Origin Story

September 23, 2001

Rooftop of the CNN Center

Atlanta, Georgia

I’m standing on the rooftop of the CNN Center. It’s a sunny day, despite the roaming cloud mountains that splotch the city with shade. It’s not a particularly warm day, and standing on the roof of the CNN building, I’m chilled by the sharp wind. I play with my recorder, hitting “record,” “stop,” record, “stop,” so that as I listen to back to it, it comes through my headphones like strange Morse code. I’ve just hit “record” when there’s the distinct sound of tennis shoes landing just behind me, as if someone just jumped down beside me.

VOICE: Hey.

I turn around to see, of course, Billy. He’s eighteen years old. His shaggy blond hair is windswept. He’s wearing worn blue jeans and a black hooded sweatshirt. The sweatshirt has a white thistle printed on it. He takes off his sunglasses with a smile.

ME: Billy Hughes?

Billy laughs.

BILLY: Were you expecting someone else?

ME: No . . . I just . . . I was still somehow expecting you not to show up. Sorry. Tim Craine.

BILLY: Oh, I know. I’m a big fan of yours.

ME: So you’re the one.

BILLY: What are you talking about? Everybody loves you!

ME: If only we could get them to watch the show.

BILLY: You not doing so good?

ME: It seems people are okay with politically themed humor, just not on CNN.

BILLY: People want “the news” on CNN, not someone making fun of it. I can see that.

ME: But enough about me . . .

BILLY: Sure.

ME: We’re here because you . . . well, because you.

BILLY: Heh. Yeah.

There’s an awkward pause. I’m waiting for him to say something, but he seems to want me to take the lead.

ME: You called this meeting.

BILLY: Yeah.

ME: Why?

BILLY: Um . . . I want to help.

ME: Okay?

BILLY: We got attacked by terrorists. And everybody’s pitching in to, you know, do their part and whatever and I’d like do the same. Except, you know, I can fly.

ME: Yeah . . . about that. I’m going to need you to prove that before we go any further.

BILLY: Sure.

He pushes off the rooftop like a swimmer pushes off the side of the pool. There’s no sound to it. He just kicks off and he’s in the air – floating there, three feet off the ground. He laughs at me and then lands. I giggle like a school boy.

ME: What’s that like?

BILLY: Being able to fly?

ME: Yeah.

BILLY: Did you ever see the Superman movie? With Christopher Reeve?

ME: Yeah.

BILLY: Do you remember the music from that movie? The main theme?

ME: Yeah.

BILLY: It’s just like that. It feels like that song sounds.

ME: Wow . . .

BILLY: Bummmmm, bum-bum-bum-bummmmm-BUM, BUM, BUMMM! Bum-bum-bum-bummmmm-BUM, BUM, BUMMM!!

I laugh.

BILLY: I actually listen to a lot of John Williams while I fly: Superman, Star Wars, Jurassic Park . . .oh, and Alan Silvestri. Ya’ gotta love Back to the Future.

I laugh again – or am I still laughing from his rendition of the Superman theme? Listening to it, I can’t tell and since it’s been eight years, I can’t remember.

ME: What, you make yourself a mixed tape of all your favorite movie themes?

BILLY: Mixed CD, actually, but yeah. Big soundtrack dork. But I’m sure that’s not the most interesting thing about me.

ME: Right. I’m sorry. There’s just . . . There’s no precedent for this. I don’t even know where to begin.

BILLY: Maybe that’s why your show’s failing.

ME: Okay, tough guy. How long have you been able to fly?

BILLY: All my life, I guess. I think. I don’t know. I “flew” for the first time when I was six.

ME: Tell me about it.

BILLY: Our driveway was on this really steep hill. And my brother and his friends used to ride their bikes and the skateboards down this hill and jump off this ramp they had built . . .

ME: Hey. Sorry to interrupt, but I need to tell you I’m – yeah – I’m recording this.

BILLY: Oh. Good. Cool.

ME: Sorry. Go on.

BILLY: Evan (my brother) and his friends are, like, six or seven years older than me. Evan’s six years older than me, but I’m not sure about his friends – but that’s besides the point. They’re doing all these cool jumps and flips and whatevers off this ramp. And you know, me being the little brother, I wanna show them I can be as cool as them and so I grab Evan’s bike and start down the hill. I’m so short and my brother’s bike’s so big, I can’t actually sit on the seat – well, I can sit on the seat, but if I do, I can’t reach the peddles. So I’m standing on the peddles, the seat digging into my back, and I’m flying down the hill. Evan sees me and SCREAMS. But I don’t care. I’m going to make the jump and stick the landing. Then, all of a sudden, I see the ramp. And I have this vision. I realize that I’m not going to go off this ramp. I am going to go through this ramp. I’m going to decimate it. I’m going to go through it like Wile E Coyote. I’m going too fast. I’m going to crash into the ramp and kill myself. I panic. I want to jump off, but it’s too late. The bike hits the ramp and then . . .

Billy shakes his head. I don’t know how many times he’s told this story, but it doesn’t seem to have gotten old yet. It still amazes him.

BILLY: It felt like something or someone much, much bigger than me grabbed me by the chest – just palmed me, you know? Grabbed me by the chest, pulled me off the bike, flipped me around, and landed me back on the driveway, facing Evan and his friends. As I landed, I could hear the bike crashing behind me. Evan just stared at me. “How did you do that?!” “Do what?” “That-that thing you just did! You jumped off, flipped and twisted around in the air and then . . .”

Billy shakes his head again.

BILLY: We decided it was my guardian angel. ‘Cos there was no way I did that on my own.

ME: When did you realize you had flown?

BILLY: I’m still not convinced it wasn’t my guardian angel.

ME: But you can fly.

BILLY: Yeah, but I don’t have any idea how. Who am I to say that my flight isn’t just my guardian angel picking me up by my armpits and wingin’ me wherever I want to go? . . . Except I always end up where I want to go. I’m not going places against my will.

ME: So you’re not like an alien . . .

BILLY: Powered by the earth’s yellow sun? No. But that doesn’t mean you can’t be my Lois Lane.

ME: And you weren’t created in a test tube or escape from Area 51 . . .

BILLY: I look just like my dad, which sucks considering his hair line.

ME: So you’ve been able to fly since you were six. How old are you now?

BILLY: Eighteen.

ME: Why now?

BILLY: Why now what?

ME: Why wait twelve years to reveal yourself?

BILLY: Well part of it was, like you said, I didn’t realize I had flown the first time I flew. It took me a while to figure out I could do that whenever I wanted. It took me even longer to control it. And I’m still working on it. You don’t sign up for the Olympics without having run a few laps. Besides, have you ever watched a sci-fi movie or read a comic book? If there’s even a shred of truth in them, as soon as I go public, the government’s going to show up and dissect me.

ME: So then, I ask again, why now?

BILLY: People are scared. They need something to believe in. They need hope. And I think I could be that. I don’t know how. But I’m here. And I’m willing. Tell that to everybody. I’m here and I’m here to help. I’m not super strong. I don’t have super hearing or anything like that. All I can do is fly and whatever else it is normal people can do. So . . . yeah.

ME: Well . . . that’s certainly commendable.

BILLY: Hey, I’m just doing what I can. Just like anybody else. How do I get a hold of you?

ME: What?

BILLY: I’m assuming there’s going to be a lot of questions after you finally convince your editor or boss or whoever to let you air this. We’re going to talk again. I wasn’t joking about you being my Lois Lane. Here, let’s do this. What’s your cell number?

I tell him.

BILLY: ‘Kay. I’m going to call you . . .

My cell phone rings.

BILLY: There. Now you have my number.

ME: Thanks. One more question before you go.

BILLY: Sure.

ME: What were you doing in New York the day of the attack?

BILLY: I was visiting my grandma in Hackettstown, New Jersey. I flew up as soon as I could to see if I could help. By the time I got there . . . Well, I did what I could.

ME: What do you mean?

BILLY: I . . .

There’s a very long pause. He’s looking out past me, over the city. He has to clear his throat before continuing.

BILLY: I jumped down there and joined in with the rest of the volunteers. There were some guys from Philadelphia passing out water bottles to the cops and firefighters. I just . . . did what I could. But people didn't see that. They just saw the kid flying around Ground Zero.

ME: Well, thank-you, Billy. I’m going to go downstairs now and get called a lunatic by my boss.

BILLY: Good luck with that.

I hit “stop.” The recording ends.

9/23/01 – our first meeting.

TC