Door

How long has it been since they stood before that open door. Years. Decades ago.

The door led into a fall exactly  2.25 meters down. That number being the distance between floors in their old two-storied wooden house. The house was never finished up until the time it was finally demolished to make way for something else. That would be a metaphor for many things but also this: Two brothers standing in front of an open door that would have led into a balcony if only it were not too expensive at that time. And so the door led to nowhere if it did not lead into a promise.

And here they stood before it, the younger brother, going 7, holding a collapsible umbrella, made in China, exactly the type of umbrella prim little high school girls might  bring to school. He opened it and then began pulling downwards to test its wind resistance.

“Do you think it is enough?” he asked the older brother three  years his senior. The older one pondered the question well. He looked down from the open door to the bottom of the fall. How should he test the credibility of his answer? Should he say yes only if he himself was willing to jump? That seemed a good moral start. But he reminded himself that the question must be resolved by science. And it would have to be objective science.

Forget that a jump is involved. Forget all questions about courage and fear. They have nothing to do with it. The final answer can only come after this question is resolved positively: Is the umbrella big enough?

The older brother shook his head. “No! You must find a bigger umbrella.”

How long did it take before they found themselves at that door again? It did not seem too long. But days passed. That much he remembers. And now, the younger one is looking up at him. He holds in his hands what seemed at that time like a huge all-black, all-plastic contraption. He took it into his hands jumping up and down to see how fast he fell. It seemed to slow him down. It certainly seemed as if it was going to work. But still he wondered what to say.

He stood himself in front of the door once again holding the big umbrella in his hands. There is something called science. But there is no science to fear. Would he actually jump? He began testing the possibilities working in his mind the best conditionality that would convince him to do it. He sat on the floor under the door, his legs dangling into the void. He imagined giving himself a slight push forward with his feet and then his butt releasing from the floor. And then the flight.  There seemed only a few feet of fall. The chances of error and possible injury could be reduced. But only this far. Did it feel to him far enough?

Finally, he turned to the younger one and began explaining the situation. “It might possibly work. Despite the size of the umbrella, we still cannot be absolutely sure it will be enough. It will certainly slow down your fall. But there are so many factors to consider. How big you are for example.”

It would have helped if the younger brother was small. But in fact, he was bigger and heavier than the older one. He was big-boned and stocky and was, between the two, easily the more athletic. His legs were short and large like the rest of him.

And here they now stood, only a bit away from the open doorway, the younger brother holding the umbrella folded in his hands. He is silent as the older brother continues his report. The older one explains to him the science of the plunge. But it is all too complicated for him. Free fall, air resistance, terminal velocity, they just didn’t stick. For his part, the older brother knew the science is never sufficient. He might as well speak in terms of its philosophy. Why the fall seemed also like sin and yet. There was also the question of faith.

Did he actually think he would be okay? Did he believe? He closed his eyes to imagine the fall when quite suddenly he heard it more than saw it. Feet falling into the wooden floor and then silence. The great leap of faith. The running jump into the outside, into the wind, into the fall. He saw the umbrella open and then collapse, its spokes folding upwards bringing down umbrella and child.

But for the shortest instance of time before that, it held; the fabric ballooning into a perfect parabola as it caught the wind, the young child holding on to its handle with both hands, his legs kicking forward as they rocked him in the wind exactly like the parachutist they had seen on television. He flew.

Only for a short instance. But such a flight it was. They would carry it in memory until this day when they have grown decades older and less inclined to jump from even the shortest height. The younger one still complains of a recurring back pain. But he survived. He flew.