Josh, being an idiot, stops short as he reaches the top stair, causing the rest of us to pile into him, then back up, cursing soundly.  Thank God the press isn't with us, because I'm pretty sure that looked like a scene from The Monkees.  Donna scoots past him, and I manage to gain a foothold on the top step.  I've got a couple inches on Josh, so I can easily see past him into the interior of our noble chariot.

Josh looks around, scrunches up his nose in the universal expression of distaste, and says, "This is a little..."

"Tacky?" I suggest.  After all, the interior of the bus is your basic late eighties Greyhound chic.  All the money, it seems, went into the artwork and signage for the exterior, leaving us with the campaign bus from hell, all tasteless neutrals and accents of garish primary colors.  Yick.

Josh smirks over his shoulder at me.  "I was going to say small, but yours works too."

Sam touches my arm and peers around the small crowd.  "It's a campaign bus, Josh.  What did you expect?"

Finally, Josh moves further down the aisle, dropping into the empty seat beside Donna.  "Something bigger, for one."

Sam and I exchange amused glances.  Sam shrugs, "You forget -- he was working for Hoynes."  Sam pokes Josh in the shoulder as we ease past,  "Didn't he have a private jet?"

"He's an oil man from Texas; of course he had his own private jet," Josh answers.

I think rather wistfully of my forsaken income.  I've never been one of those people who desires vast sums of money, but... $600 a week and room and board on the campaign bus straight out of the dread Reagan era?  "I could've had a private jet, just like Mr. Moneybags McFadden."

Toby slides past me, giving me a glare, and says, "Can we please not talk about our choice for VP like that?"

"Why not?" Josh demands.

"The press!"

I gesture around the relatively small interior of the bus.  "You think the press is, what, hiding under the seats, Toby?  I don't think I could fit my cat under these seats.  Besides which, they have their own bus."

Sam smirks.  "Your cats?"

"The press," I correct with a withering look.  "I only have one cat."

"I hope it's uglier than this thing," Josh mutters.

Donna glances around and shrugs.  "I'm not really sure that's possible."

***

"I don't think I like east Texas very much."

Even from my seat halfway up the aisle from him, I can hear Toby's derisive snort.

"Josh," Toby says, "you're Jewish.  East Texas doesn't like you either."

Josh flashes that insufferable smirk of his and gives a careless shrug.  "Well, that's true.  But it's their loss.  Why, my sparkling personality -- Ow!"

Donna, sitting beside him, elbowed him quite sharply.

I give her an approving smile, then go back to the Post.  Their editorial page is running a series on the election, and today they're savaging Sheridan Byrd, the Republican nominee.  I don't honestly know how the Republicans thought a man named Sheridan Byrd would be taken seriously as a candidate, but there you go.  Josh's theory is that Governor Bartlet isn't really considered a threat, so the Republicans took the easy way out and just picked the guy who can raise the most money, regardless of political clout.

Of course, every time he says that, Josh proceeds to go on at length about getting money out of politics, John Hoynes' ties to Big Oil, and the political realities that made Hoynes the necessary VP pick.  I think Josh just feels really conflicted about it -- after all, he left Hoynes' campaign for the Governor, and now has to merge his idealistic and pragmatic politico sides.  Josh is a strange, contradictory man.

"CJ," Sam says cheerfully as he drops into the seat beside me . I don't think there's anything Sam does that's not cheerful.  He probably jumps out of bed giddy as a schoolgirl.  Right now, he's pointing cheerfully out the window.  "Do you see all the longhorns?"

I give him an eloquent look.  "Excuse me?"

Sam taps the window excitedly.  I follow his unspoken directive and see small blobs of brown and black periodically disrupting the vast amounts of green whizzing past.  "Longhorns," Sam repeats.

"Cows?"

"Yes."

"Okay," I agree, turning my attention back to the Post.

"Why did we have to start this thing in Dallas?" Josh whines, interrupting my concentration.

"Don't whine, Josh," Donna orders, thwacking him with a bright blue folder for good measure.

"I'm not a child," Josh answers, ignoring the round of snickers that follow his declaration.  "I do not whine."

"Actually," Sam begins.  Josh fixes him with a glare, and Sam wisely clamps his mouth shut.

"I'm serious," Josh persists, jumping up and pacing the narrow aisle, ricocheting off of every third seat.  "CJ, why Dallas?"

"Josh, don't be an idiot. Hoynes is from Dallas."

"I don't care.  We made the announcement in Manchester, and we're going to a speaking engagement in Memphis by way of Dallas?"

"It's a campaign, Josh," Toby interjects from behind us, his tone peremptory.  "We're campaigning."

"I'm just saying it's inefficient, us being trapped on a bus like this.  The Governor's not even here.  He's in--"  Josh leans over to Donna.  "Where is he?"

"Boise," she supplies.

"He's in Boise."  Josh picks up right where he left off.  "So what are we doing?  We have no hope of winning east Texas; why campaign here?"

"We're not," I point out.

"Huh?" Josh asks, brow furrowed.

"We're not campaigning here."

Josh gives me a strange look.  "Actually, this big moving thing we're on?  It's called a campaign bus."

I roll my eyes.

Donna sits up in her seat, turning halfway around to participate in the conversation.  "I think CJ's point is that we're driving through east Texas; we're not stopping to give stump speeches at every town square."

"Which is probably for the best, since the Governor's in Boise," Sam adds.

Josh grins.  "Well, still, we've got all the pretty signs on the bus.  That's campaigning, right?"

Donna brightens.  "We need bumper stickers.  Like Ann Richards."

"I love Ann Richards," I announce.  Richards, a tart, witty liberal former Governor of Texas and I crossed paths a few times during my stint with EMILY's list.

Donna nods at me, her eyes sparkling.  "Ann Richards rocks.  During her campaign against Shrub" --Here Donna pauses for the requisite shudder; Texas's current governor stands for pretty much everything we detest: purchased political clout, extremely conservative ideology, and a smarmy persona to boot-- "Ann Richards' staffers would joke about a game they could play in east Texas."

Josh stops pacing and leans against the seat across from Donna.  "A game?"

She nods again.  "The staffers would drive through east Texas with a bumper sticker on their car, and whoever made it back to Waco alive won.  The bumper sticker would read:  I'm the Gay Ann Sent to Take Your Guns."

Over the eruption of laughter, Toby remarks dryly, "Which pretty much sums up why we're not even stopping for gas in east Texas."

***

"Huh."

"Yeah."

"So."

"This is Arkansas."

"Yeah."

"Okay."

***

Toby and I are, predictably, arguing (right now, it's over the implications of the Boston Globe's usage of the word credulous in relation to the Governor) when the bus begins to slow down.  I barely notice it, though, involved as I am in proving that by credulous they meant amateur politician.  Toby maintains that they're using the word incorrectly, and that they meant to imply that the people trust Governor Bartlet.

He's so wrong.

Josh glances up from his tête-a-tête with Donna and frowns.  "We're there already?"

I don't even spare him a glance.  "Have you seen Little Rock?"

"Why?  Did you lose it?"

I can tell just from the tone of voice that Josh is smirking.  Of course, smirking is pretty much Josh's de facto expression.  I don't quite understand how he can be so smug and so charming at the same time.  Still, the smirk deserves some form of punishment.

Before I can think up something suitable, I hear a telltale thwack and Josh's pathetic yelp.

"Thanks, Donna," I sing out.

"No problem."

Josh mutters something about women, then asks, "If we're not there yet, then why are we stopping?"

Finally, I abandon all hope of continuing my own conversation.  When Josh gets restless, he gets whiny.  And loud.  Toby and I exchange long-suffering looks and then turn our attention to the Boy Wonder.

Toby sighs.  "Josh, we're not even into Little Rock yet.  We're nowhere near the Tennessee border.  Now sit down and shut up."

"But why--"

"Traffic," Donna interrupts, before Josh can do more whining, which would, judging from the stormy look on Toby's face, precipitate his murder.

Josh frowns at her. " Traffic?  Where are we?"

"Just outside of Forrest City," Donna answers promptly.

"What City?"

"Forrest City."

"There's traffic outside of Forrest City?"

"Apparently," Donna answers with a significant look out the windows at the cars stacked up alongside us.  Josh follows her gaze, leaning past her to peer out the window.  Donna catches my eye and makes a face.  I wasn't sure of her when she showed up, young and just a little bit timid.  Now she orders Josh around with skill and sarcasm second only to the Governor's assistant, Mrs. Landingham.

"But I've never heard of Forrest City," Josh protests.  "Where the hell is Forrest City?"

"Arkansas."

"There's traffic in Arkansas?" Josh asks, amazed.  "Really?"

Toby rubs his head and groans.  "So it would appear.  Can we please--"

"This is surreal," Josh muses.  "It's like that episode of The Twilight Zone where all the guy wants to do after the apocalypse is read, and then his glasses break."

Toby stares balefully at him.  "That was a horrible recap."

I nod, biting back a smirk.  "How is this like that episode, Josh?"

He shrugs, looking almost embarrassed.  "Because all we want to do is, you know, get the hell out of Arkansas, and--"

"The traffic broke?" Donna finishes dryly.

Josh flashes her a wounded look.  "That's not exactly how I'd have put it."

Donna just smiles and gives him a patronizing pat on the hand.

***

"Is that the Mississippi River?"

"Josh," I yell.  "Shut up!" 

I swear, he's been going like a wind-up toy ever since Texarkana (which is, according to its water tower, Twice as Nice; I beg to differ).  All however many billions of miles, through construction zones, through Little Rock, Josh has been like a five year old with his ceaseless questions.  Most of them, thank God, have been directed at Donna, not at the rest of us.  I don't know how she's managed not to toss him off the bus or, you know, lock him in the bathroom; she's a stronger woman than I am.

Though she does, at this point, look a bit frayed around the edges.

Josh gives me a patently false wounded expression.  "What was that for?"

"That was for you acting like a child for the last five hundred miles."

"Two hundred," Sam corrects.  I shoot him a glare and he shrugs.  "Well, five hundred would have been all day."

"Are you saying he hasn't been annoying all day?"

Sam considers that.  "Fair point.  Five hundred miles it is."

"Hey!" Josh protests.  "I am not--"

"Guys," Donna interrupts, pointing out the window.  "That's the Mississippi.  We're almost out of Arkansas."

"Thank God," Toby mutters.  "Though I'm not sure Tennessee's that much of an improvement."

Josh shrugs.  "Well, it's better than Alabama, at any rate."

"Is that really hard?" I wonder.

"No."

The bus lumbers onto the bridge, and Donna presses close to the glass, watching for the sign.  "Tennessee," she announces.  "Hey, did you know that this is Music Highway?"

"Music Highway?" Sam repeats, grinning.  "If we open the windows, is there a soundtrack to accompany us on our journey?"

"I'm guessing no," Donna answers with a smile.

"Home of the blues, birthplace of rock n' roll," Josh says.

We all give him skeptical looks.

He points out the other side of the bus.  "That's what the big water tower thing said."

"Oh, look," Donna says.  "It's St. Jude's Children's Research Hospital.  Isn't that where Mrs. Bartlet's giving the speech tonight?"

"Yes," Toby answers.  "They're flying in right now."

Josh clambers over to her side of the bus and studies the large hospital.  "Founded by Danny Thomas?  The Wendy's guy founded a hospital?"

Donna grins at him.  "That's Dave Thomas, Josh."

"And it disturbs me that you even know the Wendy's guy's name," Toby comments, staring out at the pinkish hospital as the bus peels off the highway onto an exit ramp.

Josh frowns.  "Then who the hell is Danny Thomas?"

Donna looks perplexed for a moment.  "Well, he's Marlo Thomas's father."

"That's his claim to fame?" Josh scoffs.  "The fact that his son-in-law is Phil Donahue?"

"Well... no," Donna admits.

Toby heaves a big, melodramatic sigh and says, "Danny Thomas was the father in Make Room for Daddy, he hosted The Danny Thomas Hour -- any of this ringing a bell?"

"Huh," Josh nods, considering the information.  "Not really.  You know, I think it would've been cooler if the Wendy's guy had founded the hospital."

The bus rolls slowly to a stop, and we exchange joyous looks.

Josh opens his mouth, glances over at Donna's forbidding expression, and shuts it again.

"Yes, Josh," I say, putting him out of his misery.  "We're here."

He lets out a whoop that should by all rights have come from a ten-year-old, then shoulders his backpack and heads for the door.  "Sweet, glorious freedom," he rhapsodizes.  "Terra firma.  No rolling, no bouncing, no loud engine noise ever again--"

"Josh," Donna interrupts.  "We're driving to North Carolina in the morning."

The crestfallen look on his face is positively hilarious, and the rest of us crack up.  Josh glares at us for a moment, then turns to the door, clomping heavily down the stairs and off the bus.

"I have just one question," Toby starts.

"Yes," I tell him.  "We're sedating Josh tomorrow."

THE END

09.03.01