The Fartsack Parachute

When I was about 9 years old, I found a discarded cloth mattress cover on an old mattress that had been tossed out with the garbage, along with a large plastic bag that, I assume, the new mattress for whoever had discarded the old one had come packaged in.

I struggled and pulled and finally got the mattress cover off of the old mattress, then, triumphantly carrying my find, went in search of some other items... I had a plan, you see...

I scavenged a bale of old clothesline, and a few other scrap items, and fashioned what I believed to be a fairly functional parachute out of the fartsack, with the plastic bag nested inside of it, held to the cloth with a few judiciously placed stitches that I sewed in with quilting thread. I cut a hole in the apex, just as I had learned from books that I had recently read on the subject, fashioned some suspension lines and risers, and even a rudimentary harness, and, feeling satisfied with my creation, anxiously went in search of a venue in which to test it out!

I decided that the fire escape of the apartment building that I lived in would be just the test platform that I required for the experiment.

I took the elevator to the top floor of the apartment building, which happened to be the sixth floor, and snuck out onto the roof of the building (Where, I might add, I was unmistakably prohibited to be, for any reason at all.. the interests of modern experimental science not withstanding!). Looking down the six stories to the ground over the edge of the parapet, I quickly assessed that six floors might just be a little high for a first run, so I began to quietly and sneakily descend the fire escape, all the while judging my relative distance to the ground.

When I arrived at the fourth floor fire escape, I felt that this height would be just about high enough to give my 'parachute' time to open, while not necessarily killing me if it should fail, even though the landing surface below was a less than optimal asphalt parking area.

I strapped on my newly created contraption, and climbed up onto the rail of the fire escape, balancing precariously there like a cat, and just happened to catch a glimpse of the horrifed occupant of the apartment of whose fire escape I had just hurled myself off of as I jumped up and out, in an attempt to put some distance between me and the rather unforgiving metal surfaces of the fire escape, on my leap to fame and stardom. I could already imagine, quite vividly, how impressed everyone was going to be with my ingenuity and workmanship!

Much to my satisfaction, the fartsack parachute opened perfectly with a very satisfying 'pop'! Much to my dismay and horror, however, was the distinctive ripping sound that immediately followed the pop.... (oh..... shit!)

A huge tear had ripped my parachute open so that it was nothing more than a sort of cloth streamer trailing behind me as I fell, resembling nothing so much as a Kamikaze comet on a collision course with the parking lot far below!

I plummeted the four stories to the ground in somewhat less than a second, slamming into the ground at what felt like about 120 miles an hour. I had an indistinct plan to roll upon impact, much as I had been learning in my judo classes. What actually happened, instead, was that my legs, unable to hold my weight at such a velocity, collapsed underneath me, and I gave myself a rather substantial 'root in the stones' with the heel of one or both of my feet as my body slammed down onto them! I then flopped to one side or the other, removing much of the skin on my body on that side in the process, and giving my head a good thunk on the asphalt for good measure.

This all happened almost instantaneously, and I laid there, curled into a fetal position, attempting to breathe, and being somewhat startled at the intensity of the pain that was washing through my tortured body at the time.

To add to my relative discomfort, the fartsack was fluttering in the breeze, in what I considered to be a distinctly obnoxious, vindictive, and mocking fashion.

After what seemed like about an hour, a number of tenants rushed up to ask me whether I was killed as a result of my fall, and to helpfully make suggestions as to my future behaviour, my relative level of intellect and psychological stability, and my suitability as a member of society specifically, and as a member of the human race at large. While I was certainly grateful for their input, I nevertheless decided that a graceful exit was called for after a few seconds of this (well... maybe not that graceful... but an exit nonetheless...)

I limped off, oozing blood picking asphalt sprinkles out of the worst road-rashy bits, my body aching and stinging in places where I never even knew I had places, and found someplace that only a kid would know about and did the best I could to tend to my wounds.. both the physical injuries, and those to my pride.

When I finally went home later on that day, I was somewhat caught off-guard by my mothers seemingly psychic knowledge of my activities earlier in the day. Surprisingly, she raised many of the same issues as the other tenents in the building concerning my intelligence, judgement, and level of sanity, which, naturally, I found to be somewhat noteworthy and surprising! This was all very interesting to me, until the beatings commenced...

As I lay in my bed, the innocent victim of parental brutality and societal misunderstanding, I resolved to find myself a stronger fartsack the next time I attempted to leap from a tall building!!...