I met Rick in February 2010 in central Florida while waiting to take a hang gliding lesson. Neither of us had flown before. He had just gotten a divorce. I had recently gotten a tenure-track job. We were both looking to mark a moment with something transcendent. Rick grabbed the tow ahead of me. A little plane dragged him along the grass, then up, up, two thousand feet. As he was descending, strapped to the lead instructor, he took his wedding ring out of his pocket and flung it thousands of feet down, in the general vicinity of an orange grove. We flew together often in those early years. I was a slow and nervous learner, whereas Rick (not his real name) quickly became an expert. He could follow a red-tailed hawk up into the dome right under the big clouds. The hang gliding ranch hired him for odd jobs. Between those, he worked security at a nearby shopping mall. He was a supportive and generous friend, if sometimes extravagant and moody. He loved to …