Rosalind
"Did you hear that? The plane is fine! The plane is fine! Get back into the plane!" I shout at the man.
I'm holding onto him for dear life, squeezing him in a viselike grip with my legs and arms, my purse still in my left hand. Despite my urging him to get back into the plane, the plane has moved on, flown away at least a thousand feet above us.
"Forget the plane! We're falling!" the man shouts back at me.
Of course we're falling. We jumped out of a plane. We're definitely falling.
"Why are we falling?" I screech. "Isn't the parachute working? Stop the falling! Stop the falling, now!"
"I don't know how to work a parachute," he yells, slapping at the bindings. "Which one is the ripcord?"
"Who cares? Pull everything! Pull everything!"
He finds the ripcord and pulls. Our down
