Wheels on the Bus

<body topmargin=0 leftmargin=0 marginheight=0 marginwidth=0> <table cellpadding=0 cellspacing=0 border=0><tr> <td valign="top" height=185 BGCOLOR="#003366" TEXT="#F7F7FF" bgproperties="fixed" background="02d00b90dkcfqa.jpg"> <div> <A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Travelogue...Its All about the Car"><U><B>Home</B></U></A><B>    </B><A HREF="id2.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="On the Road Archive"><U><B>On the Road Archive</B></U></A><B>    </B><A HREF="id3.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="The Cars"><U><B>Cars</B></U></A><B>    </B><A HREF="shotgun.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Canon Road trips"><U><B>Shotgun</B></U></A><B>    </B><A HREF="tune_up_shop.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Writers Resources"><U><B>Tune-Up</B></U></A><B>   </B><A HREF="characters.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Character Info"><U><B>Passengers</B></U></A><B>   </B><A HREF="caravan.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Archive Links"><U><B>Caravan</B></U></A><B>    </B><A HREF="id5.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="The Site"><U><B>The Site</B></U></A><B>    </B><A HREF="new_model.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Updates"><U><B>New Model</B></U></A><B>    </B><A HREF="mailto:shrinkingbanshee@msn.com" TARGET="_top" TITLE="mailto:shrinkingbanshee@msn.com"><U><B>Contact</B></U></A></div> <div> </div> </td> </tr><tr> <td valign="top" height=295 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000"> <div> <B>Fiction by   </B><A HREF="id19.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Fiction by Author"><U><B>Author</B></U></A><B>   </B><A HREF="id10.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="By Title"><U><B>Title</B></U></A><B>   </B><A HREF="id2.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="On the Road Archive"><U><B>Rating</B></U></A></div> <bR> <div> <U>The Wheels on the Bus</U></div> <bR> <div> by Ozfan</div> <div> Email: <A HREF="mailto:ozfankg@hotmail.com" TARGET="_top" TITLE="mailto:ozfankg@hotmail.com"><U>ozfankg@hotmail.com</U></A></div> <div> Rating: PG</div> <div> Summary: Written immediately after Chosen… Andrew is lost in thought on the bus.</div> <bR> <bR> <div> I am seriously pissed off. I should not be sitting here, on this bus, with these people. She should be here. He should be here. Not me.</div> <bR> <div> We keep hitting bumps in the road and after the third one I finally realize I probably shouldn’t be leaning my head against the window or else I’ll wind up with a huge bump. I sigh and glance around. The silence is making me itch practically. The elation we all shared 30 minutes ago has disappeared into thin air like Obi Wan Kinobi at the end of Episode 4. Xander is sitting by himself across the aisle, his head in his hands. I think the news I had to tell him is just now really sinking in. I know he is crying by how his shoulders are shaking a little (nice, broad shoulders, by the way). Once in a while I hear him whisper her name. "Anya," he whispers. "Anya." It is giving me horrible goosebumps and I’m trying hard not to cry every time he says it.</div> <bR> <div> He doesn’t want anyone to talk to him. I told the others about her, too. They went to hug him and he backed off, his eyes going wide with shock. Me, I’m just trying to keep out of everyone’s way. I keep expecting hate glares shot at me, or at least a cutting "Why didn’t you die instead of her?" from Kennedy at least, who always speaks her mind. But nothing, nada. </div> <bR> <div> I wish I knew what people were thinking. I wish I could have defended her better. I wish, really wish, it could have been me. I wish we could wheelchair fight one last time.</div> <bR> <div> Buffy still hasn’t said anything. She is sitting in the back, by herself. I turn and glance back at her. She still has this strange smile on her face. She’s a regular blonde Mona Lisa sitting back there, kind of staring off into space. She keeps rubbing her hand, as if it were injured, although it looks perfectly fine (not that I’m a doctor or anything). I don’t know if she is thinking about him, but I’m guessing she is. Her expression changed only once, back when we all first got back on the bus and Giles said, stunned, "He saved us all, then." She cried then, but she still had that small, knowing smile on her face, as if she knew a secret she could not share with us. Not that it’s any of my business, anyway.</div> <bR> <div> Maybe, with any luck, they’ll haunt us. Not in the bad Warren-taunting-me-to-kill-Jonathan way. More like, visits. I hope I get to see them again.</div> <bR> <div> Dawn plops down next to me. "You okay?"</div> <bR> <div> I nod. "Yes, and thank you for asking, you’re such a sweetheart. How are you?"</div> <bR> <div> "I’m in shock still. And kind of hungry."</div> <bR> <div> I nod. We sit in companionable silence as we continue to drive away. </div> <bR> <div> *The End*</div> <bR> </td> </tr></table></body>