My daring wife sold me on the idea, an autumn adventure as viewed from a gondola suspended by hot air balloon.  A chance to view our property, and those properties surrounding ours from the best possible vantage point imaginable, and after the flight, a gourmet dinner by campfire.  It will be a day we won’t forget she said as she smiled and put her arms round me.

She discovered the advert in the back of a fashion magazine read while waiting for her color to set in her favorite salon.  The outfit peddling the experience promised to tend to all details and Jennifer, my wife of seven years, took them up on the offer.

Naturally, questions had to be answered, which of two balloons for one.  The first design boasted a series of colorful rings that wrapped round the envelope horizontally giving the impression that a series of rainbow colored donuts of successively smaller size had been stacked atop each other.  The second, was a nature scene of large birds, wings spread full, soaring toward a series of mountain peaks still capped with snow.  Both were impressive, but Jennifer preferred the former, and having no dog in the fight I agreed to her selection.  The meal and wines offered required further decisions.  When she was finished, I understood I was to be fed an impressive assortment of grilled delicacies: fillets of Black Angus tenderloin, jumbo wild caught shrimp, potatoes, asparagus, and the dessert course would consist of fresh peach halves caramelized over the dying embers then served over homemade vanilla ice cream.

The afternoon to come raised feelings of great anticipation, though the planned assent wasn’t to occur until the fall of the year and it was yet mid-April, which was just as well, as I had recently agreed to sell my burgeoning tech venture for twenty-six million to a larger fish in Silicon Valley and the summer would be consumed preparing for the sale.  In point of fact, the deal was to be consummated a few days before Jennifer and I were to take to the sky.

The summer progressed at a frantic pace, the lawyers making certain all the i’s were appropriately dotted, and the sister t’s crossed.  My personal attorney also suggested I update all the important documentation governing what would happen if I should pass, now that I was to be a person of substantial means.  It was difficult to avoid the feeling of distance that grew between Jennifer and me as business took all my energies that summer, but she was a trooper and I knew once all had come to conclusion we would be back in each other’s arms.

Eventually all the hours devoted to cause reaped their benefits, when the tech baby I started in college dorm passed from my hands to that of conglomerate.  Putting food on the table would no longer be of concern.

In the remaining days leading to our hot air voyage, the distance separating us seemed to vanish as it had arrived—like a frost that’s gone two hours after sun makes debut.  The date to take to the heavens arrived, and Jennifer puttered round the house the day long nattering endlessly about what was ahead and what to wear, and then deciding anew multiple times.  It had been sometime since I had seen her so emotionally engaged.  I must admit I was surprised at her level of enthusiasm, perhaps balloon ride was a late entry on her bucket list.  As we pulled away from our drive she loaded a set of favorite songs on her phone and let Bluetooth do the rest.  She was quiet on the ride to the field—all talked out from the day’s prep I reckoned.

It was fine of Jim, our neighbor, to allow the use of his land for our launch pad (on condition that we chronical the events with ample photographs).  His field was level, a rarity in hill country, and none we could think of was better suited for our afternoon.  He and his wife were out of town; else they would have joined us for the view from above.

When we arrived at the pasture the impressive nylon bag was beginning to resemble a legitimate lighter than air craft.  The sun was casting long autumn afternoon shadows which added to the ambiance.  Elvis, our pilot, introduced himself.  I guessed mid-thirties, well built, his skin dark from hours spent outdoors.  He would have been welcomed in an ancient Greek wrestling exhibition, and my wife seemed quite taken with him.

Elvis had already opened a bottle Cabernet and he offered each a glass.  I wondered if it wise for him to participate given his responsibilities as pilot, but what harm could a single glass of wine do.  It was a good bottle and tasted all the better given my years of hard work.  Glasses refilled, we stepped aboard and Elvis got to the business of getting us off the ground.  The last of the preparations made, the flame roared, and the craft left firma terra.  We rose through the afternoon sky, emerald fields revealing themselves in ways I’d never seen, trees giving way to autumn golds and reds, birds flew not above, but below.  I was skeptical this voyage would prove worth the effort and price, but that skepticism was replaced with a feeling of pure boyhood wonder the higher we flew.

As I looked toward horizon, I noticed a substantial buzz building, which was surprising given the amount of drink consumed.  I concluded the vintage must have carried a high alcohol content.  I looked at Jennifer.  She laughed, and raised her glass in gesture of a toast.  Oddly her image split in two.  I rubbed my eyes and made mention of my altered state, and asked if they too were a little wasted.  My wife laughed turning toward Elvis who didn’t laugh in kind, but grinned at Jennifer strangely.  While still trying to decipher Elvis’s facial expression, my glassed slipped from my hand.  The glass fell to gondola’s floor and the reaming burgundy colored fluid made path toward Jennifer’s foot.  I looked up to see Elvis and my wife extending their arms as if to keep me from falling, which I didn’t understand.  I haven’t eaten, I said as excuse for handling myself poorly.  My legs suddenly lost their will and I was now thankful for the support Elvis was providing.  Let me help you he said as he lifted me like I was little more than a scarecrow.  I was in the process of asking for a chance to lay down when I found my ass sitting on basket’s edge.  Suddenly I was free falling.  The wind was cool and as my speed increased the noise from the rushing air grew loud.  Stupidly, I grasped for some aid to arrest my fall, but there was nothing of substance.  I was going to die.  Elvis said we were two thousand feet above the surface.  I didn’t have long.  I don’t remember the impact.  First there was blackness, and then I was floating above the ground rising higher.  Now I could see the gondola and inside my wife and Elvis were embracing and kissing.  So it was like that.  I rose higher.  It occurred to me that I was participating in one of those life-after-death tales.  I was accelerating when I heard, no felt a voice, say it wasn’t time.  I had no desire to return, as I felt a peace like none I had ever known, but I found myself moving quickly downward, then darkness.

I can’t say how long I was out.  I came round to the sound of a tractor laboring, then light and air, and I slid from where I was to see a tractor bucket lowering, approaching, ready to lift me and a scoop of the dark, fowl smelling, gunk that surrounded me.  The mechanical beast stopped and the engine died.  What the…I heard in a muffled tone…I could hardly see or hear and my body throbbed.  The man knelt beside me and called my name.  I didn’t respond, but I knew that voice.  He tried again.  It was Jed, a famer who lived not far from me.  I closed my eyes.

It took multiple surgeries and many months for me to recover.  I had broken my jaw, the femur in my left leg, the ankle on my right, and fractured my shoulder.  When I arrived at hospital they found traces of rohypnol in my system.  My wife and her lover, let me rephrase that, my soon to be ex-wife and her lover had been sloppy with their communication and coupled with the drug evidence and my testimony, both pled to avoid trial.  She hated orange, at least in clothing, so it gave me a small sense of satisfaction when she appeared in court clad head to toe in crossing guard shade.

How I survived the fall is still a topic of local interest.  As it happened, Jed had amassed an impressive mound of animal fertilizer, which provided a soft though putrid landing for me.  A few feet this way or that and things would have turned out differently.

Along the way life throws dirt at each of us, some more some less.  Affairs, divorce, loss of loved ones, disreputable business partners, and so on.  We tend to lament the difficult patches, but I believe at least some of them are meant for our benefit and therefore should be looked at accordingly.  I can testify, first hand, that a pile of shit can be your best friend.