Peter went to the bathroom thinking about committing suicide again. This was the third time that week he had the feeling that living was not worthwhile. The only thing that kept him from taking his life away was his little nephew Paul. He knew that the kid would never understand the reason why his uncle killed himself. Peter decided to proceed in such a way that his death would look like an accident.
Arthur, and old friend of Peter, had been telling him to go skydiving on many occasions but he had always declined the invitation; the truth was he didn’t like heights. But that morning on the bathroom, Peter found that was the perfect way to die without disappointing Paul. If he managed to kill himself while jumping, he would die in a heroic way in the eyes of his nephew. Paul would idealize him even more and he would end up accepting his death. Peter went to the phone and called Arthur.
At thirty five hundred feet Peter was paralyzed with the idea of jumping into the void, but his depression was so deep that he simply went to the airplane door and did it. The adrenaline forced life to come to his body again. The air on his face and that magnificent view filled Peter with a joy that he had not felt in years. That lost meaning, the reason to wake up every morning, was there. He wanted to live more than anything, and jump again and again. And at that precise moment, when he decided to live, the parachute didn’t open.