“Now for the best part.” Matt walks away from the cliff edge, toward the right-hand side of the plateau. He tugs a thin plastic tarp out of his pack. “This is my favorite thing,” he says. “Watch this.”
The tarp is large and unwieldy when it unfolds—almost the size of a twin bedsheet and the same rectangle shape. The short edges are gathered and duct-taped into something resembling handles. Matt’s hands slide into the silvery slots in a familiar way; the tarp billows out behind him like a fallen cape.
He carries it like that to the edge of the rock face, and gazes down the slight four-foot drop. “It’s like flying,” he says. “Check it.”
He flings his arms upward and leaps forward, into the air over the drop-off. The tarp catches the sky, an invisible updraft. Matt floats. Down, down, till his sneakers touch earth again. It’s over in seconds, at which point I let out my breath.
Matt turns around, grinning. He calls up to me. “You wanna try?”
I shake my head.
“You’ll love it,” he promises. “You’ve never felt so free.”
“Um…”
“Trust me,” he says. “It’s a religious experience.”
He sounds so earnest. It makes me want to laugh.
“Close your eyes when you jump,” he says. “It makes it feel like you’re falling forever.”