Skydiving

** Skydiving When I think back on the day of shooting, I recall being vaguely entertained. When I rounded the corner to the talent office to find a model for binding, the stare I see in my mirror every morning was there. We sat down. We talked at each other over a checklist. She didn't ask any questions. She signed her name while digging through her purse. They brought her back from the makeup room later. The interview went by as she posed for pictures, twisting her form this way and that. She was scrolling down an electronic planner when she wandered off into the corner. She is only 19, but she works five to six days per week. She is represented, has a website, book contract, and a videoblog. It took 3 months to book her. Stripped naked on the table, bound to the cold metal, she looked like she might fall asleep but didn't. She looked at the goggles quizzically but adjusted them so all she could see was black. When the clamps were put on, she came around. She writhed and screamed as she counted down from one to twenty. She spat out words that no one had expected. She came so hard she looked like a fighter pilot in gravity training, gritting her teeth with her lips curled back. The straps fell off and the camera stopped. She stood up and took off the goggles. Her eyes came into focus. I could tell she had finally arrived in the room.