Fall

By the time he was gone, the wind around us was vibrating like nothing I’d ever experienced, a deep, chaotic buffeting juxtaposed with torrential white noise. I don’t know that anyone onboard could do much more than watch, in shock, as the pilot disappeared through the hole with one of the plane’s parachutes half-strapped to his body. I suppose he was counting on that lag in comprehension. I wonder if the steward had any idea, he certainly didn’t act like it — all I caught was him yelling ‘HEY’ from the jump seat, but before any more coherent argument could surface, the moment was lost. Makes me wonder what their training offered for this type of situation.

This type of situation… mostly my mind is engaged in the now, in trying to comprehend what we’re all supposed to do in this moment, what I should do next. But it also keeps returning to the sheer absurdity of what just happened. Air accidents are statistically scarce in the first place, but collisions? What are the odds, how many times has this ever happened? What bafflingly terrible luck for everyone still here. I guess it’s “lucky” that this small craft was only half full.

Many years ago I was walking down a Haight Ashbury sidewalk at night when a terrible crash happened right beside me — a young driver wasn’t paying attention and somehow her car hit and rolled up onto the turned front wheel of a parked car, lifting that side of her car into the air before smashing back down to the ground, finally sliding sideways to a stop with her front axle broken. I just about jumped out of my skin, my immediate thought was that a bomb had gone off. This collision felt like that, my brain could not grasp what the deafening crash was even though evidence of it was right in front of me: a massive rip through the upper right of the cabin behind the bathroom, blue and yellow flames lapping around the forward edge, some sort of fluid (water, I hope?) spraying backward across the cabin windows behind it, and blood spattered over the adjacent and nearby seats. I don’t think that guy had any forewarning, surely he would have screamed. I can just barely see his black hair peeking out over the top of the headrest.

The crash initially threw us to the left, but the plane pretty quickly flipped back, listing to the right and down, careening randomly but tending toward a spiral path downward. The engines still ran, but a quick glance to the right confirmed the worst: the wing was half broken, folding/twisting backward, clearly producing more drag than lift at this point, and the gaping hole in the fuselage wasn’t helping.

Then, after about… well, who really knows how much time passed, I just can’t judge that, maybe ten seconds, maybe a hundred. The cockpit door opened and one of the pilots stood there briefly, also with blood across half of his shirt, staring vacantly at the half dozen passengers who had quieted down from screaming when he appeared. Probably no one but the steward recognized the black and red shoulder straps, but their purpose was plainly evident when he stumbled forward, glanced at the hole, awkwardly hopped up onto the seat beside the dead passenger, grabbed part of the torn roof, hiked is foot up onto a lower section of the opening, and launched himself out. The wind caught him immediately and his lower leg was dragged across the metal of the roof, ripping the leg of his slacks and probably part of his skin.

The screaming starts up again, not from everyone. The steward, like me, wears a permanent look of surprise, confusion, seemingly looking at us for what to do next. In the distance I can see broken glass on the floor and dashboard of the cockpit, and now I realize that an arm is dangling as well. That explains why just one of them came out. And, wait a second, that means…

The plane’s direction is becoming more consistent. The air isn’t shuddering anymore, it’s just very loud, I guess we’ve slowed down a bit. Finally the steward unbuckles himself. The plane must be on autopilot, helpless as it is to actually right the critically injured craft. The steward stands, steps carefully rightward to look backward into the cockpit, confirming what I had just discovered. He turns back to look again at the passengers, then back into the cockpit, where he bends down to do something out of sight. He comes out with the other parachute but doesn’t make a move to do anything with it. Everyone goes quiet again. He looks down at the parachute, then again at us. He raises both shoulders in a despondent shrug, sadness and fear in his eyes.

The passengers look around at one another. Previously the group was reacting with crestfallen sobbing, screaming terror, or motionless shock. But the gamut of facial expressions is starting to narrow, people are coming away from the extremes, softening. I feel like everyone is settling into an understanding that 1) we are 100% fucked, and 2) no one is supposed to have a plan for this — there’s no “right” way to proceed, we are completely on our own.

The parachute decision hangs in the air, and I think we all know that it must be made quickly. I hear a muffled voice behind me and the click of a seatbelt, I look back to see a large black man has stood up and is talking to someone I can’t see. He’s waving and pointing to the front, he seems to be pleading with them. Seconds are passing. He puts is hands together and I can see him mouthing, ‘please.’ He takes one step back into his seat aisle. I don’t hear a second seatbelt open, but a young girl stands up slowly, she’s maybe twelve or thirteen, pink-streaked blond hair with mascara trails down her cheeks with bloodshot eyes that scan around at the others looking at her. I see a middle-aged woman nod at her through tears, then a younger blond man near her does the same.

It’s too much for me, the emotion of it, and I fall back into my seat and cry quietly. This is it. My whole life, 34 years of memories — work, love, hate, laughter, sadness — it is all definitely ending today. I think of my family and then immediately try to scan through everyone I’m close to, everyone who will be affected, as though I need to honor them by acknowledging what they will go through. More tears, then I spot the girl’s leg in my peripheral vision. I quickly look up, she’s looking down at me as if she also needs my permission. I nod rapidly through tears and reach up to push her with one hand and point with the other, saying ‘please, go.’

She keeps moving down the tilted aisle, transferring her hands from the headrests to the luggage cabinets for more stability. The steward waits for her with a smile, also crying, waving her forward to move more quickly. He first makes to turn the parachute around to put it on her but suddenly reaches out instead and pulls her in for an embrace. They are both crying openly, their bodies shaking with sobs for a few seconds before settling. I see him say “thank you” before gently releasing her and getting back to business, turning her around and quickly feeding her arms through the straps before turning her back around, fastening two chest straps and cinching it all up. He’s talking to her, points to her shoulder and makes a pulling motion diagonally downward. She nods her head. I see him say, ‘okay, let’s go.’

The steward guides her closer to the hole, then takes a couple of seconds to evaluate the carnage of the opening. He shows her where he wants her to put her hands, then clasps his hands together down low, he wants to help launch her out. They nod in agreement, then she gets into position. He yells more instructions — maybe for counting? Yes, they then count together, ‘ONE, TWO, THREE, GO!’

It works surprisingly well, she has enough physical awareness to pull hard with her arms and push with her leg, and she flies out as he shoves her foot upward. He watches the girl disappear in an instant, his eyes remain skyward for another moment, then they drift absently down before looking around at the passengers again, most of whom stare blankly back, a couple of them smiling or nodding. His gaze drifts away again, down to the floor. His job is done, there’s really nothing at all left for him to do. He moves back to the jump seat, folds it back down and sits, not bothering to buckle in.

I don’t bother to look behind me, but I’m guessing that everyone is at least relieved that she made it, I certainly am. And now I’m back to focusing on my own situation. I look out the window to my left only long enough to verify that it’s just white sky, then right to see the slowly spinning green terrain still several thousand feet below. A fucking hopper flight, in the air for less than half an hour, even this one plane has made a dozen such flights a day for at least a decade. Fuck.

I unbuckle and sit up a bit to look around. Not a lot has changed. The black man sat back down, a stoic look on his face as he meets my eyes. Others are back to crying, some just watching the ground’s approach. A young couple in the back are locked in an embrace. An olive-skinned woman is nursing a vomit bag. We hit an air pocket, the plane makes a sudden drop and then re-stabilizes. No one seems particularly affected.

I turn back to the front. The steward is still staring at the floor. A napkin that was half caught under a tray table finally works itself free and does a couple of laps in the swirling air before launching out the hole. I suddenly remember reading years ago that people have survived falls from great heights. Not many, but it has happened. Almost no one has survived the crash of a plane this damaged.

I consider an instinct that’s arising: I would rather fall to my death through the air than inside a plane.

I look at the hole.

I would rather fall to my death through the air than inside a plane.

I look at the steward.

I would rather fall to my death through the air than inside a plane.

I stand up and walk carefully to the hole, stare up into a white sky, the wind rushing violently around me, gently pushing my body in random directions. I look over at the steward again, he has now looked up to indifferently watch what I’m doing. I turn back to the cabin and glance across all of the eyes that have noticed my movement.

I look at the torn metal edges, specifically the hand-holds that the girl had used. I put my hands on them one at a time, then look down and find a suitable ledge for my foot. I don’t hear anyone react, telling me to stop. I look back up at the sky, steeling myself, feeling into my resolve.

This is the right choice.

There’s no reason to stay here.

Do it.

Do it.

I shove upward with everything I’ve got. The wind punches me violently to the right, spinning me end over end. I catch the briefest glimpse of the plane shooting off into the distance before I rotate around again, the next time I spin around it’s nowhere to be seen. My rotation slows, becomes more of a random tumble. My body flails for something to latch onto even though I’m conscious of what is happening.

I know that terminal velocity for a human being is around 120 MPH. And while the plane I just vacated is no longer traveling at normal cruising speed, it still has to be moving at 250 or more. No wonder I feel like I got my bell rung and can’t hear much out of my left ear. But after decelerating for a few seconds I’m surprised to discover that the wind isn’t totally deafening, it’s a lot like highway wind noise.

My motion is still pretty erratic, but I’m starting to try different things to stabilize myself. Skydivers assume a face-down position with limbs hanging outward, right? I play with hand and leg positions during rotations, as well as cupping my hands, and start to gain some agency. Eventually I’m able to hold onto a belly-down position. My mouth can’t decide whether it wants to be closed tightly against the fierce gale or open like a balloon. I’m definitely cold. I wonder if I could possibly pull my jacket sides together to get it zipped, but I don’t want to risk losing control of my position or waste my remaining moments with such a menial task, so I decide to tough it out.

I’m a solid judge of distance, but not so much from this far away. Still a few thousand feet, I think? I wonder what now. My mind isn’t as occupied with regaining control, so the impending fate comes back into focus.

Goddamnit, Becky. I think of Becky and suddenly start crying again, tears blown so quickly from my eyes that they don’t have time to even blur my vision. I was so crazy about her, I couldn’t believe my luck. Just a couple of months into this relationship, but I’ve really fallen (ugh, no pun intended) for that girl. I wish I could tell her goodbye. I wish I could see what we could have become. I imagine our lives together. Getting married. Starting a family.

I think of the family I do have, my brothers and my mom. Aunts, grandparents, cousins. My aging dog. How unfair this is to them, let alone me. But hey, the universe is indifferent to me and everything else. In the grand scheme of things…

That actually settles me a bit — the thought that this doesn’t objectively matter. It sucks for me, it’s really terrible on a personal, emotional level, but it doesn’t intrinsically matter. I’m just part of the universe, an organized bundle of matter and energy. My life and this death are just part of the continuum.

The ground is so much closer now. A thousand feet, maybe two? The buffeting wind almost feels normal. The sun has finally come out. The countryside looks lovely, farmland below me. It suddenly occurs to me that I don’t really want to see the ground actually fly into my face, so I twist to face up, now partially blinded by the sun. Funny, this position is easier to maintain, I just let my limbs dangle naturally.

Then I spot the plane! Of course I do, it’s still in its wide downward spiral, a white cloud arcing away from the mangled wing. Some spot in the corner of my eye not far from the plane catches my attention — passengers! Two of them, far apart. Maybe I started a movement?

I don’t want to twist my head to see how close I am, but I know the ground will be here any second. I take a deep breath and close my eyes.