I expect Gemma to scoff at my idea and call me a cliché tourist since Lake Taupo is the skydiving capital of the world, or at least question why someone with a fear of heights would want to do this crazy-ass thing.
But she doesn’t. She smiles. She agrees. She’s excited. She’s gone as nuts as I have. I realize that both of us can’t be trusted anymore with rational thinking. Everything seems to be coming from the heart, from some place that makes smart people do very stupid things, like get tattoos on a whim and then jump out of an airplane.
And so, the next thing we know, we’re at a small airport being fitted into a jumpsuit, a bathing-suit-like cap, and goggles. Thankfully, we don’t look as dorky as we did when we went black-water rafting at Waitomo. Holy fuck, does that seem like ages ago.
Of course we’re doing this in tandem with a trained instructor. I get outfitted into a harness by mine, some guy who has the unfortunate name of Nick. I try not to feel like this is a bad omen. Maybe Nick doesn’t always have to be followed by Dick.
I don’t feel the slightest bit nervous though until we walk out of the hangar and I see the bright pink plane we’re going to go up in. Once we’re inside and the doors close and we’re coasting up into the air, I want nothing more than to grab Gemma’s hand. But she’s chatting with her instructor like this is something she does every day.
It doesn’t help that the instructor is a young, strapping Polynesian guy with just the kind of muscles she liked in Nick. Damn it. Maybe this is a bad omen after all.
It definitely at least feels like a bad idea when the doors open. I’ve been trying to distract myself with the view and the enormous blue expanse of Lake Taupo beneath us, but now that air is rushing in through the plane at twelve thousand feet, I’m not sure jumping out of a plane is necessary. Can’t I just stay here and look at the scenery? Why would anyone jump out of a perfectly healthy plane?
But Gemma is up next and I barely have time to wave a fretful goodbye to her before she’s out the door.
Pins and needles swarm my arms and legs, my chest grows hot, and I’m instantly regretting everything. Shit, shit, shit. And then I’m hit with the fear of actually shitting myself, or worse. Like, passing out and then waking up on the ground to a bruised ego and soiled underwear.
But there’s no time for me to get lost on that panic-induced train of thought. The instructor makes me shimmy over to the door, and before I know what’s going on, the air is blasting me in the face and the world is thousands of feet below me. I think he’s counting down.
It doesn’t matter.
My feet have gone over the edge.
I’m falling.
The only thing I can think about is how fast it feels, but my mind keeps telling me that I’m not falling at all, that I’m floating on a big cushion of air instead. Air is a lot more solid than you think. Up here, it’s tangible, something you can hug or even fuck, I think to myself, almost smiling. I’m fucking the air, fucking the earth, and then the parachute is expanding above us, yanking us upward, and the weird little world I’m living in is gone and replaced with one my mind can better comprehend.
My instructor tells me something that sounds like we’re at five thousand feet—I can’t really recall from the safety videos where we’re supposed to be when we pull the chute. Now the dizzying vertigo sets in as Lake Taupo and the white peaks of the surrounding volcanoes rush toward me. My brain feels blitzed out, short-circuited, and all thoughts shut down. I can only dangle in my harness as we slice through the air on the way to the ground.
I make it. And when I’m free from the harness, I run, stagger, to Gemma and scoop her up in my arms, embracing her, spinning her around like the sappiest little shit who ever fell in love. She giggles and laughs and her eyes are like a spear to my heart and her smile is the sweetest sword and I think to myself, How can I possibly leave her, this place. How can I ever let her go?
So, I decide on a new plan.
I won’t let her go.
I’ll stay.
Chapter Twenty-One
GEMMA
Dawn creeps up on us like flaming fingers reaching through the night. I stand outside of Mr. Orange, leaning against his solid mass, and watch the sky light up in the east. We freedom-camped along some unnamed river in the Northland, aka illegally parked overnight somewhere to sleep. When we stopped by the river so Josh could take a leak, we decided we didn’t want to move. We’d be staying at my grandfather’s soon, and it would be nice to be truly alone. No family, no other caravans, just us.
But the solitude is gnawing at me. I woke up early, feeling restless, anxious. Out here, in the chill of fading night, I can breathe.
Just barely, though.
It’s New Year’s Eve tonight, which means it’s a whole new year tomorrow. Which means eleven days from now, Josh is leaving. I can’t even comprehend the loss right now, and it’s not because I’m numb. It’s because I’m feeling too much. I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know where to place these feelings, how to deal with them. I want there to be a cage where they can stay and not cause anyone any trouble.
But I’m struggling against my instincts. If I did that, locked my feelings away, then I wouldn’t have anything for the here and now. I wouldn’t feel like my soul is constantly in bloom. Every day it keeps getting prettier, feeling better, growing, and part of me is afraid it might never stop. It’s infinite, like the tattoo on my neck, like the pendant on Josh’s necklace.