Buddy the talking head.

Author’s Note: The Famous Surgeon Dr. White of Cleveland Clinic Fame, kept a monkey’s head alive without a body. His dream was to figure out how to help paralyzed people walk and move again. Only the Russians really understood, cared for, or wanted to hear about Dr. White’s research. The Man was a genius, the Public thought he was a monster. He was not. He genuinely wanted to help. His work fell into the deep chasm of: Science we don’t want to know about.

Until…

Neurosurgeon Sergio Canavero announced in 2017 that “ transplanting human heads was imminent.” The Italian Scientist Doctor had been busily overcoming the technical, medical and procedural hurdles…ignoring completely the Ethical ones. He went to China…and apparently was working to transplant heads from corpses in order to practice for the real thing. He wanted to transplant the head of a quadriplegic to the brain dead body of an otherwise healthy donor.

As far as we know…he hasn’t done it. But what if he had?

*****


“Hey Buddy, what do you think of this?’

“Daryl, you know I can’t turn my head, put it in front of me if you want me to read it.”

Daryl turned beet red. Sometimes he forgot that Buddy didn’t have a body…yet. He was waiting for one…but so far…no luck. Daryl brought the magazine over to the reading plank directly in front of Buddy’s head. Buddy read over the Headline and chuckled.

“I don’t think they would do that to me! It would be instant rejection: foreign tissue rejection!”

And they both laughed again.

Daryl grew thoughtful…

“I don’t know Buddy, wouldn’t any body be better than no body?”

“Try saying that three time fast.”

That got another little spate of laughter from Daryl.

“But still Buddy, I mean a female body would be better than not having one. I would think.”

Buddy stared hard at his friend (and Doctor).

“My brain couldn’t handle it. Period.”

And they both laughed again.

Daryl turned the vat down to almost freezing and Buddy went to sleep.

Once the signs were stabilized, Daryl himself left the room to catch a few hours sleep.

“Maybe tomorrow Buddy…maybe tomorrow a body will show up.”

He sure hoped so.

One did.

*****

“Wear a Helmet.”

“Nah, those things are for sissies. “

Mark drove off leaving his girlfriend Melissa, with her helmet held loosely in one hand. His helmet was secured - nice and tight- on top of the sissy bar at the back of his chopper. He never wore it unless he had to. This was Texas, and he was over twenty one…so he didn’t have to wear one. And didn’t.

He never saw the oil spill until it was to late. His head hit the pavement with the sound of smushed Mellon. The second time his head bounced off the pavement was already redundant. He was dead. Brain dead. Strangely enough, there was no other damage…he had been going slow because he saw the wreck in the middle of the road. That saved his body…but not his brain.

He had donated his body to Science and as an organ donor. Some would argue that your body (in total) is not an organ. But there was enough Legal Wiggle Room that Mark’s body was donated…to Science.

Buddy, the talking head, was going to get a body. A young 22 year old body with nary a mark on it.

Daryl told him the good news. Showed him pictures of the body. Gave him about an hour to digest the possibilities …and then prepped him for the surgery. Marks body was already being cooled to save the tissue, nerves, and vessels. The greatest Surgical Experiment since the first Human Heart Transplant was about to begin.

Daryl put Buddy’s head in its special chemical bath and coolant. He placed the whole contraption on a cart, covered it with a surgical drape so the squeamish wouldn’t see a perfectly preserved head (with a gentle smile of appreciation on its face) being wheeled into an Operating Theater.

It would take a grueling eighteen hours of surgery, most of it very tedious and delicate micro surgery. Surgery Human Hands couldn’t pull off, but Robotic arms with their micrometer laser measurements….could.

Finally, it was done. All that was left to do was raise the temperature of both the head and body. First to room temperature for a series of checks, and then to internal core temperatures of living tissue for another series of checks. Then, if everything checked out…removing the induced coma and unlocking transmission between the new body and its new head.

In about an hour…Buddy would be awakened. The Medical team was ready to treat shock, or psychotic episodes…nobody was ready to treat what really happened:

Joy.

*****

Buddy’t first words were (and they are famous, so don’t blame me for quoting them in their original form):

“Are you shitting me?”

Yep. Those were his first words upon awakening. Nobody had thought to tie the body down, or even restrict movement. So they were caught off guard when Buddy woke up and raised his hands to his face. He studied those hands like someone who had taken to much LSD might study a backlight poster. Intensely.

He lifted his hand up even higher, then lowered them, then spoke out loud:

“Are you shitting me?”

Daryl leaned in with both Professional and Personal concern.

“What do you mean Buddy?”

Buddy turned his head to look at his friend and Doctor. And that movement brought tears to his eyes. He hadn’t been able to turn his head for almost a year. A year as a living head. You try it someday and see how you feel when you can turn to look someone in the eye. It made Buddy offer up a ton of prayers in a single second.

“I mean…its my body!”

Before anyone could react…Buddy leaped out of bed. And danced. His hospital gown fluttering in an unflattering manner behind him.

Several Nurses and Technicians reached out to steady Buddy, he danced just out of reach. Completely in control of his new body. Loving the sensations it was sending to him, from the draft on his exposed rear end, to the cold linoleum floor signals coming through his feet. He was alive. He was whole. He was…almost hysterical when he spoke rhetorically:

“Come on Buddy, pull yourself together!”

And that was to much…he laughed until they put a gentle sedative in his arm. He even marveled at the tiny prick in his arm…and then they carried his limp body back into bed.

Daryl spoke out loud:

“I think we can safely cancel all his physical therapy appointments.”

The laugher cascaded off the walls of the room.

*****

Melissa couldn’t help it. It had taken a year…but she found out that it was Mark’s body that Science’s Golden Boy (or head) was being paraded around on. Even though the results were published, nobody really knew the original head…or the donor bodies, identities. It was a closely guarded secret. Melissa had smiled when they told her it would be easier to crack into the Pentagon, or the Federal Reserve than to hack into the multitude of layers of secrecy surrounding the first transplant of a human head.

“I am the best Hacker in the world. This proves it.”

She had said those words out just as her printer came to life and gave her Buddy’s real name, address, and phone.

She took a deep breath. Then texted.

“You don’t know me. But you are riding around on my boyfriends body. I have to see you. I promise, if you just let me see you and my Mark’s body….I won’t ever tell anyone or bother you again. I just have to…well…know.”

She wasn’t expecting a text. She was thinking about how she could “accidentally “ meet Mark and his new head…when her phone pinged. The text caught her off guard:

“Where are you? Are you close? I really want to talk with you…I have…er…questions.”

And that was that. She was on her way to meet Mark with Buddy’s head on top. She had no idea what to expect and that was good, because what happened wasn’t what she expected.

She fainted.

*****

“Are you okay?”

Her mind staggered to balance the oddness of it all. A complete stranger’s face was staring down at her with compassion, worry, and kindness…and a bit of fear. The arms holding her were strong and familiar. She looped one arm around oh so familiar muscular shoulders:

“Help me to my feet, please.”

“Sure.”

Said a voice she couldn’t recognize. The hands that steadied her were familiar, comfortable, pleasing, and a good thing they were, because when she looked up into those beautiful green eyes, and saw the light red curls of hair, and the light red highlights on eyelashes and eyebrows…she needed them to keep her from plunking right back down onto the ground.

Those eyes were still studying her. She found their scrutiny to be somewhat flattering. Whatever they were seeing was evidently pleasing and that made her smile…and a bit more confident.

“You…you…you aren’t Mark.”

He laughed gently. Waving his hands down his tapered torso (Mark was proud of his athletic body and kept it in good shape) he spoke out loud:

“No. I am not. But this (waving his hands to include his body from the neck down) is. “

She could stand on her own now. She backed up again, with only a loose grip on his forearms to get a better look.

“Except for the head and face…you…you …you look just like him.”

“Yeah, that has to be tough on you.”

She thought it was sweet that he thought of her in this moment. I mean really how tough it was on her couldn’t hold a candle to how difficult it was for him.

“What about you? Isn’t it tough on you?”

She saw a look she would remember fondly forever cross the strangers face.

“Well, not really. I mean my god I can move! (And he shook his body in a pretty damn good imitation of Mark and his athletic dance moves- and that made her quiver…again.) But I wanted to talk to you about…well…Mark.”

She sobered up. This half Mark half stranger juxtaposition was taking a toll on her Mental Health…and her heart.

“What about him?”

“Well, I don’t know. Like for some reason I can dance now. I never danced before. I work out. I never worked out before. Hell, I can even shoot a basketball. With my old body, I rarely did much more than play computer games and walk to Starbucks. Oh, and now I hate coffee. And I have an overpowering desire to ride on a motorcycle. And…I…hate…Motorcycles!”

Melissa gasped. Those were all things that Mark liked, did, or enjoyed. And he hated coffee. So she asked the stranger head/face, another question:

“Do you like…beer?”

“I do now.

“What about wine?”

“Hate the stuff. That’s for girls.”

She couldn’t help it. She laughed. That was what Mark always said. Then it dawned on her like the sun coming up unexpected from twilight.

“What about me?”

The Stranger face and head both...screwed up for a second. Tears formed on that lovely face with the green eyes growing more shiny with every tear.

“I think I love you. I never even had a girlfriend before. I was just an overweight nerd and all my friends were Avatars. But as soon as I saw you… I knew you were the girl for me.”

Have you ever seen a person try to look at himself without using a mirror? It is the strangest expression you can imagine. He was trying to look at his own mouth to see what shaped the words he was hearing. I had a bit of trouble with them myself. My own eyes were shiny.

“I knew Mark Loved me, but he never told me. He used to just say: “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t love you.”

“Well, I love you. And I am here.”

That was the beginning.

He was part Mark, part Buddy, part his real name…and all mine.

I hopped on the back of the motorcycle. I tapped him on the Helmet to signal I was seated properly. He gunned the engine. We rode off on a nice ride through the winding country side. I felt safe. After all, he always made me wear a helmet.

And he put his helmet on his head... first.