Here I am

“This will be the death of me,” the man says. He stands at the edge, staring at the gaping hole in the plane. He should see the sky. Clouds, sun, horizon. He sees darkness. He should feel excitement. Freedom, adventure, autonomy. He feels helplessness.

For the umpteenth time, he mentally runs through the list of things he needs to check before jumping. Proper fitting of the harness. Inspection of the pack on his back, the rip-cord pin, the safety thread. Even after twenty-six times, everything is under control.

Whose idea is this? He knows the answer. It was his suggestion to go skydiving. As a manager, as a boss, he had impulsively proposed it to the department. He had expected them all to be put off by his plan. And that he would at least suggest that he was brave enough to jump from 35,000 feet from a Cessna 208 Caravan.

However, all the team members reacted enthusiastically. Strangely enough, they all had skydiving on their bucket lists.

That was the moment. During that break, on that occasion, on that day, in that week. That's when he should have shown his weakness. That's when he should have said he's afraid of heights. That he doesn't even dare stand on a ladder to hang party streamers.

Nevertheless. He kept quiet. Was it fear of damaging his image? Was it arrogance? And it's not the first time this has happened to him. His big mouth has gotten him into trouble many times before. But never as much as today. Now it’s a matter of life and death.

Today, all his colleagues are looking at him. They're standing in the back of the plane. The instructor looks bored at his phone. You can see him thinking. How long have we been circling in the air? How many times have I explained to that manager what he's supposed to do? And will he ever decide to jump? To go skydiving?

The manager is now sweating all over. His hands are shaking; his feet are shuffling nervously on the smooth metal floor. His head is spinning. As if he's on a sizzling, hopeless carnival ride.

Is this the time for him to admit he's too scared? To fall to his knees, to ask forgiveness for his big mouth, his bluff, his boastfulness? But what will they think then? His colleagues? His wife and children, so proud of him for taking the plunge? And don't forget the CEO waiting for him on the lawn below. Along with the rest of the management team. With cameras, with a fanfare.

If he decides to quit now, how long will they keep pointing that out? How often will they mock him? Scoff him? What will he be called from now on? Coward, namby-pamby, weakling? And what will be his position? What will come of his ambition, his career. He will have to live out his day in a dark, soulless basement.

He asks for a sip of water. Reluctantly, the instructor hands him the bottle of mineral water for the sixth time. The manager makes a joke with one of his colleagues. He smiles. No one laughs.

He walks slowly forward again. And there's always that growling, bullying, commanding, irrevocable noise. Of the engines, of the wind, of the propellers. The boss can't go forward or backward. As if he's trapped in the belly of a monster. A whale? A dragon?

Will he ever forgive myself if I don't jump? Will his true nature be revealed? The fact that, deep down, he’s a very insecure, scared, worried man? And that he doesn’t look like the person he so desperately want to be. Tough, strong, brave. A hero, a lionheart.

He turns around. He realizes there's no other option. He'll have to admit it. His desperation, his panic. And maybe it's for the best. Maybe this is the right moment to say goodbye to that boastful, bragging, swanky figure he appears to be. This might be the moment to show everyone that he can be vulnerable too. Foolish, weak, shaky.

His colleagues grin at him. Is something wrong? Is his fly open? They're no longer grinning. They laugh out loud. A female colleague breaks away from the group. She walks towards him.

"Okay," she says. "It's been great. None of us were planning on jumping. And the instructor knows this. We wanted to test your boastfulness. But honestly, you did better than expected."