I was out for a short walk around the block while Susan was content to sleep a bit more. I understood. It was a very nice day. As I was just a little over a half block from home, I heard a small airplane. I looked up and around; it was a small light green and white airplane. I’ve flown a number of times in small aircraft . . . to go golfing with friends outside of Tacoma with the golf bags tossed in behind the two forward seats. I thought “That’s a nice-looking plane.” Half a second later I noticed someone jumping from the plane. My first thought was “Wow, how cool is that?” Then after a minute or so I thought, “Why hasn’t the parachute opened?” I kept watching the jumper and the plane. The plane continued on its way toward Vashon Island.
It crossed my mind that someone should be doing something. I looked around and saw no one. The jumper seemed to be getting closer. It looked as if the jumper was holding on to both sides of their chest and waving in the wind, but the jumper was not panicking. The floating was peaceful. The trajectory looked like the jumper would land in the next block over when the chute opened. With a fast walk and my eyes on the jumper, I rounded the corner and just froze. My every breath seemed to take forever and hurt. The jumper continued to fall and then I saw the jumper hit the chimney of a nearby house and just disappear into a bellow of dust and darkness. I stood and puked several times as I saw the scene replay a number of times in my mind.
I could hardly breathe. I looked out toward Vashon and saw what could have been that light green and white plane disappear under the water. There appeared to be no one home anywhere on the block until I saw a curtain being pulled back two houses down and a friendly face look out in confusion. I half waved and the curtain returned to normal. The door opened as I approached and shouted “Please, call the fire department and the police. I don’t know what’s happening here but it’s not going to be pretty.” The neighbor nodded and returned inside.
Within minutes both the fire department and Ruston police were parked nearby. Within ten minutes the firemen were climbing onto the roof of the target house and the police were knocking on the door and then forcing the door open. Luckily, there was no one home. The home owner would no doubt be surprised when returning home that evening. It seemed like every neighbor in the area was taking photos of the house, calling friends or the TV channels’ news departments. The crowds grew, with the noise grew.
The neighbor, a policeman, a fireman and I exchanged details. The block and the home were sealed off. Old soot was in the air and finally settled down on the roof, the lawn, and people not wearing hats or caps. Bricks from the chimney littered the upstairs first floor, the roof and the lawn. I asked, “What about the plane?” In unison a policeman and a fireman asked, “What plane?” I looked at them in confusion and they looked at me as I said, “The one that sank offshore near Vashon . . . the one that originally dropped the sky diver.”
It could have taken days to locate the sunken two-seater plane, but high tide washed it up on the shores of Vashon the next day. It could have taken weeks to figure who did what and why, but everyone involved knew about the love and friendship of long time friends . . . even those who were just told of the happening. Some people recognized the names of the two people and many others knew about the joy of small planes. The bombarded chimney was replaced via insurance and the insurance company gained notoriety. The house had nothing to do with the death and the falling. Neighbors shared and helped one another with smiles, hugs and stories.
Friendship can sometimes go beyond just being friends. The same for love. In this instance a friend had helped a partner get over their loss and went beyond friendship and love and then things just went. Tucked inside the vest and jumping gear was the opening line of Jalal al-Din Rumito’s poem “What Was Told, That” the simple line spoke volumes . . . “What was said to the rose that made it open was said to me here in my chest.” As parents the husband and wife had lost their only child decades ago and then the husband passed away recently. Often people just feel lonely and remember death as discouraging and some feel that their time has come. The wife wanted no more pain and sad memories. Perhaps she saw the airplane jump as a step toward heaven. Who knows? Perhaps the flyer friend saw his own step toward death as a final gift of friendship. Friends help friends when they can. Every once in a while, flowers are left by the front door of the chimney house . . . and some are planted.
The shocking story and the loss of a loved one affected people for blocks around. I’ve never gone for a walk by myself since. If Susan wants to get a few extra minutes of sleep, I let her and I wait. Life is too precious to not open my chest and share our love for as long as I can.
