Author’s Note: This was written for my essay class about one year ago. I decided to write it on my one-time-only freefall that I pulled. I still don’t really understand why I did it, but here’s my attempt. I don’t regret it but I do still question my sanity at the time. Happy readings?
Three Second Remedy
It’s not that I’m afraid of heights. It’s really not. It’s not that I’m a pansy either. It’s the thought of falling from a great distance that really intimidates me; so it doesn’t make any sense that I would agree to go bungee jumping for a friend’s birthday, unless I was in a drug-altered state. But, I don’t do drugs; so, it still doesn’t make sense. In my mind, the bungee-place existed so drug-addicts could proclaim their love for Satan as they plunged toward the ground, fulfilling their adrenaline rush of the night.
Nevertheless, on a Friday night in the middle of November, I and nine other people found ourselves at Zero Gravity in Dallas. Ten people received a group discount, so of course I had to go with them. Never mind that I didn’t know the majority of their names. To them, I was the $10 off their bill. To me, these people were my chance for a new set of friends. Falling to my doom at 150 feet is fucking ridiculous. It should have had me crying like a toddler who lost his or her mother in a wax museum.
In high school, lots of people knew me and enjoyed my company, but more often than naught, I found myself turning down invitations and choosing to stay at home to play video games with my brother or be dorky with my mom. It wasn’t that I didn’t like the friend I had. I just liked being at home with my family. I’m one of those people that needs to be forced to emerge from my isolation. Once I’m out and about, I’ll have a great time and think to myself, Why didn’t I want to come out again? In college I finally became emotionally attached to a group of friends that I considered my Best Fucking Friends 4Eva. We would hang out just about every day, spend the night at each other’s places on the weekends and criticize teenyboppers for their horrid emo fashion sense while we shopped in places like Hot Topic. Then 2008 reared its fat, ugly bloated face and ripped me apart. My immune system became the first letdown in a series of giant “Fuck you”s that year. I felt ill at least once a month, which forced me to either miss work or make me want to study less. My car decided to commit suicide and began over-heating regularly, which also caused a massive dent in my budget and spirit. Every time something showed improvement, something else would tackle me right in the midriff and create a wave of disbelief in my head. Why are so many things breaking down?
2008 became the Year of the Meat Grinder. It tested my faith in people and helped me better understand the depth of Wheeler Wilcox words’ “Be glad, and your friends are many; be sad, and you lose them all.” My friends, although supportive at times, began to tire of my sullen situation and depression. Every time something would go wrong, I’d grow a little sadder and their patience stretched thinner. I became stressed and maybe even needy. There was a few times where I went to one of my friends crying because something else went wrong and all I was looking for was a, “It’ll be all right.” I wasn’t trying to push them away. Some days I just needed to be alone to recover, sometimes literally when my health hit low points or emotionally when I felt the world sucked. I knew I was asking a lot to have them be there for me so I would back off every one in a while; nevertheless, they just didn’t want to deal with me anymore. One of the girls, a real bitch with a face to match, took advantage of my absences. I should have seen it coming.
“OH my GOD, Mari is acting like such a bitch. I swear if I hear another thing about her stupid car, I’m going to vomit.”
“Maybe let’s not hang out with Mari today? What if she’s contagious?”
“Um, we probably shouldn’t call Mari. I don’t think she’s got any money anyway.”
Ugh, what a bitch. I hope she gets rabies.
It sucked because I thought I had found people I could rely on. I had no qualms about trusting them to help me through the worst of it. In four months, one intervened and played Brutus while the other followed like a pathetic sheep that bleated for attention. One fateful day, they called me to meet up at Chili’s. I knew what was going to happen. They were going to let me go, going to cut me from the team. I didn’t want to go, but I went anyway because I wasn’t going to run away from them. I arrived with my head up and expecting to be blown away by meanness.
I totally was.
When I arrived, they were already there sitting on one side of the booth, right next to a blazing guitar and a picture of Charlie Chaplin. My first clue that they were going to tag team my beat down. I sat across from them, and stared at a neon pepper on the wall. I don’t want to be here. After a humiliating display on my part at a Chili’s restaurant, they bombed the last of my spirit and our friendship ended. We had planned to live together the following semester. They dissolved that. It was the end of April too, so I only had a week before school ended to look for another place to live with other roommates.
“We haven’t been happy with the way you’ve been treating us.”
“You need to get your shit together.”
“I don’t think we should live together anymore.”
Shit. I didn’t have a place to live. How am I going to find new roommates and an apartment for next semester? I can’t afford to live by myself. SHIT. What am I going to do?
“My parents don’t want me to live with someone who’s emotionally and financially unstable.”
What? “What?”
Did… did they just call me poor? And bipolar?
They took the best of me and left me with nothing more than a snotty nose, red eyes and a bleak future.
Emotionally and financially unstable.
That’s what I was to them. Even though I’m not known for erratic behavior and I could recall quite clearly how some new oh-my-god-total-drama arose from bad hair, pregnancy scares or the need for a new wardrobe at least twice a month. I think what chipped away at my self-esteem most was the latter. Because I was “financially unstable”, I was ostracized. My car picked one hell of a time to break down and become the variable that made my budget fluctuate for a couple of months. Sorry they were filled with too much douche-baggery to realize my attitude deteriorated with my situation and my streak of bad luck didn’t come before my desperation. I believe it was crappy car, annoyance, the flu, irritation, my car again plus money spent, and finally depression. So what? Did it warrant that kind of harsh treatment? I thought the characters in “Mean Girls “were just characters.
Since then, I’d been lacking in the socializing department. Even though my new roommates who adopted me into their apartment were the greatest I could ask for, I didn’t want to put myself out here anymore. I keep imagining more assholes would come and shake the ladder as I tried to climb back up to feeling normal; but then, one girl I was beginning to know better invited me to join her and her friends on an anti-gravity birthday extravaganza. This was my chance for new friends, for a new social life and a new personality. I wouldn’t have ever considered falling from an absurd height with my old Scooby Gang. As if any one them would have even had the guts to do what I was thinking about doing. I accepted because even though I am a firm believer in the idea that humans shouldn’t fly unless surrounded by engines and heavy metal, I wanted to make a friend.
Any adrenaline junkie would cream their pants over Zero Gravity’s toys. At least 10 massive contraptions filled the lot. All of them guaranteed to get your blood pumping and lungs compressed. The hour and 18 minutes it took to get there I was thinking, Yeah, this isn’t that bad. I can do this. Loser people do this all the time and I’m not a loser! YES, this makes sense.
Zero Gravity’s location did not put me at ease either. Right in the middle of a patch-grass lot with one heavy-duty florescent light to lure unsuspecting citizens into their lawless clutches. Each ride consummates the art of big metal and elastic. More than half the group I’m with decides to do more than one “ride”. I faced my cowardice and bought one ticket: the freefall.
I’m an idiot, a moron, someone who can’t tell if the yellow one is the lemon or the lime. After a not-so-careful deliberation, I decided on the freefall –not the bungee where at least you have something tethering you, or the weird Superman swing where my engine and metal theory is half-fulfilled. I chose to drop 100 feet from a height of 150 feet because if I were a Crayola Crayon, Two Day Bruise would fit me best because I am NOT the brightest crayon in the box.
Four girls and one worker boarded the swaying white metal box that night. The box reminded me of those creepy crane contraptions window washers use to climb buildings, expect bigger and with more square area. All that stood between an accidental fall and me was one thick bar made of yellow-teeth metal. The tower we were to fall from looked like the Eiffel Tower, but with less metal and more fear. The box lifted us up to the top of the tower, which was 150 feet high. The instructor then hooked you onto a bungee cord and lowered you a few feet below the box. You were then released to fall approximately 100 feet into a net that stood 50 feet above the ground. Once you fell into the net and stopped bouncing, the net would slowly descend to the ground where you could live out the last of your adrenaline by running around and yelping out gratitude that you survived to yelp. And I just can’t stress the height enough. 100 feet to 150 feet –what the hell, why? Why was I doing this? Was I going to win a prize at the end? Like, what, honor? No. You don’t receive anything, not even those yellow smiley-face stickers.
I wasn’t allowed to wear my glasses to the top and our jackets stayed on the wonderfully solid ground. I feel like a cripple without my glasses. My eyes need glasses to see like old people need fake teeth for corn. As we rise up into the apex of the tower, the fact that I can’t see two feet ahead of me becomes less important as the night shifts to the foreground. It doesn’t matter if I can focus or not because there’s nothing to see except the fuzzy gloom and creeping steel. It’s just dark.
A black harness wrapped around our thighs, waist and back. I breathed in deep as the harness clicked together. One step closer to falling to my doom. It was like the harness committed my lengthy drop. The back lay stiffly against us to keep us from falling sideways when we fell. The instructor had us stand each against a corner of the box to keep it balanced. In an effort to comfort myself, I squinted at the instructor and started asking questions.
“Have people ever died up here?”
“Nope,” the instructor replied with confidence.
“Have you done this one before?”
“Oh yeah, it’s pretty awesome.”
“So how long have you been doing this?” I tried to focus on her instead of the groaning of the box.
“Two weeks.”
“………………… Oh.”
WHAT THE HELL? WHY ARE YOU TELLING ME THIS! LIE TO ME DAMNIT.
“Wait, so…. Have you done this before?”
“Oh yeah, I do it like twice a day.”
What a freak.
Up that high and without my glasses, all I could see was darkness and blurry patches of light from streetlamps and houses. It’s hard to be scared when this pretty faux-space surrounded the outside of the lame little box. Like I mentioned before, I’m not afraid of heights. In fact I’m peachy keen standing up that high, just chillin’. I mean, we were all nervous but for them it was more like they knew they were getting a car for Christmas, and the apprehension came from not knowing if the car was cherry red or piss yellow. My anxiety felt more like waiting in line at the dentist’s for a root canal.
Then Birthday Girl went. The box had a hole right in the middle to lower people a few feet on a cord. The instructor released the unsuspecting victim without notice, probably because they thought it was funnier that way and because they were sick, sick people. She giggled and brayed as the instructor hooked her harness. I had avoided looking down but as my eyes followed her movements, I unintentionally focused on the ground. Or what I could see of it. We were so high up it didn’t matter if I was blind. I closed my eyes and cringed as the instructor released her. Her scream echoed off the metal of the tower as I gripped the box harder. The panicked litany in the back of my mind suddenly turned up the volume.
I don’t think I can do this. I REALLY don’t think I can do this. WHY did I agree to this!? I’m going to die. This is bad. OHMYGODWHATTHEFUCK.
Next up, a tiny girl who made me feel ashamed of my terror because of how eager she was to fall. We’re all looking at each other wide-eyed. The last two’s mouths slowly formed a smile whilst my face twisted and cringed and twitched from anxiety.
As Birthday Girl was lowered to the ground by the massive net, a conversation began.
“Oh my gosh, you guys, I’m so next!” said Bones.
“UGH, fine go ahead. But I’m totally next. Unless you wanna go, Mari?” the Eloquent One asked.
“NOPE. I’m great. Save the best for last right?”
Bones pranced forward in the box, smiling the whole time as the instructor hooked her on.
When she was released, my stomach constricted as her scream burrowed itself there. It bounced, jumped, and made me want to vomit.
“Are you OK?” I couldn’t tell who asked. I was too busy trying to keep my cool.
“Er, yeah totally. I’m super, thanks for asking.”
I think in this moment, the instructor and the Eloquent One took note of my internal panic attack because some sympathetic vibes were being thrown my way. I couldn’t see their faces but I felt the atmosphere grow heavy with anticipation. I gripped tighter, breathed deep and told myself this if I did this, I’d be a new me. New Mari would be way awesome and totally gnarly and kick ass on a day-to-day basis. Old Mari could stay up here crying and weeping, dreaming about the old days when friends didn’t abandon you because they didn’t want to deal with anything saddening. Old Mari had the self-confidence of a hairless Chihuahua and trust issues so bad, Fox Mulder could have been her idol. New Mari would have the strength to tear down comfort zones and build new relationships. New Mari would be victorious.
Another scream shook me out of my awesome trance. Apparently, during my me-to-me monologue, the last one had dived right onto the cord and let loose a yell as gravity violently brought her down.
The instructor asked if I was ready. I took a deep breath.
“I can’t do this.”
“Fuck it. No way am I doing this, this is crazy. I’m a coward, I can’t, I really really can’t, I want to go down, don’t make me fall, Ireallydon’tthinkIcandothis,” I said as I fumbled for breath.
“What? Seriously? You won’t get a refund. I’ll take you down but you’re going to regret it.”
She stared at me like I wasn’t about sit on the box and cling for my life.
I started crying. I felt the tears sting trails against my cheeks because of the cold.
“You can do it. I’ve seen lots of people almost back out of this and not regret falling. C’mon, I’ll just strap you in and you can get a feel for it and decide if you don’t want to do this.”
I thought about it. The least I could do after paying $20 is get strapped in and at least think I could go through with this. I nodded and very slowly started to make my way towards her, the whole time trying to hold back my sobs.
It was pathetic. The second I heard the click of the harness I clung to the rail of the box.
“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”
“Yes you can. C’mon, just let me lower you a bit. It’s not like you get a chance at this every day. I promise I’ll bring you back up if you don’t like it.” What a bitch. She could have been one smooth salesperson in a past life.
“I’m really scared.” My voice wavered as tears bubbled in my throat.
“Let’s go,” she said sternly.
“…OK.”
I unclenched my hands and fisted them into my thighs. My head was bent and my shoulders sank as she slowly lowered me down from the box.
“You’ll be fine. I bet you can do this. Are you sure you want to go down?”
My breathing slowed and I finally took the time to assess my situation.
I looked up to her, my eyes watery and my face blotchy. “Pull me back up,” I said as calmly as I could, clutching the harness cord tightly in my fists.
“I was out of my mind before. I’m thinking rationally now. Pull me back up.”
The instructor smirked. That bitch. “Nope, sorry. Once you’re there I can’t pull you back up.”
That lying bitch.
“Are you ready?”
A whimpered reply.
“No”.
A click and coil of the rope later, I fell.
One Mississippi.
I screamed. I closed my eyes and screamed as loud and with as much force as I could. It didn’t help.
Two Mississippi.
My muscles clenched and I stopped breathing. My stomach disappeared into my throat and my knees clamped so tight I think I could’ve crushed a walnut. I wish I could say it felt like being on a rollercoaster but sadly, I’ve never been on one. Way to fly before I walk.
Three Mississippi.
“When am I going to hit?” The last thoughts of a human on the verge of death.
Apparently, it takes approximately three seconds for the human body to cover 100 feet.
I didn’t notice hitting the net. It took me another second to reorient myself but as soon as I felt something beneath me I hooked my talons in and didn’t let go. A sob of relief escaped as I tried to regain control over my muscles.
The ground was the highlight of my night. My back thumped softly as the net reached ground zero. It took me another second before I realized I could let go. My eyes opened as I re-oriented myself. I shakily grabbed my breath and bearing as I looked around.
Everyone was clapping, probably because they realized the minute longer it took for me to strap into the harness was spent crying like a little bitch.
I smiled. “Welcome to your new life, Mari. Face your fears and all that jazz.”
Old Mari could stay in the box, looking down at what she’s missing out on. The healing process was complete. Old Mari never would have done that, nevermind the fact that I was tricked.
I blinked the tears from eyes and looked up to the cheering of the instructor.
“YOU DID IT!”
The hallelujah resonated throughout the park.
Yeah I did. And I won’t ever do it again.
Maybe.
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