Barnstormer

The barnstormers are climbing into the sky again, their sleek rockets leaving trails of fire against the dark. Pete watches from below, heart hammering with wanting. He's the kind of boy who was born to fly, who can feel the pull of the void between stars. But in his town, the older women his grandmother's age have seen enough of mans ambition. They remember the first flying machines, the promises that burned like chaff in the wind, and they are not eager to watch the next generation reach for something that might not let them back down. Pete faces a choice: abandon the dream that defines him, or find a way to carry it forward on his own terms. Harris writes with the earnest optimism of mid-century science fiction at its best, when space still felt like a frontier rather than a frontier, and the question of whether we belonged there had not yet been answered. This is a small, perfect story about what it means to want something the people who love you cannot understand.