I’m floating – what feels like 100 feet above the river – suspended and looking out at its brownish winding path, lined with grassy knolls, dotted with picnicking couples, dogs sniffing the air, and work-out groups walking.
I fall – back down, the trampoline below meeting my feet for only seconds before I’m joyously flung back up to catch another glimpse of the afternoon scene in Vienna, Austria.
Years of competitive dance training never leave the toes; Mine, pointed, and experimenting with various split jumps, star jumps, and toe touches – making fun shapes in the air with each bounce – tears flowing from my eyes, but drying almost immediately as the wind pushes up and down against my cheeks with each bounce.
The ukulele mashup of Somewhere Over the Rainbow and What a Wonderful World by Israel Kamakawiwoʻole guided me here – ‘oooo mmm ooo mm-mm-mm-mmm, oo oo oo’ – playing on loud speakers at the base of this floating water trampoline on this rather plain river.
I spent all morning taking in classically beautiful art and music – a Mozart concert, and several art galleries and museums over at the aptly named ‘Museumsplatz’ area of Vienna. It was all stunning, but somehow this day had even more beauty in store for me.
With no real itinerary, I asked a stranger what I should do with my afternoon and they said to ride the train out to this river – so I did.
I had been solo backpacking around Europe for a few weeks before this particular day. The year was 2010, I was 21, and I had refused to bring a cell phone with me on this trip. “I want to do an old school Euro trip, with pocket dictionaries, printed maps, and forced conversation with locals” I told my poor mortified mother. I was flying by the seat of my EuroRail pass, hostel hopping, and checking in with home via 10-minutes of computer time at the hostels. Smart phones hadn’t yet seized our attention as humans at the time – so I was all spongy, ready to take in what Europe had to offer. The feeling of complete freedom on this trip remains unmatched in my life since … No one really knew where I was, no one in these places knew who I was … I could be anyone to anybody, trying on a new version of me any time I wanted.
After my 2 euros ran out, my 8 minutes of glorious jumping time was done and I left the trampoline, stumbling slightly as I readjusted to the solid ground below.
“Servus!” I hear from behind the fenced-in exit area. I caught her eye. “Servus, Hallo!” she repeated. Mmmm… could she be talking to me? I checked around me before offering a wave and a meek “Me? Hello?” back. Apparently my Canadian was showing in that response as she promptly switched to English.
“Are you a cheerleader?” she asked, adding “you’re very good. I was watching you.” I assured her I was not, but that I danced a lot growing up, and appreciated the kind words. I figured that was the end of our interaction but she continued walking with me as I exited the gates. She said, “My cheerleading team is rehearsing for a competition and we’re down one girl for practice today… Can you fill in for her?”
After trying my best to convince her that I was not at all skilled in cheerleading moves, lifts, stunts or tricks, I agreed to help out for the day.
We walked along the riverside for a bit, speaking very little, before she veered off into a forested area to the side. Following her I suddenly felt a bit nervous… Was this young woman plotting to kill me? Or bring me to some cult leader? Or was she maybe hitting on me? Was this going to be the beginning of a sapphic screenplay I’d write someday?
We came to a clearing in the forest where two other girls waited. They weren’t your stereotypical Hollywood cheerleader types – they seemed a bit like a group of misfits – which made me feel immediately at ease. They taught me some lifts – I was to be a base support for the flyer. The trust they placed in me, a random stranger girl from Canada, was pretty unbelievable.
I did my best, but I honestly think I was a bit of a let down to the girl who scouted me. It was tough work! After about an hour of practice, we wrapped up. They asked about my availability for their competition in a few weeks … and I had to break it to them that I was due to be in Spain to teach drama and dance at an English summer camp. But I did for a moment consider leaving everything behind and joining this cheer team in Austria.
We snapped a crappy photo on my digital camera – one of the best shots of the day – capturing the true beauty in the real people, the real connections, in Vienna – rather than just the “beautiful” things set out for tourists’ eyes.
I never spoke to the cheer girls again… And I sometimes wonder if this magical day had happened today, how would social media and our obsessively connected world shape this memory… What are the ways in which it would become distorted? Or the ways it would be enriched? How many shots of my split jumps would I need to take before landing the perfect one for instagram? Maybe I’d still be in touch with the girls, planning visits to one another’s countries. Looking at a photo of how I was only really 5 feet in the air might crush this memory of flying. If this was just another story I posted, would it have remained interesting enough to be told here tonight?
Not being tethered to a device that summer, I’ve always stored the memory of the river trampoline and accidentally joining an Austrian cheerleading team purely, and vividly in my mind.
vancouverqueerstories.com 