intro_caitlintrafton

I went down to Orange, Massachusetts, it was my twenty-first birthday and my stepfather, Todd, told me he’d buy me a ticket to go skydiving. Can’t remember what I was wearing for shoes; but the dude behind the counter pointed at my feet and said,

“Those shoes will fall off.”

A friendly onlooker peered through the top of her sunglasses, and back to the sky. She held a grocery bag with a pair of sneakers,

”Take mine, I couldn’t go, I chickened out. Keep Them, I won’t use them.”

They were 2 ½ sizes too small.

JUMPSUIT/ZIP UP/HELMET, “Climb aboard, You want to pull the cord?”

I said, “Ya” and my Guide strapped me to his chest like a ‘Baby Carlos’ front-pack.

Up we went-ears popping all the way-pins and needles prickling every inch of skin. 13,000 feet: one single skydiver opened up the door. With one last look: he smiles, and falls out left-side-down. One-By-One we fall out; our Guides pushed us closer the front.

Whether I liked it or not, my Guide pushed me to the lip of the doorway,

“Ready, Set, GO!”

We Somersaulted, my heart halted for two seconds of freefalling. The last thing they saw of me was the purple of my socks; embroidered with I Heart Jesus, nine and a half’s crammed in a size seven Reebok.