She’s the best of Walt Whitman with some of the darkness of Edgar Allan Poe thrown in.” She’s part of it.” Tyler noted the man did not take his gaze from the screen as he added, “Marguerite is poetry up there. “You don’t command the air,” the teacher reproved. “God, she commands the air,” one of the students said, awe in his voice. “Well, except for John and his camera,” an instructor near Tyler quipped. The beauty of the Atmonauti jump is, because you’re at that angle, you find silence. Just blue sky, folks, nothing up there but you and God. In fact, she’s likely to roll in a few moments…there she goes…now she’s on her back, which is an outstanding view. You can do a head down or a backward jump as well. Notice how quickly she orients herself, finds that angle we talked about. Fortunately, the instructor and class were too riveted on the screen to notice his involuntary response. Tyler’s chair scraped as he stood up, unable to stop himself. Drew back, adjusted her goggles and then leaped. She nodded, reached out, clasped his hand. Her goggles were down, but he’d know those soft lips anywhere, the way she tilted her head, apparently listening to something the cameraman was saying to her. Marguerite was at the opening in a white diving suit that covered her from head to toe, her body clearly defined, smooth and sleek as a seal. Jump out of an airplane, cut off his genitals with a rusty knife… On several missions he’d been forced to jump out of plane, in such less than ideal circumstances that it had been added to the list of things he would never do if he had any kind of choice. When hell freezes over, Tyler thought with grim humor.

Mirror of My Soul by Joey W. Hill