"He’s never going to fly," is the first thing she says after "Is he breathing?" and "He’s beautiful." John tries to reassure her but the firmness in her mouth does not soften.

For years they try anyway, holding him as each flies, spreading the too-small wings out to catch air that cannot hold his weight. The surgery occurs when he is four: a year before kindergarten, a year for relearning to walk and for memorizing the story of a dog attack to explain the scars.

Twenty years later, he perfects the Nth metal alloy. His first flight is like birth.