Beetle took an immediate liking to Shannie. Shannie became Beetle's protégée. "I just hope Shannie always shaves her armpits," I complained to Count. "What's the fascination with hairy armpits?" Count asked. "They're not fascinating, they're fucking disgusting!" I retorted.
My fingers are uncoordinated and I could never get the hang of rubber banding the risers. I became frustrated and still believe rigging belongs in the realm of smoke and mirrors. Shannie took right to rigging and by the end of the summer was 'unofficially' packing chutes. "You better not tell a living soul,' Shannie warned. "I swear Just James, if you tell anyone, even Count, I'll cut your balls off." She sounded like Beetle. Beetle was always threatening to cut balls off.
"My lips are sealed."
"I rigged a chute solo today," Shannie said. "A newbie's going to jump it. What if it malfunctions? What if she burns in?"
"What did Beetle say?"
"Everything looked fine."
"What are you worried about?"
Shannie sighed and rested her chin in her palm. "I don't want to go tomorrow. I'll never be able to live with myself."
The next morning Shannie said she couldn't go. "If anyone asks, tell them I'm not feeling good." I wasn't surprised to see Shannie and Diane pull into the airport's parking lot. The jumpers were loading.
"Couldn't stay away, Huh?" I teased.
"Ha-ha," she responded. "Who has it," she asked Beetle.
"Four," Beetle said.
"It would be," Shannie complained. In the summer of '86, students went one at a time. It meant Shannie had plenty of time to contemplate her pack job. "It was fifteen minutes of hell," Shannie later admitted.
I joined Diane - who, clad in her customary denim shorts and half top, stood with a foot resting on the bottom rail of the fence separating parking lot from tarmac. I sat on the top rail next to her. "Did she really pack a parachute?" Diane asked. I brought a finger to my lips. "No one is supposed to know."
Shannie paced from the staging table into the office, back to the table, to the manifest shack, back to the table, circle around the table and finally back to the manifest shack when the Cessna cut its engine so that the first jumper could exit. "The last jumper is wearing Shannie's rig," I whispered to Diane as I watched Shannie staring skyward.