Six Brave Men

JUMP! ! ! ! We were actually, -No Shit- going to do it. Six of us, trained on a tower. Above the clouds, in a Focker, modified but noisy. Fear was palpable. Maiden? Virgin? Inaugural? . It mattered little what name you chose, it was and remained to be our first jump. SOLO. If you normally take laxatives or other expeditors you owe yourself the experience. It's hair-raising and very loose. Packed our own shutes. Chewing gum with a vengeance, for ear-popping prevention. 'Sergeant....I don't think..', feeble coward, what a disappointment I am. Was that liquid or just from the pinto beans? 'No, I won't' is beginning to take hold. SHIT is the word that is closest to becoming widely accepted here. In its human origin, by all concerned. 'Yes, sarge, just give me a minute...', you say with him standing behind you, so reassuring, so smooth. 'tell me about how you packed it', he teases me and distracts my alert little Amygdala. And then.................... he pushes me out the door. Unceremoniously, quick and hard. It opens after some hours and the pants stay clean. And, when you land there is just one question to ask: WHY?