Пятьдесят оттенков серого

           Thelightisextraordinary,diffuseandwarminhue,andIrememberJoséramblingonabout“magichour,”atimeofdaythatphotographersadore—thisisit…justafterdawn,andI’minit,withChristian.

           Abruptly,I’mremindedofJosé’sshow.Hmm.IneedtotellChristian.Iwonderbrieflyhowhe’llreact.ButIwon’tworryaboutthat,notnow—I’menjoyingtheride.Myearspopaswegainheight,andthegroundslipsfartherandfartheraway.Itissopeaceful.Icompletelygetwhyhelikestobeuphere.AwayfromhisBlackBerryandallthepressuresofhisjob.

           Theradiocracklesintolife,andMarkmentionsthreethousandfeet.Jeez,thatsoundshigh.Ichecktheground,andIcannolongerclearlydistinguishanythingdownthere.

           “Release,”Christiansaysintotheradio,andsuddenlythePiperdisappearsandthepullingsensationprovidedbythesmallplaneceases.We’refloating,floatingoverGeorgia.

           Holyfuck—it’sexciting.Theplanebanksandturnsasthewingdips,andwespiraltowardthesun.Icarus.Thisisit.Iamflyingclosetothesun,buthe’swithme,leadingme.Igaspattherealization.Wespiralandspiral,andtheviewinthismorninglightisspectacular.

           “Holdontight!”heshouts,andwedipagain—onlythistimehedoesn’tstop.Suddenly,Iamupsidedown,lookingatthegroundthroughthetopofthecockpitcanopy.

           Isquealloudly,myarmsautomaticallylashingout,myhandssplayedonthePerspextostopmefromfalling.Icanhearhimlaughing.Bastard!Buthisjoyisinfectious,andIamlaughing,too,asherightstheplane.