Flying Backwards

FLYING BACKWARDS

by Catherine Maven

© 1998 & 2018

Have you ever watch a film of a bird flying backwards?  The motion, which seen in its natural direction, appears effortless, even graceful, is suddenly seen for the complex war against gravity that it really is.  What you had always taken for simple up-and-down motions turns out to be windmillish. 

Have you seen swimmers doing the breast-stroke?  Insanely difficult, forcing their bodies up out of the water by the sheer strength of their arms pushing down against the dragging force of the water. 

In reverse, birds flying looks like that. The wings arc backward in curves. The feathers along the bottom flay out, and it’s as though the bird is pushing away from something in horror and revulsion. You are suddenly very much aware that air, like water, is a medium through which the bird must travel, a force against which it must beat in order to defeat gravity. It makes me tired just thinking about it. As I watched that footage on YouTube, I thought that I would never enjoy watching birds fly again.

            That’s what I was thinking about, standing in the shade (if you can call the thin shadow cast by palms shade) watching the young hipster couple learning to use the trapeze.  Their healthy complexions, shiny hair, casually-neat clothes, and well-toned muscles were all displayed to advantage as they laughed and gasped in their harnesses.  It had looked like fun in the commercials; Club Med for families.  Come join us!  Of course, being here alone was not exactly what they intended; there were singles clubs that I could have gone to.  I had walked by one of them just last night, nearly tripping on couple after couple doing it in the sand just out of reach of the patio lights.  I’m quite sure they could hear each other; giggles, moans, even the occasional (exhibitionist) scream or two.  Perhaps that added to the excitement.

            It wouldn’t have mattered, though, if I had chosen to go to one of the singles clubs. I’m not the sort who, in spite of Feminism and Sexual Freedom and the Death of Guilt, can get naked with a stranger quite so easily.  I really don’t think it’s about prudishness, or at least I hope not.  With both of my ex-husbands, I was ready enough to jump into bed with them almost the minute I met them.  I’d like to think that that it was because I knew that we were meant to be together, but I worry that it was actually something dark like my neuroses hit it off with their neuroses.

            Anyway, it was basically the same with the trapeze. Heavily-draped and sunscreened against melanoma, I could only watch from the shade while people with more courage learned to launch themselves into space.  And they did it with a carefree abandon that I knew I could never even pretend, let alone feel. I had chosen the Family Club Med because I like families. I like my four kids, I had liked being married even if I didn’t particularly like who I was married to.  I was comfortable in this setting.  Children take to me readily, and for the past four days, I had been playing with other people’s children while I was supposed to be on vacation from my own. 

            I was not the only watcher.  Others, too, watch from the shadows.  Some pretended disinterest by glancing at their cell phones or talking, but most of us were openly envious.

I could see some kids on the beach, digging their shovels into the sand.  One little girl, probably about six, reminded me of myself as a child, her long dark brown hair in braids and her large brown eyes meeting my gaze with something which may have been wry amusement, if I wasn’t reading too much into her.  She used her shovel to dig up the sand, carefully filling the pail, and patting the sand firmly before upturning it beside the row she had already created.  Like I used to, she put her feet into the hole she created to enjoy the cool, wet sand down there.  It is a basic animal instinct, performed by all the species on the many wildlife shows I continue to watch on TV.

My reverie was interrupted. “Want to join us?”

It was one of the instructors, a handsome, dark-skinned man about my age showing off his muscular arms and thighs in a tight-fitting acrobatic costume.

“Oh, me? I don’t think so,” I responded. “I’m more of a book girl than a trapeze girl.”

He knew how to flatter (of course). “Really? You look like a trapeze woman to me ...”

I laughed, to let him know I was onto his game, but was nevertheless grateful for the compliment. “Yeah, well, the answer is still no.”

A tall young female instructor, similarly clad for a circus, joined us. Why were they bothering with me? “Come on, I’ve seen you watching,” she smiled, showing bright white teeth in her perfect dark complexion.

“No, really, I’m not that athletic,” I insisted, starting to back away. My heart was starting to hammer, and I just wanted to sink into the sand and disappear. The hipsters were looking over at me now. Damn!

The man took my hand before I could escape. “I’m Jon, J-O-N, no “h”. What’s your name?”

“Um ... Helen,” I answered truthfully because I’m not good at lying on the spot.

“Well, um, Helen, I promise you that you can quit after 15 minutes, okay?”

Well, if you’re a coward, then you’re just as scared to say No again as you are to try something new, right? So I allowed myself to be led over to the equipment. The trapeze hanging just over my head from a metal frame that was only maybe twenty or thirty feet high, and with a harness, ropes and the green mesh net, I understood that I wasn’t actually in very much danger, but I was suddenly perspiring like I’d run a marathon. I prefer to stay invisible, especially given the very large likelihood that I was about to make a fool of myself.

“My name is Samantha, but you can call me Sam,” said the girl, helping me into the harness. As handsome as Jon was, I was grateful that he wasn’t the one adjusting the straps around my waist. She hooked a rope to the each side of the strap. “Comfortable?” she asked, standing back to look.

“Not really,” I said, and she laughed. Her warm smile showed me she was good at this, coaxing strangers into trying new things.

“Don’t worry. We won’t let you get hurt.” She indicated a bucket of white powder. “Get some of this chalk on your hands to improve your grip, and we’ll just lift you a foot or so at first, okay? Remember to hold onto the trapeze.”

I dusted my hand the way she showed me, and then reached up and felt the hot metal of the trapeze bar against my palms. Sam stepped closer, tightened one of the buckles, then gestured to Jon. “Take her up!”

Suddenly, I was off the ground, swinging slightly as my heart thundered. I was on the verge of tears and the strap around my waist was biting into my too-soft flesh. I wasn’t built for this sort of thing!

“Are you okay?” Sam asked, grabbing my left leg and helping me to stop swinging.

“The harness kind of hurts,” I admitted.

Sam laughed, her eyes kind. “Wait until tomorrow!” she warned. “That’s when you’ll really feel it!”

By now, I had convinced myself that if I could survive natural childbirth four times, I could certainly take the sting of the harness. Already, I was getting used to it. “Okay, now what?” I asked.

“Well, to start, we’d just like to take you up a couple more feet, and get you swinging back and forth. Just push your feet forward, the same as you did when you were swinging on a swing, okay?”

I nodded, and Sam gestured for Jon to lift me up a bit higher. Once I was about six feet off the ground, I looked around. I had been worried about being able to hold my weight from my hands, but the ropes attached to the harness were actually supporting most of my weight, so holding the trapeze wasn’t that hard on my hands. The hipster couple were standing to the side, sipping tropical drinks from coconuts with umbrellas. In the other direction, the little girl had abandoned her sand castle and was squinting against the sun to watch me swing. She smiled widely at me when she saw me looking, and I smiled back at her as if I was having fun. Wait, was I?

With my little audience, I didn’t feel that I could just ask to quit, so I did as Sam had instructed and pushed my feet forward.

“Okay, now try to pull your knees up and then pull your feet up and over the bar,” said Sam.

“Ugh” I grunted as I pulled my knees up. I definitely needed to do more sit-ups! Not gracefully, but I did succeed in getting my feet up and over the bar (one at a time!) until I was hanging upside down.

“Great!” enthused Sam as if I hadn’t looked like Dumbo on a swing. “Are you ready to let go with your hands? Push your heels toward the ground, and then slowly release your hands and hang from the bar, okay?

I did as she instructed, and suddenly flashed back to my childhood. I had completely forgotten that I used to hang upside down all the time as a kid. On the monkey bars at school, from tree branches, and even (secretly) from the support cable that ran from our farmhouse to the slightly-leaning garage.

 Unexpectedly, I found myself suffused with joy. “Whoo-HOO!”

“You’re doing great!” repeated Sam. “Feeling better about this, hunh?”

“Yep!” I agreed. “This feels great!”

“You can make yourself swing by swinging your arms,” encouraged Sam.

I obeyed, and was soon swinging gently back and forth through about a ten-foot arc. It felt quite relaxing, actually.

“Ready to go higher?”

“Um ... I guess so.”

Again I felt myself lifted into the air, and now the ground was far below me and the net had been moved into place. I’m not afraid of heights but I didn’t like the feeling of being so out of control. It seemed that the slightest movement caused me to swing, and I didn’t know how to stop it.

As if reading my mind, Sam looked up. “If you want to stop swinging, reach up and grab the bar with your hands again,” she advised.

Luckily, that worked. She left me hanging there for a moment to adjust to the new height. “Okay up there?”

“Yes. I’m not scared of heights.”

“Having fun yet?”

“I guess ...”

Her laugh was warm and genuine. “I like you, Helen. You’re just real. ... Okay, now we’re going to bring you up to the platform at the side. Then we’ll get you to stand up and hang onto the trapeze with just your hands again. Then we’ll get you to swing right out and drop into the net. Do you think you can do that?”

“Um ... I guess ... How do I ...?”

Before I could finish my sentence, the rope that was holding the trapeze was grabbed with a long hook and I was pulled over to the platform where Jon helped me to climb clumsily off the trapeze. Once I was vertical again, I felt a bit dizzy. Luckily, I could grab one of the support posts. When Jon saw that, he immediately put an arm around my waist. “Are you okay?”

I was blushing, both with the embarrassment of feeling woozy and with the close proximity of a handsome man. I stepped away from him, careful not to step off the tiny platform. “Yes, thanks, I just got a bit light-headed from the transition. I’m okay now.” I was, too.

“Great!” he smiled, smoothly removing his arm. “How do you like the view?” he asked, probably to distract me. I looked around. We were a little higher than the palm trees, with a glorious view of the ocean and the red-tiled rooftops of the neighbouring houses.

“Wow! It’s gorgeous! No wonder you like this job.”

“Never get tired of it,” he said. “Now you’re going to swing and drop, okay? Have you ever used a trampoline? The drop is like that. You basically want to let go in the middle of your swing and then drop butt-first into the net.”

“Yes, I did trampoline in high school. But do I have to do this? Can’t I just climb down the ladder?”

His smile didn’t even falter. He must get a lot of chickens up here. “Well, Helen, you could, but after what you’ve done already, I think you might really enjoy a genuine circus swing. You’d be doing exactly the same thing as every trapeze artist does at the end of every show!” He cranked the wattage up on his smile and held the trapeze toward me. “Not only that, but it’s MUCH faster getting down this way!”

I reached down to check to make sure my safety ropes were still attached. Jon stood behind me and tugged on each rope. Looks good to me,” he said as he came back around, the twinkle in his eyes hinting he might not be speaking solely about the harness.

“Right,” I said, rolling my eyes. I’m not fat, but I’m pretty sure a mother of four wasn’t his type. I reached for the trapeze. “Let’s get this over with. Grab on, swing out, let go, land on my bottom. Is that it?”

“You got it, Helen.” He let go of the bar so that I was holding it on my own. “Whenever you’re ready. Remember, the safety ropes will be helping support your weight, so you should be able to hang on until you’re ready to drop. The ideal is to drop at the bottom of the swing.”

“Gotcha.” I stepped up to the edge of the platform, feeling like a baby bird must feel the first time they left the nest. Could I fly?

I took a deep breath and jumped forward, holding the trapeze bar with white knuckles. I was flying!

And I LOVED it! Up in the air, like a bird. I was supposed to swing once and let go, but I didn’t want to. I wished I could keep swinging forever. It was amazing!

“You’ve got to let go!” yelled Sam and Jon at the same time. They were probably required to move a certain number of guests through the experience per hour. I didn’t want to ruin their quota, but the next few seconds might be my only experience of this in my life, so I held on, even swinging my legs forward and back to increase the arc of my swing.

I suddenly understood why birds fly. The slow-motion film had made it look hard, and the straining muscles in my hand, arms and shoulders told me I was going to pay for this later, but my heart felt weightless, as if every worry, fear and sorrow had left me. I had never felt so free.

Finally, after four or five swings, I reluctantly let go and dropped down into the net. It caught me, like that blanket game where you put a kid in the middle and then bounce them up and down, and then I was rolling off the side and standing on the hot sand once again.

As Sam helped me unstrap the harness, I was suddenly really glad I had come to this resort, and glad I had let them talk me into this adventure. I gave her a hug, which she returned after a moment of surprise. As I turned away toward the bar, I said, “See you tomorrow!”