Crow's Nest: Road Trip to Sunnyhell
by Harmonie
Chapter One

Just shut up. I'd like to tell my brain to just shut up. Have you ever noticed how you can't make your mind stop thinking
even though you try to think about absolutely nothing? You still keep on thinking about how you're trying to think about
nothing because you want to avoid thinking about the thing you don't want to think about? Oh, shut up.

I appear to be talking to a machine.

I can blank out people. Wipe them right off the board. Paint over them. Close the book on them. Click, erase, gone. It's me
I'm having trouble escaping. A computer is very close to perfection. I love the way you can press cancel or delete and it
actually happens. To the printed word, that is.

I'm leaving this place. Mom and Dad are past tense. It's not breaking my heart to leave because, well, as the new action
hero against the supernatural baddies it's probably not much good having me around anyway. Any idea what that means? Not
bloody likely.

Here's a hint. What do you do with something you don't want? Throw it out, of course. And what do you call the junk you throw
out? You got it.

I'm losing it, obviously. Do I expect this machine to give me any answers?

My new address will be: Buffy Summers, c/o Riverside Drive, Sunnydale, California. An easy address compared to this one:
c/o Mr. Hank Summers, 5300 E. Olympic Blvd. Los Angeles, CA. I wonder if they'll miss me? They were threatening to kick me
out anyway. They'll get over it.

I have no idea exactly how many times I've almost died in the last 4 months. I was locked in a warehouse with a whole nest
full of them and I broke three of my ribs and dislocated my shoulder. It took only 5 days for it to heal. I told my
parents I fell off my bike. I don't even have a bike.

I hate it more than anything. They started hating me at school. Just like that. Once they noticed that I was acting weird,
showing up with bruises, calling off dates. Basically not being my regular bimbo self. And when they found holy water and
stakes in my locker, they called me a weirdo, a freak. They told everyone I was in a gang. My friends started stealing my
stuff. I had to hide everything, money especially. Having my own money is very important to me.

I've been through a lot of shit in the last, what, 16 weeks? And half of it wasn't even fucking vampires. A lot of cruelty
went on in my school. One of the seniors broke my finger by tricking me. "Put your finger in the crow's nest," he said, "the
crow's not at home." So, like a sucker, I stuck my finger into his big, crunching fist. My finger's still crooked. Even
with all that Slayer superhealing crap. I should have just staked him.

Don't plan on digesting my whole life story here, because I've forgotten most of it. And what I remember would bore the brains
out of a dead cow. I became a Slayer four months ago, 4 days after I was crowned May Queen. First year of high school. I'm
fifteen now. I'll be sixteen at the end of January and then kaboom, I start living. No more Watcher. No more vampires.
No more school. I will be me, alone, untouchable.

I'd better start packing. Dad took Mom off to the hospital about an hour ago. Did I mention that vampires attacked my mom
while I was otherwise disposed? My last shred of a normal life and vampires suck a half-pint out of my mom's neck. Of course,
she and my dad have been at death's door since I got my...calling as it were. I tell you though, there were times when
I wouldn't have minded nudging them through it. I've been playing guardian angel for almost six months already.
Oh well, so what? It's August, which means only 6 months left in limbo. I can hardly wait to start my life.

I've got everything packed except this machine. One suitcase and one cardboard box holds the contents of my so-called
existence. Another cardboard box holds my gear. My other existence. I've got my money pinned to my underwear. Riehle, my
Watcher, said he'd carry down my stuff. I said forget it. The stuff weighs more than he does. Besides, I'm stronger than
him. Frail old Richard, sitting down there by the window in my dad's Lazy-Boy, waiting for me to shut you off and come
down. "We don't have much time," he said, "Don't waste any of it." Pathetic idiot.

However, I will say this about old Dick, he's generous.

"You can take your computer with you," he said.

I said, "You're kidding. I thought sacrifice of material things was one of my sacred duties, Dick?"

"You could at least call me Richard, if you want to be informal," he replied, "It only makes sense that you would pack your
belongings. To your new family, you will be a normal girl. Remember, you were abandoned at birth and have been sent from
foster home to foster home since you were five. I have all the legal documents ready for proof. You will not tell them who
you really are."

"Yeah, yeah." A pause. "Thanks."

"Well, maybe you'll relate to it, because, God knows, you don't relate to people."

Suddenly he's a psychologist. Dick Freud. I hate that. I hate when people think they have you figured out. Of course I don't
relate to people. Why would I? According to my new persona, I'm not related to anybody and nobody's related to me.

My Watcher stops and gives me a look. Draws in a breath. He's decided to say something nice.

"I know it must be hard to leave your family like this. But it's best for them that you not know them anymore. Your mother
was nearly killed. Anyway, the signs point to a mystical upheaval in Sunnydale within the next six months. It is your duty to
investigate and it is my duty to guide you."

ShutupshutupshutUP.

Forget it. That's what I don't want to think about. Dick's probably having an aneurysm downstairs waiting for me. I have to
unplug this thing and lug it out to his car. I'm pressing exit. Yes, I'll save this. Temporarily.

***

O, give me a home, where the imbeciles roam - I can't believe this place. The town doesn't even have a Starbucks! Sunnydale
is some kind of a suburban tourist paradise. Am I being punished? Do they really think vampires are going to hang out in
pretty, boring SUNNYdale? I mean, look! I've never done anything wrong in my life, besides stealing lipstick that one time.
I obey every rule in the book. The way to get along in this world is to be invisible. Flatten yourself out and wait. That's
what I thought I was doing. Just hanging around blending in with the wallpaper, staking a vampire or two, waiting until my
sixteenth birthday. My sixteenth birthday, when I can legally get a job, leave school, possibly rent an apartment, and drive
a car away from this hellhole my life has become. But this place!

At least the house smells nice. The mother must be a Martha Stewart type. It smells like the inside of a bakery, which is
not to hard to take. Outside is a different story. They insisted on giving me a tour of their town, which took like 5
minutes. Everybody owns an SUV and there is no kind of fun place I can see. Just playgrounds and an outdoor swimming pool.
They obviously noticed the look on my face, because they all laughed and said I'd get used to it. I said, "Don't bet on it,"
but they didn't hear me. I have this affliction. When I talk to strangers, I sound as though I'm trying my voice out for the
first time.

These people have some kind of mangy old dog that sidled up to me and put its head under my hand. I mean, what was I supposed
to do? I'm no great lover of animals, but it seems a natural reaction to pat a dog's head if it's right there under your
hand. "Oh! Ummm...don't pat the dog!" some dork yelled at me. "Is this a nut house?" I tried to ask them, my other more
charming affliction making its presence known.

"No, it's actually a licensed asylum," said this really awkward guy with dark hair, I didn't catch his name, "But don't
worry there's plently of delightful board games and fresh Jello at your disposal." He looked embarassed and then walked
away before I could get a good look at the guy. Seemed decent enough, in an sincere but really insecure way.

But wait. I'll go back to this afternoon. Dick and I clunking along in his car heading out of town. No heater. Weather cold
as a witch's tit. Slithering around corners in the middle of a heavy rainstorm. No treads on the tires. Me, minding my own
business, not saying anything, even though Dick is one of the few people I can talk to without sounding like cracker crumbs
are lodged in my throat, and looking out through the bleary window. I was watching the houses peter out until there was
nothing left but field after field of nothingness. Dick said, "There are suspicions that Sunnydale could very well be the
center of a very powerful mystic...portal or dimension. This new place may be home to some new dangers you haven't faced yet.
Our training will become more intense and we will begin research on demons other than vampires."

"Okay," I said. He tried to give me one of those indepth eye contact looks but gave it up when he almost hit a truck. He was
managing to get enough warm air blowing into the car that I could take my jacket off. It was harder for him to keep his eyes
on the road. Pervert.

"How do you...feel about leaving your family?"

"Okay," I said.

"It's too bad about your mother. If we could have avoided this..danger we should have, but the situation was a bit..
difficult...I'm sorry about your friends."

"Friends?"

"You'll miss your school...buddies."

"Oh. Right." The best way to handle Dick is to let him hear what he wants to hear. If he decides to be Mr. Sensitive Guy,
might as well let him do it. He's spent his entire life preparing for this, picking over my misery, sorting out
disasters and mayhem, trying to save the world by giving me a stake and telling me how to use it. Why burden him with my
angsty thoughts?

"Umm...are you happy, Buffy?"

"Intensely." He was trying to look at me again, so I gave him my Superman look. My I-will-sacrifice-for-the-greater
-good-even-though-my-heart-is-breaking look. Works like a charm.

We drove along, leaving the orchards behind, and started chugging up and down some serious hills. The road narrowed and
became lined with trees. A wall of trees. We were surrounded, boxed in, by some kind of primeval forest. Deep, impenetrable,
hostile. Dick was going on about my new 'alias' and wanted me to repeat information back to him to make sure I could tell
my new family the speech. I told him I thought I was coming down with laryngitis. What's there to tell anyway? He must have
a file somewhere to give them describing the vital statistics of Buffy Summers, height, weight, etc. And if he suddenly
has a guilt trip about me I'm sure he can just look me up in the Slayer file cabinet if he wants to know what I'm like. What
he sees is what I am. Average height, not too short. Thinnish. Blondish of hair. Distinguishing features? None. No, maybe
they keyed in burn scars, left leg. That sums up Buffy Summers.

Dick didn't believe I was coming down with laryngitis. "Okay, Buffy, you need to know your new identity. Tell me about your
old school friends. Try to keep it as close to the truth as possible. It will be easier to remember details that way, as
long as you don't give away that you're a Slayer."

If I've learned one thing from becoming a Slayer it's this: if you don't want your heart broken, don't let on you have one.
It's the motto I live by. It allows me to keep my personality flat. No heart, no brains, no guts. At school this girl who
sat in front of me in History class asked me over to her house one day. At first my insides started knotting up, do I have
to patrol tonight? Will vampires follow us to her house when they recognize who I am? She started looking at me like I was
some kind of schizo and I thought I'd puke right in front of her until I remembered I had no guts. "Umm...sorry, I can't. I'm
real busy tonight," I said and walked away. How could I? What would be the point? Even if she did become my friend she would
start realizing that something weird was going on. I can just imagine us hanging out in my room with a Teen Beat magazine, she
asks if she can borrow a lipstick. I say yes, she goes to my drawer, rummages through it and pulls out a big stake. "What the
fuck is this, Buffy? Are you in a gang or something?" That would be the end of that friendship. Not to mention a juicy story
to tell the whole school. I'm too dangerous, I guess. "Can't make it," I always say. I don't make excuses; I never aim for
a soft little smile of regret. I am so incredibly cool it's becoming my trademark. The weird gothy streetgang bitch. I have
only one problem. Streetgang bitches aren't really in style right now. At least not in my preppy middle-class high school.

After I say no, after I turn people down, just seconds later, I sometimes feel like I'm drowning. Dick always tells me,
"You will have to sacrifice your friends, the life you had before. You have a duty that is beyond anything anyone has
ever attempted or done. You are the Slayer. The Chosen One." I'm trying to keep from letting myself think about that too much.
But when I watch them walk away and go to their other friends, I feel like I can't breathe and the more I try the more
difficult it is because I'm in too deep. Suffocated. That's the way I feel after I say no. I've drowned - and I can't
swim my way out of it. Then the feeling goes and I can move on.

Dick was still waiting for me to tell him about my friends. "They were a fun-loving and loyal group," I said. He shook his
head and frowned into the darkening afternoon. The rain was pelting harder. The thick forest was easing up a bit. The road
ran crookedly between pink slabs of rock. It could have been chiseled piece by piece out of the hill by a sculptor
obsessed with a single idea: Get me the hell out of here! Find a way through!

"I'm not trying to pry, you know," Dick said. "I just feel that you should be able to create an effective guise for the
Harris family. To them, I am your social worker and it would help me as well to know a bit about your life so that I can
also keep the disguise and protect them from any unpleasantness. What did you do when you weren't in school?"

"Drugs." I was making a peephole with the palm of my hand, but I sensed by the way we almost drove into the opposite lane
that he was looking at me again. "Kidding," I said. I was, too. Only dimwits and rock fans do drugs. Fortunately, I'm
neither. I'm perfectly fine with New Kids on the Block, thank you.

I was beginning to see what could be a town in the distance poking out of the beach hills. We passed a sign that said:
Sunnydale: 10 m. Hmm..only two hours from L.A.

"Seriously," he said, "Do you have any hobbies?"

"A little embroidery every now and then. Paint-by-numbers. Candy striping."

"I said seriously."

"Okay. Whittling pieces of wood, hanging out in graveyards, teaching Sunday school-"

"Buffy!"

"Of course I don't have any hobbies. What do you take me for?"

Back before I was a Slayer, I was a cheerleader. I used to be out every weekend at night clubs and parties. I read magazines
with my friends and did those stupid personality quizzes and actually took them seriously. I ice skated for a long time.
It probably would be a passion of mine if I didn't have other more important things to do.

For the last little while, I haven't done any of those things. Instead of going out every weekend, I spend it at home with
my parents or train with Dick. I read countless books on vampires and their stupid boring history. Sometimes I spend time
studying, not to get high marks, first of all because who cares and second of all because it's summer, but because I like
knowing things. Knowing things will allow me to survive when I start my life. That and money.

Mom was always a good mom, I guess. But once I started getting into "the trouble" as she calls it, she would try to keep me
home as much as possible. She didn't even have the decency to just tell me she didn't want me out because she was afraid of
what I was doing. "Do you think you could come home straight after school?" she'd say, "You haven't cleaned your room for
weeks and you need to change your sheets." Or she'd say, "Don't make any plans for Saturday, dear, I've got a list of things
to do about a mile long and I really need your help." Then she'd stand there casting her concerned maternal gaze on me,
expecting me to burst into tears and tell her everything. When I wouldn't she'd say to me, "Just...stay within earshot,
Buffy. I don't want you getting hurt."

But big deal, so what? Being bogged down with household chores didn't kill me. Going out and saving the world would kill me.
I got kind of used to running home from school so Dick couldn't catch me (he was my "personal counselor") and running errands
and helping with supper. It made me feel normal. Not cool normal but at least healthy child normal. But it didn't always
work. Dick would always find me, one way or another. I would have a nice bonding time with my mom over washing dishes and
then I would sneak out of the house to patrol the streets. Nice effort, Mom, but a little short of the goal. I didn't feel
sorry for her. I felt...responsible. Who else did she have? Dad? Who was always away working and then when he was home,
fighting? And usually the central topic was yours truly. Anyway, any friends I make will only end up dead. Like my mother
almost was. Forget it. Reality starts at sixteen.

Picture me as something like a little hyphen on a blank screen. A cursor. Unattached to anything before or after. I move
along and down, along and down, until finally I get to page sixteen. That's when the story starts. Me, alone, in a very
sturdy, very compact, glass fortress where I can look out but no one can see beyond the surface. Queen of cool. Of course
I'll need a job because I haven't been able to save much money, and suprisingly, Slayers don't get a paychecque. But I'm
not fussy. Night watchman at the morgue would suit me fine.

My real dream is this: I'm going up north. To Canada. To cold for vampires. As far north as I can go and still get a job,
some remote outpost where I'll have my own space unshared by any other human being. I might have a dog. One of those
Huskies, intelligent and loyal. I would like to be a pilot who flies supplies into even more remote places. And ice skates
on the side. Won't be able to get too public because they'd find me. Even if I could teach little Eskimo kids or something,
that would be okay.

"I think you'll like the Harrises," Dick said. "They have a kid about your age there. And his parents are pretty decent."

Does he really think I care?

"He'll be going to the same school as you so he can probably show you around. But don't get too attached-"

"Yeah, yeah, I get the drill." I saw another sign pass by. Sunnydale: 5 m. There was still nothing much to see through the
rain attacking the windshield. Dick took a turn off the freeway onto a more narrow road. "Turn on your headlights," I said.

"They're on."

I've never driven a car, but I know I could do it. Dick, on the other hand, seems to have skipped driver's ed. He was intent
on putting us in the ditch. And he was keeping himself to close to the center lane, which any dork knows-But who cares?
I didn't.

Dick glanced at me a couple of times as if he had something important to say but didn't know how to start. Finally, he said,
"I'm not trying to pressure you, because you've been through a lot in the last couple months, but you must take your duty
seriously. You are the only person in the world that can save it. This is not a summer job, it is a matter of life and
death. Regardless of what's happened to you and what will happen, you will be a Slayer for the rest of your life. You
have not taken the chance to prove yourself. You have avoided me like you would avoid a school bully. In Sunnydale, something
will happen. Not just a vampire nest, but a vampire order with an intent to destroy the world. A member of our council
has been living in Sunnydale for a couple of weeks now studying the area. He has assumed the identity of the school
librarian. He is not your Watcher but if I am not available or if something should happen to me, he will take my place."

"You're prejudging me."

"Oh, stop. You know just as well as I do that you are not nearly prepared as you should be. I have been lax in your
training because I felt sorry for you and your situation. I was lax on you and because of that many of your schoolmates
almost became vampires themselves, you nearly-"

"Look, Dick! I saved them. Yeah, I nearly got myself killed, but no one else did. I had to burn down that gym, but I got
all those people out. You don't think I'm prepared? You can go screw yourself."

"Yes. You came through in a moment of crisis. But you seem to forget that you didn't kill all the vampires. That some
remembered your face and were hell bent this summer to kill you and everyone around you. Your mother nearly died, Buffy.
You know that."

"Yeah, I know that. Anyway, I saved her too. If those vampires weren't dead before, they're dead now. So get off my back."

"Buffy. It cut too close. They match you in strength and ability. You're resourceful and have a quick mind but you must
train yourself to get better because if you don't you will die and the people around you will die. You are responsible
for their lives. If they die, it is your fault."

"...I didn't say they weren't my responsibility."

"Well, you sound so..The fire was risky, but you came through. You did save them but at far greater risk that necessary.
Those vampires set out to deprive you, personally, of a home and family. The Council had to interfere to save you. You
weren't ready for them."

"I'm not really interested in talking about this anymore."

Dick heaved one of his big, dramatic sighs as if he was going to let the subject drop. And he did. But then he said
something worse. "I must confess," he said, "that your mother knows that you are moving to the Sunnydale area."

"What? How? Are you trying to put her in more danger?"

"I didn't mean to tell her," Dick said. "But I'm afraid the information got leaked out. I think you've figured this out
but I had limited contact with her as acting as your personal counsellor. After her attack, she came to me and asked me
about you. She was very persistent and I had a difficult time explaining anything to her. I told her, in my own way, that
you had told me that you wanted to run away from home and that you had mentioned a town called Sunnydale."

"Are you stupid? You could have made something up!"

"She is...a very intelligent woman. And I didn't act wisely under the pressure. I'm...new at this as well, Buffy. I have
never dealt with a Slayer's..family before. You are under quite a unique situation. Anyway, the last time she contacted
me she said that if you ever were to disapear she said she would ask everyone in the whole country, if necessary, until she
found you. Now that you are officially missing, I don't doubt that she'll try it."

"That's great. So we're both unprepared, right? That's just great. God, what's her point? I'm more trouble than it's worth."

"Her point is your well-being, I suppose. She's your mother...and from what I've seen, she genuinely is concerned for you.
It seems harmless enough if we handle it appropriately."

I stared into the ranks of raindrops driving against the windshield and tried to make out a formation, a pattern, but it
only made me dizzy. "Wait a minute," I said. "I'm adopted. She's looking for some runaway, and that ain't me." I smiled.
Safe. Anomynous. "Right?"

Dick glanced at me and we narrowly missed a Cadillac. "For now. But you haven't changed your name, and you do have an
address. The Council will attempt to make it hard for her but I'm sure she'll find you someday."

"I'll be the judge of that." If I was going to be leaving in six months, anyway, it wouldn't really matter.

Sitting beside Dick, I returned to my dream of being sixteen, of splitting off, sepertating myself from my "destiny".
What I want is sole control of Buffy Summers, because up to now my life has been controlled by one thing or another.
The Council. My parents. My teachers. My friends. I have never had a say in what happens to me. I am the Chosen, but
I'm sure as hell not staying that way. Dick says there's all these lost prophecies about the Slayers and what happens
to them, that I have a fate that I must adhere to...well, they can all go to hell.

In May, I was the queen of my school. A big bitch then, but at least I had a bit of power. I remember sitting on the steps,
waiting for my ride. And there he was, this big balding guy in a suit telling me that I was the Chosen One. I thought he
was high. He said that only I could stop the vampires and things like that.

After I killed my first vampire, I just laid there when it finally sank in, my lips frozen in horror and my eyes turning
into round empty circles. My next vampire was a bit easier, even though when I came home I couldn't sleep and kept the light
on. Then there was another vampire, and another, until I stopped being able to sort them out. I've staked, kicked, punched
and quipped at so many vampires that my mind refuses to remember them all.

However, sixteen is the magic age. That's when I can legally drop out of school, live on my own...and legally drop off the
edge of the world, I guess, for all anyone would care.

"The Council really does care what happens to you, you know," Dick said. He looked at me quickly and then back at the road.
We were nearly there. I could see the town clearly now. "You could tell me if anything is wrong."

"And say what?"

"Tell me how you feel about your calling, about what your life is like. You have that computer, you might as well put it
to good use. You can type up any concerns and send them to me, since you...have difficulties communicating with me
personally."

"That's really cute, Dick. But I can't. I don't have a printer. Even if I did, it wouldn't do any good. I - I have accepted
who I am and don't really have a choice in the matter anyway, right? All you'd get would be blank pages."

Dick took a long concerned stare at me again. This time, we really did get into an accident. Dick missed the turn and we
landed nose first into a ditch.

"Oh, great." Dick said.

"Any survivors?" I said.

He tried gunning the engine. The wheels spun uselessly. "This is just perfect." He opened up his glove compartment and
started rummaging around. He took out a pack of cignarettes and a lighter.

The inside of the car seemed incredibly small all of a sudden. "What are you doing?"

He started lighting his cigarette. "Do you mind?"

The lighter was turned up too high. I could see his face, his eyes questioning mine, wondering if I minded him smoking, but
hoping I didn't because he needed to smoke. The way the flame flared up, I don't know. I guess it made me panic. I may
have screamed. I yelled, anyway, because Dick jumped and his cigarette flipped out from between his fingers. I saw a
rain of sparks in front of the flare from the lighter and I - Forget it.

I got out of the car. Smoke inside a car is sickening.

I remember Dick coming after me. The two of us standing in the middle of rainy nowhere shouting at each other. He tried to
put his arm around me, but I gave him a shove and he flew onto the middle of the road. And then the bus came along. Out
of the screen of blowing rain, headlights. And Dick sprawled on the road in its path. One instant Dick was lit up and
the next he was in semi-darkness as the bus's headlights swerved from side to side down that glassy hill with the
tortured sound of diesel brakes drowning out everything else. I ran into the road, grabbed his arm and threw him into the
ditch as the bus moved past and came to a stop, a little further down the road.

***

It's fairly quiet here, now, at Chateau Harris, except for me clicking away on this machine. Supper was a major ordeal. Food
has never been a big item in my life. Here, however, quantity is everything. God knows what the quality is like. I didn't
eat enough of what was being served to tell. After they'd all sucked back about 40 tons of unindentifiable, gravy...
covered, cooked objects, they paused long enough to breathe and looked at my plate, still brimful. "Edith-Ann will like it,"
someone said. Whoever that is. Probably some idiot daughter locked in the attic. That would not be entirely out of the
question.

The lord of the manor has retired as has his charming wife. The delightful son has gone beddy-bye in the room next to mine
after hardly talking to me all day. Which is fine and all, I just wished he would stop staring at me. He's all right, though,
he showed me around his house. I'm getting wierd vibes between him and his dad, though. Potential drama. And the housewife
walking around, pretending it isn't happening. I can't believe this place.

I see I left off when the bus came along. I was interrupted. No such thing as privacy around here.

To go back: It was the Sacremento bus and we got on. Dick told the driver where we were going and he said that was his
next stop. Sitting beside each other on the last two seats of the bus, we didn't have a whole lot to say. Pressed close
to the window, I looked out. The rain had stopped falling and was just spitting occasionally now. I'd already told Dick
I was sorry. I was, too. I hadn't meant to shove him under a bus. I don't like him, but I'm no murderer. "I'm sorry, too,"
he said, "I should have remembered that you don't like to be touched."

Elbows tucked into my rib cage, legs tight against the bus wall, I ingored his remark. Through the bus window I watched
the clouds part, revealing the moon, a mean little curved blade slung low in the darkening sky. It was following us.

Fifteen minutes later the bus pulled into the Bus Terminal on the edge of the town of Sunnydale. "You go inside that
diner over there," the bus driver said to Dick as we stepped out of the bus onto the wet pavement. "They'll call you a
tow truck and you can get a coffee while you wait." The bus door eased to, then snapped closed, and the bus disapeared into
turmoil of exhaust and puddles.

We looked at each other and shrugged. You could hardly see in through the windows, they were so fogged up. Inside, the
warmth of the place almost wrapped itself around us with steam coming up from pots of coffee behind the counter and a
frizzy haired waitress filling the cups of a few old geezers sitting on stools gabbing their heads off, their big coats
hanging open. Flourescent lights beat down on them like a sunny day. A couple of tables stood empty under the windows. I
slid into a chair of one of them and waited for Dick to ask the waitress about a tow truck.

Everybody stopped talking to listen in. "Where am I phoning from?" Dick called to the waitress from the pay phone on the
wall.

"Ee-lite Cafe out on the number seven. He knows where it is."

"Not a night to be out on the road," one of the patrons of the Ee-lite Cafe said to no one in particular.

"You can't even see out your windshield in a rainstorm like that," someone else said.

"D'ya remember the flood last year? I was wadin' up to my knees in that one. Two years ago, now it was."

"It wasn't neither, you idiot. It was last spring."

Dick went back to the counter to get change for another call and they all shut up again.

"Mr. Harris?" Dick was saying into the phone. "Richard Riehle from Children's Aid...I wonder if you could come to the
Elite, uh, Ee-lite Cafe to pick up Buffy. I've put my car in a ditch." A pause. "Your foster daughter. Buffy Summers."

Meanwhile I was cringing, trying to disapear into the furniture. Obviously I hadn't been programmed into Mr. Harris's
memory. When I looked up all I could see was a row of eyes staring at me from the mirror above the counter. I turned to the
window but I couldn't see out.

"Yes." Relief in his voice. "Yes, that's right."

The software must have kicked in.

After he hung up, Dick got us both coffee and then he went to the washroom. There was a general buzz of conversation, some
of which I caught.

"Bears for punishment, aren't they?"

"Oh, I don't know. Nick, he's got a firm hand there."

"Missus is a bit soft."

"A bit soft. Salt o' the earth, though."

"Oh, salt o' the earth, no question. But why they keep takin' in those kids, I'll never know."

"Bears for punishment."



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