Code Name: Buffy and Buddy
Chapter One
Growing up these days is tough enough, but it’s tougher if you’re different. I’m big enough and strong enough that I don’t get bullied, but you don’t have to be bullied to be set apart. I don’t get bullied online because I don’t have an online presence in my real name. I know better than that. My real name is Tommy, but my online name is Buddy. I got held back in first grade, so I’m older than the others in my class. We’ll graduate in a couple of months, and I don’t have plans for college or the military. I don’t have any plans for anything, and as things turned out, that’s a good thing.
You see, the thing is I can fly. Yeah, Superman style. Fly. Yup. Jump into the air, point my arms forward and go. I realized I could when I was about six. I don’t think anyone knows, but I can’t be sure, so I have to be careful. That’s not the only thing I can do. I can reach out my hand and look at something, and it’ll jump into my hand if it’s not too big. If I move my hand and think about it, things move the same as my hand moves. And my visual acuity is off the charts. My eye doc didn’t understand why I had trouble reading the blackboard in first grade since I could see so well. When they switched to whiteboards and markers, I picked right up where I should have been and rocketed ahead. It doesn’t bother me now, but it did for several years. Oh, and I’m really good at math, sort of. I can tell you where a baseball will hit the ground, but I can’t hit the thing to save my life. I can snatch it from wherever it is and catch it, but I can’t hit it. I can’t balance a checkbook, but I can tell you where and when the moon will set on the horizon while it’s still at its zenith.
It was this last part that started this whole mess. You see, there was this night launch at the Kennedy Space Center. It was the full moon, so I knew I had optimum lighting conditions for a great photo op. Oh, yeah, my hobby is photography. All kinds of photography, birds, buildings, landscapes, clothes, shoes, still life, artsy fartsy stuff, anything. I’d do nudes if I could get someone to pose for me. So, I hopped out my bedroom window with my cameras in the backpack. Getting out the window quietly without my parents knowing about it was awkward, but I had done it enough that it wasn’t too bad. Flying with the backpack wasn’t hard, but the tripods were a beast. Even though they were strapped in tightly, they moved around and made a lot of noise.
I knew that the only place I could get the shot I wanted was from the top of the Apollo memorial on Pad 34 at the Space Center. That presented several logistical problems. It’s illegal to climb on the remnants of the monstrous concrete structure that is the monument in daylight let alone in the darkness. And you can’t get there from here. There are no ladders. The only way to get to the top is with a big construction boom lift or a really really long extension ladder. Well, I was flying so even though there was no way to climb the monument, I was not worried. The other problem was that the memorial was inside the safety zone where you’re not supposed to be during a launch. There was no way around that and security should be tight. Avoiding it could be difficult.
So, well, I know all this, but I really wanted this shot. I mean how many people could get this shot? No one, not even a NASA photog could get the shot because they wouldn’t see it and by the time they did see the shot it would be gone. For a shot like that, you had to know it was coming to be in exactly the right place at exactly the right time. You have to anticipate the moment and catch it when it happens. I knew I could get a shot of the rocket as it lifted off with the VAB bathed in soft moonlight on the frame’s left third line, the rocket like a giant phallus in the center and the remnants of the old shuttle pads on the right third line sitting ghost-like in the shadows. The shot needed to be taken from somewhere above the ground and where a tripod could be placed. No one else could get that shot, and I wanted to show that I could. Classic composition, very symbolic, very cool and impossible for a normal person to get. All of which is why I flew just above the waves to the Space Center under cover of darkness.
It took me less than an hour to get there. I took my time. I didn’t want to get there too early because the longer I hung out, the better chance I had of being spotted by security. I figured if I got there about T-minus fifteen I would have plenty of time to set up my tripods, cameras and take some test exposures. It was a good plan, not foolproof, but good. I dodged a couple of boats along the way, but the route over the Intracoastal Waterway was mostly clear.
What I did not count on was someone else being there when I arrived. That was a shock. I was so intent on avoiding the sensors and cameras, I did not notice the person on top of the concrete arches until I touched down. The only way she could have gotten there was to fly, and that did not make much sense. Although, it had occurred to me that I was not the Lone Ranger and someone else might, indeed, have at least one of my special skills, seeing her was unexpected.
She did not look surprised to see me. Her expression was like politely amused. She looked like finding someone else who could fly was not a big deal. “Who are you and what are you doing here?” She made no attempt to speak quietly.
“Hush, do you want them to hear you?”
“Don’t worry, I disabled the sensors. So, Superman, who are you?”
“I go by Buddy.”
Like I said, Buddy is my screen name. I can’t use my real name because some of the pictures that I posted could cause a problem if anyone figured out who really shot them. This would be one of those. Besides, being “different” at school is a ticket to be a target, and since the school social scene extended to the online media, I wanted no part of it.
She smiled. “I go by Buffy.”
“Nice to meet you.” How’s that for a lame first line? I wasn’t getting anywhere with her that way.
“You come here often?”
“No, the first time.” It was the truth.
“I’ve watched a lot of launches from here.”
“How do you get here?”
“Same as you Superman, only I come from the south along the coast.”
“I came in over the Intracoastal.”
“Not as windy that way.”
“Exactly.”
She had taken the corner of the monument where I had intended to stand, so I set up on the adjacent corner. I set up my two still cameras on tripods and hand held my video camera.
“Hey, Buddy, you shoot a lot of this kind of stuff?”
“Yeah, when I can. I do a lot of air shows, but I hang out in gardens too. I like a garden on a soft cloudy day. The tones are more subtle that way.”
“And the exposures are long. Do you have a problem with the wind?”
“Yeah, sometimes. It’s not like the flower is going anywhere, so I shoot until I get the shot I want.”
“You got a girlfriend?”
“Nosy aren’t you?”
“Just passing the time.”
“No, broke up a couple of months ago. There’s plenty of time.”
“You look like a guy who would be good to a lady.”
“I try. It doesn’t always work out like I planned.”
“Almost nothing does.”
We only had a few minutes to wait before the rocket launched at the very beginning of the launch window. I tripped one remote at T minus ten seconds so it would catch a wide shot of the launch at roughly three frames a second. I tripped the second remote at T minus one second so it would catch the tight shot of the launch at roughly three frames a second and I followed the launch with my video camera. The shot I came for was the one I framed in the first camera. The others were afterthoughts because the probability of having that confluence of opportunity again was improbable and since gear left behind takes no pictures, I brought it all.
As soon as the rocket had disappeared into the clouds, I whipped out my little point-and-shoot camera and took a half dozen candid shots of Buffy before she realized what I was doing and turned her back on me. We packed up in silence. She slung her backpack on her back and checked the straps at the same time as I checked mine. We secured our tripods, and we were ready to go.
“Hey, Buddy, that’s not your real name is it?”
“No, and I don’t think your real name is Buffy either.”
“You’re right. Look, I have to take a crap, and I don’t want to leave my gear unattended.”
“We’re in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night, and you’re worried about your gear?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, the swamp is right over there. A little fertilizer won’t hurt it. I’ll stay here.”
“Euww. There’s gators and snakes and frogs and mosquitoes and chiggers and leaches in that swamp.”
“So?”
“I don’t want to go there, and I have a long flight home.”
“So?”
“There’s a tracking station at the north end of Playalinda Beach. There’s a restroom for the beach they leave open for the camera and tracking crews that monitor the launch. The crews should be gone by now, and we can go there. We can go home from there.”
“Sure. Parking Lot 13?”
“You know it?”
“Same as you.”
She smiled an evil grin as she dove off the edge of the concrete monument and neatly arced into the air skimming the beach as she headed north. I dropped through the hole where the Apollo’s rocket engines had been, bounced off the wall like a distance swimmer in a long race and scooted after her. She traveled north along the beach until she was directly opposite the restroom building and hooked a sharp left. She touched down as lightly as a ballerina in the vegetation behind the building. I landed somewhat less gracefully.
She poked her head around the building. “They’re gone. We can go around front. It’s safe.”
I followed her. She put her gear down in front of the restroom building before going inside. She emerged a few minutes later wiping her hands on a scented hand sanitizer paper. “Your turn.”
“What?”
“Didn’t your parents tell you always to go before a long trip?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Take these.” She handed me a fist full of foil-wrapped scented hand sanitizer papers. “Go. I’ll watch your gear.”
As soon as I came out, she said, “Buddy, you’re probably a really nice guy, but I can’t hang around to find out. Take care of yourself and be extra cautious around strangers. I doubt we’ll ever see each other again.”
“Goodbye, Buffy. You take care, too.”
She levitated around the corner of the building and took off, skimmed the vegetation and dropped behind the dune where I could not see which way she went. I knew that by the time I put on my backpack and secured my tripods, she would be long gone. I knew better than to pursue a woman that did not want to be pursued.
I flew home and reviewed my pictures. I found the exact frame I had envisioned when I set up the shot. I only had to make minor adjustments to the exposure of a few parts of the frame and posted it online under my private online identity. I had to balance my fear of bullying against my hope that someday someone like me would contact me without revealing my true identity and we could compare notes if nothing else. Ideally, we would meet and figure out how to live in a society with our challenges. To date, other than a bunch of people who loved my photography, there had been no contacts.
A search of the social networks I frequented revealed several named “Buffy” with letters or numbers after the name. There was one that had more numbers before and after her name than the others. I checked her timeline and saw that she had posted a picture very similar to mine. This had to be the girl I met on the Apollo structure. She had posted in her caption that she had met a new buddy on the shoot and was sorry that she could never see him again. She used a baby picture for her profile picture, and other than being the right hair color, there was no way to know for sure if that was the woman I met on top of the Apollo monument. I sent her a private message that I was glad to have met her and liked her picture. I knew in my heart it was her and reconciled myself to never seeing her again.
I was perfectly prepared for it to have ended right there.