Dumped, Actually(82)
He pats me on the shoulder. ‘Yes, you are! You’ll love it!’
This time I shake my head. ‘No, Ted. I will not love it. I don’t mean to be disparaging about your line of work – but you’re mental. And everyone else who does this is mental. I was mental for thinking I could do it too!’
Ted doesn’t seem offended by this. In fact, he just laughs again. I get the impression I’m not the first person to start cursing him and everything he stands for when they’re on the brink of throwing themselves out of his twin-prop.
He looks at a large and fiendishly complicated watch on his arm. ‘Come on, Ollie! It’s time to do this!’
‘No.’
‘Yes!’
‘No.’
‘Yes!’
‘No, Ted. No. No. Bad Ted. Bad Ted!’
Ted doesn’t reply, but starts to gently push me towards the plane exit, which has just been pulled wide open by one of his assistants. Did I say assistants? I meant evil minions.
‘Fuck off, Ted!’ I wail. ‘I can’t do this, Ted! I won’t do this, Ted!’
Hark at me, eh? A while back I couldn’t say no to a camp Scotsman with a waxing strip, and here I am telling a square-jawed paratrooper called Ted to fuck off.
Progress, people. Progress.
Ted stops pushing me. ‘Look, Ollie. I can’t make you do this. It’s your decision.’
‘Yes, Ted! It is! I’m glad you’ve seen the light! Now, tell me where the nearest big, thick seatbelt is, please. I wish to strap myself in until we reach the ground.’
‘But Ollie . . . I’ve read your stories on Actual Life. I know what kind of guy you are. I know what you’ve been through,’ Ted says, ever so earnestly. ‘And doing this thing . . . this one thing . . . I think it really will be a great way for you to move on from Samantha once and for all . . . and move on from all the neuroses and doubts that have been holding you back your entire life.’
I’m gobsmacked.
Then I waggle a pointy finger at Ted. ‘Now, look here, you. You’re just supposed to be the square-jawed ex-paratrooper who wants to throw me out of a plane, not a source of emotional strength in times of severe adversity! That’s not your bloody job!’
Ted nods sagely. ‘You get to know a lot about people when they come up here, and the door is wide open, Ollie. Trust me on that.’
Oh, for crying out loud. Profound wisdom at five thousand feet is just about the most unbearable thing I think I’ve ever experienced.
But Ted the square-jawed ex-paratrooper (and now wise life guru, it appears) has hit the nail on the bloody head, hasn’t he?
This is more than just a parachute jump – it’s a symbolic turning of the page.
If I don’t go through with it, can I really move past the things that have been holding me back? Can I really get over Sam, and all the other heartbreaks I’ve had, and find a better way to live my life? If I don’t chuck myself out of that wide-open door, will I ever be the man I want to be?
The logical and right answer to this question is – of course I bloody well can.
The ability to jump out of a plane at five thousand feet has absolutely no bearing on one’s capacity to live a more fulfilled and happy life. Anyone who thinks otherwise is bleedin’ crackers.
So, why am I now shuffling towards the wide-open door, with my heart in my throat?
If I could answer that question, I could probably unlock the secrets of the universe.
As I reach the open door, I look down on the patchwork of quaint English countryside, and the fear skyrockets again.
Turn around, you galumphing great cretin. This isn’t worth it!
Yes, it is!
No, it isn’t! You have nothing to prove!
Yes, I do!
To who? All those people down there? To Ted with the square jaw? Do you really think doing this idiotic jump will make a blind bit of difference? This isn’t a bloody movie. Especially not one directed by Richard Curtis. There isn’t a happy ending waiting for you out there! Who are you doing this for?!
Me! I’m doing it for me! Not for any of them, not for anybody else . . . just me!
Why?
Because . . . Because I want to do something that doesn’t have a bloody why, that’s why!
‘Er, Ollie? Are you okay?’ Ted shouts at me. ‘Only you’ve started babbling incomprehensibly to yourself!’
‘Yeah . . . I know! I’m just trying to work up a bit of courage!’
‘Oh, okay. Only you looked like you were having some sort of mental breakdown!’
I give Ted a long, hard look. ‘Story of my life, mate,’ I tell him as he clips the line that runs from the back of my chute pack to the one that’s fastened to the interior of the plane’s fuselage. Once I do jump, that line will make sure my parachute springs open as soon as I’m out.
‘You ready?’ Ted shouts again. ‘We’re over the jump zone!’
‘I’m not sure! Should I say something? Or maybe pray a little?’
‘Are you religious?’
‘No, but it probably can’t hurt, can it?’
Ted shrugs unhelpfully.
I stare out at the wide blue sky and green fields below, trying to think of something meaningful to say to myself. Surely, this is a moment that deserves a meaningful speech, after all that I’ve been through. A heartfelt plea to whatever god may be watching, possibly. Something that sums up all of my wishes and desires from this point forward. Something profound. Something elegant. Something memorable.