Bite The Bullet

When I was in grade 10, we had an assignment that involved writing and reciting a short story. That's how we were going to be marked. Not so much by what was on the paper, but by how well we could present it. We learnt quite a bit about short stories, actually, like how they can be harder to write than novels, and how you can be as vague as possible and let the reader figure it out (heh heh heh).

After I had finally finished reading, I thought I did pretty good. My applause and comments made me feel I may have actually done something good in that class for once! THEN . . . I got my mark back, and found I was given ONE OFF from getting a perfect!

I asked her later why I had lost a mark on "originality" (of all the things!). Her answer was "I forget." What the hell?!

So that has haunted me ever since. I told my friends about that, and none of them could believe it either! And to think I defended that teacher for so long!

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanyway, here's my short story about sky-diving . . . kinda.

"Bite The Bullet", by "Some Guy"

He was ready. Today would be the day. He was suited up. The journey began. Step by step he came closer. Closer. Closer . . . . .

Then he turned tail and ran.

He couldn't do it. It was so simple, and overall he had nothing to worry about. They had all been planning for this day for a long time now, and the others were ready, but he just couldn't put himself into the plane, go up, and fall down.

It all started a month earlier, when the idea of skydiving came up. It was seamless. The semester would end, and to celebrate the end of third-year post secondary, they figured jumping out of a plane would be good for a laugh. Now they were loading up. Everyone but him. It's not that he was afraid of heights, considering he spent most of his life climbing everything from jungle gyms to rock faces. Then again, in those days there was a pit of gravel or a harness to save his butt. Here, they get an average of two fatal accidents a year. Mind you he wasn't really a cautious guy. He drank on the weekends, and he didn't always cross the street at the corner. He even used his girlfriend's washroom and didn't put the seat back down.

His girlfriend. Anna had always warned him about that seat. How could he risk his butt now?

The small plane was going through the checklist, and the others were strapping in. All the other would-be jumpers were calling for him now, but he couldn't have cared less. It wouldn't be peer-pressure that put him in that sardine-can with wings. That won't happen again. The last time someone said the words, "Everybody's doing it", he almost spent Hallowe'en in a chimney. That would never be his face on the front page anymore. No, he would step onto that plane on his own.

For reasons entirely unseen by him, he walked towards the safety records posted. Early March, a man had barely survived a faulty chute. Late May, two young divers had opened their chutes too close and were tangled up in each other. They died on impact. June 29, a woman had lost control in sudden bad weather. Two broken legs. That was a few weeks ago!

He stopped to think of what he did a few weeks ago. He saw himself with Anna. He saw the two of them eating a very, very expensive dinner at a fancy nearby club. He then saw what happens when you try to use a debit card to pay for a meal when there's no money in the account.

He chuckled to himself thinking about how Anna was so effective in her reprise of a convulsive patron, trying desperately to get them out of the restaurant. In that moment of complete mirth, he realized something: This year, four accidents, two fatalities. The post-up said the average was two fatalities. The odds were in his favor! He was seriously happy that two people were dead! All of a sudden, this intense urge to free-fall twenty-five thousand feet overcame his fear, and screamed for a clearing as he flew full-throttle into the airplane. Everyone cheered and hooted, with an ear-to-ear piano of a smirk across his beet-red face.

The plane began its ascent into the clear blue sky, and everyone was psyched for what was about to happen. Everyone, save a jittery little college-boy, who was reverting to his original state of panic and paleness. He turned to his right, and saw a violated face staring back at him. He only wished it could have been Anna at that moment. Anna herself was quite a daredevil. She put hot sauce on her burritos, she snuck into bars before the law allowed. Once, Anna even took down and disabled a large thief on the street using only a coffee cup, her knee, and a really scary yell. Thinking back to the present, he almost cursed her for having to go comfort a friend who recently had surgery, but then what kind of friend would he be?

The instructor was giving some last minute instructions as they neared the drop-zone, and then asked who wanted to go first. He tried to look as small as he could as the large man said this, but he knew it wouldn't work. He also knew everyone was looking at him. They had to be. Who wouldn't want to punish the little nervous, late guy now? He had no choice. He was going first. Another short breath reminded him of the thinning air around him.

"Drop zone in half a minute," yelled the instructor, "I hope you're all ready." He wasn't though. Of course it wouldn't matter, as all the others would probably just push him out anyway. He shot his eyes around the little pod of seats, seeing all the innocent faces, plotting against him. Then Anna's voice popped back into his head. He remembered the day she got him to try sushi. She stared him right in the eye, and with her stern, yet soft tone, said,

"Hey, just bite the bullet and shut up!" In his eyes, there was no way he could have argued with that.

The door opened, and up he went. The instructor was surprised to see this sudden eagerness. An eagerness that surpassed all the other puzzled divers that couldn't see heads or tails out of this. He knew, though. He was thinking of,

"Bite the bullet . . ." He stepped towards the open hatch.

"Bite the bullet . . ." He took a deep breath as the cold air bit at his body.

"Bite the bullet . . ." There was then a loud shout of a now half-sober boy telling everyone,

"Oh hell, why not?!" And he flew.

There were now about a dozen multi-coloured thrill-seekers on the tall grass, all breathing. The hollers, hugs, and high-fives were being distributed, and all were basking in their newly appointed glory. A certain young man, however, had other plans. He ran to the nearby phones, missing the festivities. After fumbling around with his neon blue-grey suit, found a quarter, and slammed it into the machine. His finger instinctively danced across the path of septuplets, and listened to the tone anxiously.

"Hello? Hey Ann, how are ya . . .that's nice, uh . . .oh, that's great! Hey, ya know what . . .yeah, it was the best thing I'd ever experienced . . okay, second best . . .you have to try it . . .oh come on . . .honestly . . .hey, I ate raw fish for you . . . .no, I haven't forgotten . . .okay, we'll talk about it tonight . . .alright. Japanese sound good . . .okay, then I can coax you into this . . .oh yes we are . . .Anna, just bite the bullet . . .that's right . . .okay, see ya later . . love ya too . . .bye.

THE END

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