A Coast Guard Academy Cadet

       Cadet Dick Garrett balled up his shirt and threw it over the side of the ship. He was headed toward the Bridge Wing Deck and, for what he had in mind, the proper dress protocol didn’t carry much weight. When he got to that top deck, he bent over the rail and looked down. It was swim-time and some of his buddies were already in the water.

       He was about to join them.

       The ship was rocking in the rough sea over the equator and in the middle of the Pacific. For what he had in mind. timing with the ship’s sway would be important. Jumping at the wrong time could mean scraping down the ship's side. No way!

       He slung one leg over the rail. Holding tightly with both hands, Dick straddled the rail and pulled his other leg over. For a moment he stood with his back to the water. Determined in his resolve, he turned and leaned back into the rail.

      The southern horizon! There it was! And somewhere a little further down, there was Antarctica. That’s where they were going. That’s where he was going.

       Dick started to visualize how his jump would go, how he would move when falling through the air. His arms, legs, head: all would have to be positioned just right when he hit the water.

       One of the other Coast Guard Academy cadets in the water spotted him. “Dick,” he yelled. “What in the hell are you doing?”

       Dick didn’t answer. His bare feet felt the quiet churning of the motors keeping power in the ship. He could also hear the cry of a pair of frigates hanging in the air over the ship. Were they daring him? Maybe so. Anyway, it was a good time to do this. He was alive and, by God, he would fly.

       The rocking of the ship would be used as a slingshot, slinging him toward the South Pole. He was aware of the chill of the air that swept over his bare skin as he rocked, propelled back and forth by the motion of the ship. He released his grip on the rail. The ship was about to reach the peak of its sway and was about to fling him away.

       Dick pushed with his legs. He was soaring through the air, a bird in flight. His torso was arched backward, his eyes were on the horizon, his legs were straight, the bottoms of his feet were turned up to the sky.

       But gravity still held him. He was a mortal, after all. He was not going to soar to the southern horizon. Rather, he was going to fall into the blue Pacific. Dick rolled into a ball and then straightened to become a missile – a missile plunging toward the rolling waves. If he did not remember, then his body did. His body remembered the visual image that he had formed in his head. His toes were arrows pointing toward the bottom of the ocean. His left arm was closely held down the side of his belly with his left hand cupping his crotch. His right arm was pulled over his chest with his right hand tightly gripping his left upper arm. He had sucked in as much air as possible.

       The right arm held firmly across his chest might keep the force of the impact from snapping his head backward. Holding his face toward the horizon might protect his eyes from the full crushing blow of the surface.

       The impact of the water was as though he had been smashed by a board across the bottom of his feet. His arms were almost torn loose from their grips. His chin took the blow as though he had been hit by an uppercut and, immediately, he felt the salt water gushing into his nose.

       “Holy shit!” were the words that went through his mind as he let his arms extend over his head, his body still sinking into the water.

       And then, he looked up. The bubbles from this penetration swirled up there between him and the surface as he continued to sink. He kicked confirming that his legs still worked. He pulled his arms down to his sides in a wide sweep, stopping the drift toward the bottom and propelling him upward through those swirls as he pushed back toward that surface, that surface he had broken through just seconds before.

       Air! Air!

       He shook his head, slinging the water from his face. The water felt warm after the coolness he had felt back up there on the Bridge Wing Deck. It felt warm, but he had a chill running down his back. It was the chill that comes from knowing that he had dared and he had done it

       The closest crewman swam toward him. “You okay?”

       Dick didn’t answer at first. “I think so.”

       “That’s the first time I’ve seen that from the Bridge Wing Deck!”

       A wide grin spread across Dick’s face. “Me, too.”

He lifted one fist, acknowledging the cheers from nearby classmates. One of them handed him his shirt. It was the same crewman who yelled to him as he prepared to jump. This time, he had advice. “You’d better put that on before you answer the Captain’s summon.”