Terminal Velocity

It’s a calm day out on the water. I squint my eyes from the rays of sunlight bouncing off the water; only the white bubbly waves clear my vision momentarily as a pelican dives down to grab a fish. It breaks the surface of the water with a kill, and the rest of the flock follows the same motion, diving, then resting and eating. Tugboats, Cargo ships, parasailors, fishermen, windsurfers, and a lone yacht are all in the distance, living as symbiotically as the flock of pelicans.

I could never live symbiotically. It has always been and will always be me living in survival mode… alone. I had a good friend once tell me, " You're only one or two bad decisions away from being homeless at any point”. I think he is right for the most part. I would get in a continuous tumultuous cycle I couldn’t break free from. I would live aimlessly, doing what I could to make rent and write music. Then I would find myself in a relationship, and I would reflect that in order to build a future with this person, I need to take personal and financial responsibility. I would put on a suit and build up this eccentric, people-focused character that would land me an interview. I can be myself whenever I want, except for this hour-long interview. With some courage and luck, I would always land a decent job. Well, an office job that doesn’t pay great, but is one the government will still tax a fuck-ton on.

Before you know it, I am putting on this character for 40-50 hours a week. “How was your weekend?” “How is the family? “I would be delighted to take my lunch to celebrate the birthday of a coworker whom I've never even met”. These were all phrases in my everyday vernacular on autopilot, and I would always tune out the responses. I would look at facial expressions when their lips stopped moving to indicate whether I should go with a positive or negative response. The small talk, forced smile, suit, and patience would all build up until they spilled over into the outside world and at home. I couldn’t keep up the character when the relationship was getting serious, and we were seeing each other every day. It would turn into resentment towards them, even though it wasn’t their idea for me to get this job; it was mine. I always figured if I didn’t get a salaried position before too long, they would realize how much of a sack of shit I am anyway and dump me. That at least I’d have the job and financial security. Even though I was good at planning out the short-term future, I was an expert in self-sabotage.

I see two dolphins racing in the harbor down below. Swimming so fast yet gracefully. I can’t recall ever seeing one, much less two, out of captivity. The cars on the overpass slow down to stare at the majestic creatures, and some are even flashing headlights to signal to others. The dolphins stay close to the bay and stay rather close to all of the boats. I begin to hear a whirling sound. I dismiss it for a handful of seconds before I realize the sound is inching closer. I turn to my head to see a helicopter in the distance. “Must be an aerial dolphin tour,” I think to myself.

The depression would sink in like a cloud. The first week after a breakup, I would be practically comatose. Not because I was heartbroken, but because I am so incapable of living my own life for me. I had to build it up in my head that what I was doing was bigger and more important than only my existence. This delusion would crumble every time love or lust faded. I would have a pure, absolute realization that I have nothing to give to this world, only things that people can take from me.

The chopper has almost made it to the dolphins, but it doesn’t look like it's slowing down.

The cycle stayed like this for years until one time, the cycle stopped. I fell off the merry-go-round, and I didn’t want to get back on. The more years passed by, the more I felt my existence was created solely to make filthy rich people even richer. Sure, you could be a self-entrepreneur and dump your life savings into a business or passion. But, once you obtain any sort of success, there is always someone richer and dumber than you waiting to copy your idea with the means to scale it to the masses. You would not only be broke, but I bet you rest well at night knowing you’ve added another revenue stream for the top 1%. There is no hope for my future.

I close my eyes and am composing the song of nature now. The waves crashing down sound like a snare drum. A boat horn is my bass. Seagulls sound like hi-hats, the cars sound like synthesizers, and an airplane up above is the lead guitarist. It’s perfect, balanced, free-flowing. I start humming at a continuous frequency.

Ohmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm…

My vocal cords feel loud and stretched out, but the volume intensifies. The wind blows my jacket open and makes my hair fly in all directions. I open my eyes. The chopper is right above me. A big KIX Channel 7 news is plastered on the side. I knew the chopper wasn’t here for the fucking dolphins, but I thought I would have more time. I look below at the 253-foot drop and feel the wind almost push me back against the railing. I can’t walk off this ledge; I have to jump.

Goodbye… cruel world.

Consciousness does not come back easily. Light floods my eyes, and I think I am blind. Am I in some kind of limbo? I had never thought about where I was going, as long as I didn’t stay where I was. The brightness turns to pain, and I pass back out.

When I awake, my hazy vision starts to return. The room is dark; it must be nighttime. I see a long fluorescent light in the hallway. Some minutes pass as I am staring at the light, still running through hundreds of questions about the present situation. The last thing I remember was driving towards the skyway. The hallway light flickers, and a woman walks by the door frame. She was wearing a black robe, a coif and veil, with a crucifix. This cleared up all of the questions I had, or so I thought.

My heart sank. “Dammit!” I screamed. “I went to the wrong place!” A second nun hurries into the room. “Good Heavens, what is the matter?” she exclaims with a face of shock and worry. “I am not supposed to be here! I have lived a life of drugs, rock’n’roll, and had sex a few times!” “All of this guilt and brainwashing with morality affecting my afterlife has always loomed over me. Little did I know, I could do whatever I wanted and still spend the rest of eternity with a bunch of prudes”.

“You are not in heaven, Mr. Frye”.

“I’m not?”

“No, far from it. You’re still in Florida, St. Joseph’s.”

“Shit, heaven doesn’t sound that bad now. I didn’t mean that thing I said about prudes. I am sure you're a terrific nurse… oh… uh… or nun. Say… that morphine drip is looking awfully slow. How about we crank it up a few cc’s.”

“No, the doctor has maxxed out your dosage already. Would you like me to say a prayer?”

“I don’t need one; I was already talking to the man upstairs earlier today.”

The nun was not amused.

I wake up the next morning to a few reporters. I waved them off with no comment. The news stations all around the country were picking up the story about the man who survived the highest free-fall dive ever recorded. Olympic divers were being interviewed, explaining how they couldn’t even pull off that jump even with their own perfect form. Within an hour, representatives from the Guinness Book of World Records dropped off my certificate of failure. I was yearning for death, yet apparently, I am the best in the world at staying alive. Two broken ribs, a broken arm and leg are all I have to show for it.

As soon as I reluctantly take my world record picture and shuffle out the crew, a frosted-tipped jock type with a seashell necklace steps into the room wearing a bright red colored driver jacket.

“How’s it hanging, dude? My name is Trevin. He tries to fistbump my arm in a cast but slides it off to the side at the last second.

“In pain.” I sigh under my breath.

“Bro, that was the sickest flop I’ve ever seen! When I saw that chopper footage, I was like What is this guy thinking… What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking I was going to die,” I say.

“Gnarly brother! We all live for that adrenaline rush that puts the excitement back into life. Sticking the landing to that 1080 Backflip was an act of god. Well, dude, I'm not only here as a fan, but I represent Predator energy drinks; you might have heard our slogan “fuel the hunt?”.

“Maybe that rings a bell,” I begin to gain a little curiosity.

“Well, our board saw you on TV and knew that we could partner up and create the largest stunt in history with our brand. We want you to freedive off the Tabernacle in the Grand Canyon. Over 1000 feet in the air. That's serious hangtime, man.”

I couldn’t help but laugh for the first time in weeks.

“Doesn’t there have to be water for it to be considered a dive?’

“No dude, they are going to build a deep 200-foot pool at the base to break the dive”

“I’m so beat up right now; there is no way I can make that work.”

“The suits on the top floor want a big promotional circuit beforehand, so we're looking at 6- 7 months so that you're healed. I haven’t even told you the best part, dude. They are prepared to give you a million dollars now and another million after the jump.”

“What happens to the other million if I don’t survive the jump?”

“We will use it to fund the most kickass funeral the world has ever known. We already have John Mayer locked in for the accompaniment”.

“I wish I could be there to see it.”

“Well, what do you say… would you like to make history and get rich in the process?”

….Where do I sign?