I'm four or five years old. Faces, moments, feelings. I'm meeting the world for the first time.

Uncle Tomás says, just wait until you see Jenny.

I think that's a pretty name because it rhymes with Penny, which is my favorite coin because it's the name of my teacher, who is pretty.

The sound of her rumbles in my chest, like big cicadas. I'm sitting on my dad's shoulders and the summer sun, the band playing loud, hot and itchy sweat down the back of my neck, and then I saw it.

That biplane is the prettiest thing in the whole world. It sounds like thunder when it flies overhead! A great big bird made out of wood, wire, steel, and canvas. Pop again tells me they named it Jenny. I ask who and he says everyone. I think that means they all can see how pretty she looks, up there, between the clouds, where only birds and angels go.

I say I'd like to be there one day.

Me too, says Ben. He's right next to me.

Uncle Tomás says, sure, kid! It's grand up there. He has a thin mustache and keeps his cap at an angle and wears a silk scarf. They all do that. They all look like they should do that.

Uncle Tomás kneels and puts an arm over Ben's shoulder and points at Jenny in the sky. Anytime you want, I'll take you and Louis up there, Ben. You think it looks grand now, but you can't imagine.

Really?

You go higher than the angels, my uncle says, and you can see what God sees.

What's that, then? My pop asks. Uncle Tomás takes his arm off Ben's shoulder and smiles and says, you know the sound the wind makes, when it's so loud you can't hear anything at all?

I know that sound, my pop says. But hearing ain't seeing.

That a fact, Benito?

It's Ben.

Pop hates being called Benito. He hates it so much he named himself Ben, and my brother Junior, he named Ben too.

Jenny roars overhead again. We all look up.

I like all their names. They stick. Like they're never going to go anywhere. Not without me.