scenarios of emotion, but instead admires objectively the chemicals while they change forms and colors when combined. They were probably just going to have a drink, and then to have a dinner where they would halve leaves and eat them with sticks. They were theoretically going to imbibe chemicals that would forgive them the burden of science so she could remove her lab coat and give in to the scents and scenarios after the elevator ride back up.
What she really studies under the covers with a flashlight is the science of physics. What goes up, must come down. The magic of this fact is that one can either choose to jump or one can fall. One can do this in a dress and high heels or wings made of yarn or with an oath that the hypothesis, after testing successfully, becomes law.
Having been paralyzed on a red cliff in the desert, fallen 59 floors in a city, and now moving slowly down from the 25th story, I’ve learned the following unsentimental truth:
One day, I will know the outcome to every story I will ever tell. I will know the ending already and have no choice but to look backwards and wonder what outcomes could have been had I not been so consumed by the edge that I didn't digest the view.
But, this is not how we live when we are in between stories. We have strings attached, double-check our harnesses, keep people at the distance of a handshake or clutch to them for dear life, and walk to and from the places we go dragging behind us, like tails, the bright blankets of our salvation—meant to
break the impact of falling, but instead tie us, weight to the ground.
