You Don't Own Me(156)
‘That’s me traveling at over one hundred miles per hour,’ Jaron says.
The problem is no parachute opens and the mountain peak seems to be rushing up at frightening speed toward the camera. Involuntarily, I open my mouth. Is Jaron showing a video of him crashing into a mountainside? He is now so close to the ground I can even see tracks on the snow left by wild animals. Pull up, pull up, I want to shout.
‘My God!’ I exclaim.
‘That happens fifteen feet from the ground.’
What he is referring to is the most amazing thing I have ever seen. The falling man suddenly flares out and becomes a human glider. His suit has wings. All in black he flies down the mountainside full of dark, sharp rocks and snow like that creature from the mothman prophesies. He flies over dangerously craggy rocks as if he is powered by something more than the webbed wings of his suit. The sense of space and drama is incredible. He looks no bigger than a fly, so vulnerable against one of the most hostile landscapes on earth. It almost doesn’t look real. Surely humans can’t do that! He flies so near the sharp rock I actually feel an odd prickle of fear and panic for him. It is only a video, I have to remind myself.
Then his blue parachute opens and he no longer flies like a bird, but looks like a helpless human being, tossed about by nature, flung down a mountainside. The parachute slows him down and he begins the motion of running while still airborne until he reaches a snowy patch where he lands and carries on running.
He stops running. The parachute around him. He is safe. And I look up at Jaron with totally different, totally impressed eyes. The nerves of steel required to free fall from that height and then to wait till fifteen feet off the ground before raising your arms to unfurl those puny little suit wings. Talk about the ultimate extreme sport.
‘This is what you do to get a high?’
He chews and nods at the same time. ‘Yeah. And sky diving, bouldering—’
‘Bouldering?’
‘Climbing without safety equipment.’
‘That’s just stupid.’
He shrugs and continues the list I interrupted. ‘…and volcano boarding.’
‘What the hell is that?’
‘It’s zooming down the face of an active volcano on a reinforced plywood toboggan.’
‘Ugh! What do you use for brakes?’
He grins. ‘My heels.’
My mouth drops open. ‘No shit! What sort of speeds do you do?’
‘I’ve clocked speeds of nearly ninety kilometers per hour.’
‘Right. So a helicopter drops you up there and you zoom down.’
‘Nope.’ He pours himself a cup of coffee. ‘You have to hike up there first.’
I shake my head. ‘Jesus, you’re really intent on harming yourself, aren’t you?’
He laughs. ‘If you want you can come sky diving with me the day after tomorrow.’
‘I won’t be falling out on my own, will I?’
‘Of course not. You’ll be harnessed to me.’
‘OK.’
Nine
I call Lana from the taxi.
‘How was it last night?
‘Absolutely fantastic.’
She laughs. ‘Good. Shall we have lunch?’
‘Royal China?’
‘One o’clock.’
‘You’re bringing Sorab, right?’
‘Of course.’
‘Good. See ya later.’
By the time Lana arrives with my godson—he’s cuter than a six-week-old puppy—I am already on my second glass of orange juice and vodka.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ she apologizes. ‘You look amazing, by the way.’
But I don’t really listen. Lana is always late. I take Sorab in my arms and he smacks me one straight on the mouth. I giggle because he is actually a very serious baby. I guess he’s like his father. Hard to get him to crack a smile for the most part. He has shiny bright eyes that watch you carefully. Sometimes he looks at me as if he is about to tell me off for smoking too much or drinking in the morning or eating stale pizza.
We settle him into his high chair with a coloring book and a couple of sticks of crayons and order our food. As soon as the waitress goes away with the menus Lana fixes me with her beautiful eyes. Did I ever tell you, my best friend is to die for gorgeous? When I was younger I fancied her something rotten. I might even have been a little in love with her. OK, OK, I was a lot in love with her. Me and a few other guys I know. I never told her, though. I thought it might make things awkward. Maybe one day I’ll tell her and we’ll laugh about it.
‘So,’ she says, leaning forward eagerly, her eyes inquisitive but warm, the way your best friend’s eyes should be. ‘Tell me about Mr. Pecs, Abs and Bulging Biceps, then.’