“Fifteen-thousand feet...”

The woman’s voice is soft, soothing, without the hint of an accent.

Probably from the midwest. Iowa maybe. Or Nebraska. Yes, Nebraska. Lincoln, he decides.

He thinks of another voice. A voice he’s never heard. He is certain he would recognize that voice if she snuck up behind him in a coffee shop or at a park or on a crowded downtown street. She’d say something sweetly ironic like, “Hi stranger” and his heart would skip and stop and race all in the same nanosecond.

His heart should be racing now. Instead, he believes it is slowing down.

“Twelve-thousand feet...”

He is surprised at how easy it was to leap. Well, after taking the full five-minutes granted him to consider backing out, he means. Of course, he hadn’t done it alone. The 250 pound stranger strapped to his back had leapt, too.

This is the irony he sees when he thinks about falling: In this moment he is falling because he decided to. And yet he chose this sort of falling for one reason only - to forget another fall. A freefall he had not chosen. A fall that had chosen him.

A fall into her.

Is that irony? He isn’t sure. He recalls an ancient song by Alanis Morissette. She must be almost fifty by now. Probably popping anti-aging pills like candy. Smooth little neon green pills of kelp and chemistry, an uneasy alliance of the organic and synthetic.

“Ten-thousand feet...”

The altimeter voice is calm.

The air is cold. The wind whips at his face. It is nothing like an ocean breeze but he chooses to think of it like this anyway. She said she would remember him in the sudden, surprising cool of a breeze. Would she always remember him in the wind? Until the end of time?

What time is it, anyway? Nine-forty-something? What would she be doing at nine-forty-something?

He isn’t sure which is worse, to be forgotten...or to be remembered forever.

“Eight-thousand feet...”

He must be at terminal velocity by now.

It was supposed to be a leap into a new life. A jump-start for a stalled, broken heart. He laughs at this, but the wind catches his breath and no sound escapes his mouth. He is strapped to a 250-pound man and they are racing earthward at 120 miles an hour.

The man is dead. He knows this because he knows this.

A heart attack, most likely. Just as they stepped out of the plane and into the night sky.

Ah, now this is irony. A jump into new life that leads to certain death.

“Six-thousand feet...”

Is there a hint of nervousness in Ali’s voice? He has given the audible altimeter this name. He knows it’s not a very original name for an audible altimeter, but he doesn’t have time to be creative and he could use a friend right about now and “Ali” is as good as any other name.

He wonders if she’s happy - the woman who recorded these numbers and words to save skydivers from tragic endings. Is she married? Content? Does she feel loved? Desired? Known?

“Five-thousand feet...”

It’s my first jump, Ali, he says in his head.

And your last, if you don’t pull that cord. Do you know which one it is? she asks. Also in his head.

Yes, I do. But I don’t think I will, he says.

I had a feeling you’d say that, she replies.

It’s not your fault...you’re doing a great job with the warnings and...

“Four-thousand feet...”

...all.

Thank you, she says. And in answer to your question, I am happy.

I’m glad for you, he says. Do you think she is? Happy, I mean...

“Three-thousand feet...”

A sudden updraft spins him and he is facing the sky. He will not see the ground approaching. He will not know when he is about to die.

He likes this better. Sometimes not knowing is better than knowing.

Hope is all about not knowing that something can never be.

He thinks this thought and wonders if it’s as profound as it sounds in his head but then he laughs at that and this time sound does escape his lips and immediately it is snatched by the shadow of the new moon.

“Two-thousand feet...”

The moon...and...

He wishes he could time the next thought so it would be his last, but the words that fill his head and break his heart can no more easily be contained than the expanse above him.

...a million stars...