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(It's a complex balance between you, the bulk of yourself, buying in to this wholeheartedly, not lying, not deceiving, just buying into something unproven— and is that a crime? Between that and you, a hovering splinter-self, <span class="mu-i">aware</span> you're— not lying, not deceiving, but putting on a thing, doing a little song and dance. Acting. For an unseen audience, for a purpose you can only feel in your gut, but acting all the same; you [this splinter] are exhorting yourself to believe harder and better, and you [the bulk] are believing it more and more, the thing about the bones. You know and you don't, you're aware and you're not, and in your gut there's a- a- <span class="mu-i"><span class="mu-r">feeling,</span></span> a twisting, heavy feeling, but not like you're twisting. Like you're staying perfectly, exactly still, and everything's wrapping tightly around you. Spiraling into your drain. The bulk of you doesn't even register this feeling.)
—and it's just obvious, the bones thing, and you'd wager Richard didn't mention it because he was jealous. That somebody (an eyeball, no less) swooped in on <span class="mu-i">his</span> body-screwery turf. Well, it "sucks to suck," as you have heard it occasionally said, and you will include your successful mineshaft-jumping prominently in your retelling of anecdotes.
With that all settled, you debrief Earl ("Going down there! I'll go first! Follow me!"), crack your neck and your shoulders, peer into the mineshaft— think better of that, shut your eyes, and undertake a giddy little run and hop off the edge. It is completely possible you do a flip, which helps you to differentiate this fall from the one with sky and sea and the splash and gurgle of your suitcase. This one isn't that one: this is fun! Probably fun. If you ignore how your body feels about the whole thing.
You're excellent at ignoring, though, and your confidence in the bone idea is pristine. Consequently you're unafraid, if a tad nauseous, and are even able to twist your head upward: Earl is indeed following! He's sliding down, sort of, slowing himself with his clawlike hands and feet— a cleverer method than you expected, but there is, after all, a normal man somewhere in there. (Disturbingly enough.) You're so concentrated on this sight, and so blissfully disinterested in the ground rushing to meet you, that you're surprised when it hits, and moreso when you slightly bounce. Really. You came a half-inch off the packed earth and back down, back stinging but not broken. "Heh," you say, lying there, "heh-heh— heh-heh-heh—"
(3/5)
