He was waving from the rear bus window, but his family had already pulled their attention away.  He would not see them for months, perhaps a year if he spent the winter break at a boarding school camp.  He watched them, huddled, facing each other, linked, till they became just another part of the receding scene out the rear window.  He kept watching.  He remembered thinking he could somehow pluck them out of the scene and make them present to him.  He wondered of the kind of magic, or machine, to make that possible.  While bubbling with such ideas, he suddenly turned around to the interior of the bus to announce that their starting point had now faded from view.  But, all passengers were looking forward.  Involuntarily, without thought, he had then dropped himself on the rear-most bench he had been kneeling on, and had sat, stiff as a board, making himself face forward.