Side Roads and Dandelions

by W.H. Harrod

  ~~ Chapter Seven

  “We are fifteen minutes ahead of schedule. Is that good scheduling, or what?” Allison was rather filled with herself at the present. Admittedly, their newest passenger had not actually consented to this unannounced trip down memory lane, but she felt that as soon as he got well enough to participate in any of the conversations, he would become a most willing accomplice. “I may have gone into the wrong line of work. I should be in charge of scheduling and planning things. Maybe I should have gone to work for NASA. They always need help as they are constantly putting things off for some reason. Do you know anyone at NASA by the way?”

  Ernest sat in the driver’s seat maneuvering the bus back towards the interstate highway they diverted away from to go to Bobby’s earlier that morning. Given her level of excitement at having secured Bobby’s participation, or at least attendance, Allison consented readily when Ernest suggested he start out driving. This eliminated the prospect of her wrecking the bus and killing them due to her constantly turning around to monitor Bobby’s condition.

  “I would suggest you delay the celebration until our passenger becomes fully awake and learns he’s not only still alive, but hundreds of miles away from the place where he thought he would spend eternity and instead, going back to California,” said Ernest wryly. “Just a suggestion, though.”

  “You’re right,” agreed Allison, “but with three out of the four of us together again, isn’t it amazing? I never expected to see the day.” After she finished speaking, Allison’s expression saddened as she thought of Sam’s disinterest in going back with them. It would have been so wonderful, but... but things and people change, she reminded herself. It wasn’t meant to be.

  Allison checked on Bobby who slept on the floor of the bus on a bed of blankets taken from his home. They decided to leave the center seat of the bus behind in Bobby’s barn to give them plenty of room between the front seats and the rear bench. Near their patient sat a cooler filled with ice and concoctions mixed by Ernest for Bobby to drink when he awakened. Plus, there were two peanut butter and banana with honey on white bread sandwiches prepared for Bobby’s first solid meal.

  “How much longer until he’s awake?” asked Allison.

  “I can’t say,” answered Ernest. “Could be any time now. I checked his vitals again before we left, and they seem to be coming around okay. Just be patient. There’s a lot of ground between here and the bay area.”

  As they passed by the truck stop where the excitement occurred earlier that day, Ernest looked tempted to toot the horn and wave, but the distinct possibility that many of the cowboys and farmers from around these parts toted rifles around in their trucks undoubtedly caused him to decide against it. Better to pass by quietly and go on their way.

  “Do you think we packed enough clothing for him?” asked Allison. “All I could find in his closet were blue jeans and cowboy shirts, so that’s all I brought except for socks and underwear. I did find one more thing in his closet.” Without waiting for Ernest to respond, she reached behind her seat and retrieved a bag from which she extracted a faded jungle fatigue jacket. The same jacket Bobby wore in 1969. “Now, we all have our uniforms. You have your black beret and shades. Bobby has his jungle fatigue jacket, and me, well, I have my ankle length calico striped dress along with my old jean jacket, my peace medallion necklace, and my headband. What do you think? Are we ready to do some protesting?”

  With eyebrows raised, Ernest looked over at his co-pilot now attired in her thirty-five-year-old hippie clothing. “You really don’t want to hear what I think,” responded Ernest with a chuckle.

  His thinly veiled slight did not go unnoticed by Allison who immediately made a thorough inspection of her driver’s ample physical attributes along with his attempt at taking his appearance retro, via the beret and shades.

  “You don’t, do you?” responded Allison sarcastically. “And pray tell, why is it that Mustafa, the chosen one, feels it is okay for him to get into character for this trip and not okay for anyone else?”

  Ernest shook his head slowly from side to side in disbelief. “I knew it. I knew it. I knew that someday I would have cause to regret ever divulging that name to you. I told you, I didn’t pick the name out. They assigned it to me when I joined. They didn’t see how anyone could be afraid of a guy named Ernest. They told me from then on my name was Mustafa. Only, I never lived up to the name, I’m relieved to say.”

  When Allison heard this last remark she felt a great sense of relief. “You didn’t?” she asked meekly.

  “No, I didn’t. Didn’t you know that? I thought Sam told you. I know I told him I never accomplished what I went there to do. Were you worried about that?”

  Allison tried to not display her relief from this important revelation by her friend. “No! No! Course not. It never even occurred to me. I’m surprised you asked.”

  They both sat quietly for a time as the freshness of the new day and the excitement of their purpose imbued them with a sense of adventure not experienced by either for a very long time.

  “Too bad about Sam,” said Allison as much to herself as her partner. “Now wouldn’t that have been something. All the Dandelions together again for one more last assault on those same out of control and unresponsive governmental institutions that continue to deceive the citizens of this country yet today over thirty years later. What a way to go out, huh?”

  Ernest and Sam had been the last two in the group to come together on the earlier trip, so Ernest’s tardiness in responding did not surprise Allison. “It would have been something, you’re right,” he answered in a measured tone. “But, remembering what Sam was like, it couldn’t have come as much of a surprise that he went over to the dark side, did it? Sam was pure intellect. He was always thinking, always looking at an idea from as many perspectives as he could imagine. It makes sense to me that he finally figured out that college radicalism was not destined to become a future growth industry. He gave it his best shot. He went to the wall repeatedly for the rights of his fellowman, and the very same groups that were supposed to protect us tried to beat him to death with their clubs and the butts of their rifles. The man had a price on his head, and if the governor’s thugs had known who they were beating on that night, they would certainly have finished the job. Sam was smart, he saw what was coming and he did the sensible thing, he crossed over and got in line with the winners.”

  Allison didn’t try to argue with Ernest because what he said made sense. As a matter-of-fact, it’s the only thing that did make sense. Maybe the next time I get to see Sam, if I ever do get to see him, we ought to compare head scars to remind us why we ran for our lives in ‘69. We were both supposed to be dead long ago if our attackers had had their way. Ernest was right. Sam never held himself out as a martyr for lost causes back then, and he certainly couldn’t be expected to now. No matter that thousands of people were irreparably harmed then and that many more are about to be harmed now, one thing has not changed -- most of the citizens of this country didn’t care back then and most of them don’t care now.

  “Maybe the next time he’ll come.” Allison forced a smile. “If we stay on the thirty year cycle, we should be getting back together again when we’re close to ninety.”

  “That’s a date,” said Ernest laughing. “For sure, that’s a date.”

  “Good,” answered Allison. “That’s good.”

  Both of them lapsed into another long period of reflection until Allison, as usual, broke the silence.

  “He’s still out like a log back there. When do you plan to make a pit stop? How far are we from Oklahoma City? I’m anxious to get back on the old road.” Allison’s unexpected barrage of questions and declaratory statements caused Ernest to have to think a moment before answering.

  “Good,” answered Ernest. “Just let him sleep. We’ll try to get him to eat something up ahead when we stop for gas and have some lunch. That is if there are any decent looking restaurants around. I expect that will be in abo
ut an hour and a half from now at some place on the other side of Oklahoma City, if it’s okay with you?”

  “Sounds like a good plan to me,” said Allison. “You know I can hold out as long as you can.”

  Ernest laughed heartily at her bravado as he guided the well-tuned vehicle along the smooth surfaced road. He seemed to enjoy driving this semi-antique machine. Although well built, it contained only the basics and no extra power -- as in power brakes, windows, steering, air conditioning, seats, or horsepower. A person had to stay alert when sitting behind the wheel of such a vehicle, especially on the interstate highways. It took only a big puff of wind for a person to find himself driving on the other side of the road. Essentially, the vehicle they rode in possessed the aerodynamic characteristics of a kite.

  Allison decided to use the time before they stopped to recall as much of their original trip from California in ‘69 as possible. She realized things had changed in the last thirty-four years and that many of the places where they’d stopped earlier no longer existed. They had either fallen down, been torn down, paved over, etc. Plus, Interstate 40 ran all the way to Barstow, California, now, whereas back then there were many places where the interstate was incomplete and traffic detoured back onto the old side roads for miles. Those were the places she cared mostly about, the side roads. That’s where four strangers got to know one another, and where they began to come together. Not while they roared down the interstate at seventy miles per hour. Sam said it a long time ago, “The side roads are where life comes into focus.”

  Continuing her trip down memory lane, she certainly had no problem recalling the start of their journey from the U.C. Berkeley professor’s well-concealed rear guesthouse garage in the early morning hours of May 17, 1969. How could she ever forget their terrifying passage through the streets of Berkeley filled with uniformed officials patrolling every square inch of the area hoping to find more students and protestors to bludgeon with their weapons. Next came the nervous flight through Oakland and the Castro Valley where they finally started to experience hope that they were going to make it out in one piece. They continued on southward through the central valley all the way to Barstow where they turned east for the long trip home. Not one of them seemed overly eager to strike up conversations, much less friendships, during the initial unsettling part of the journey through the belly of California. Not until they were in the middle of the Mojave Desert heading for the Arizona state line did the group begin to lighten up. From then on, amazing things happened the whole way home.

  Allison searched her memory for some recollection of the events that took place in the state they were driving through presently. She knew something had to have happened, but what was it? Still searching without any success, she turned to Ernest and considered asking for his help. Then it hit her. She remembered.

  “Looks as if we’re coming into Oklahoma City,” commented Allison innocently. “Are we getting anywhere close to a place to stop?”

  Completely unaware he had been busted, Ernest answered calmly. “I kind of thought it would be best if we went on through the city before the afternoon traffic picked up, and then we could find something on the other side, out a ways. Surely there’s something suitable there. Wouldn’t you think?”

  Allison did not respond, but rather she sat calmly smiling directly at Ernest. After a minute of this Ernest broke. “What? Why are you looking at me like that? Have I asked you for any of those goodies you stole from me this morning? No, I haven’t. Why are you staring at me?”

  Allison said nothing as she watched him squirm.

  “I’m telling you, I’m innocent; I haven’t done a single thing,” whined Ernest who displayed signs of weakening. “So you quit giving me the evil eye.”

  Allison’s expression did not change. Ernest looked guiltier with every second that passed.

  He became defiant. “Okay, then tell me what I did, if you know so much. Go ahead tell me about something I’ve done. You ain’t got nothing on me, nothing!”

  He’s about ready to pop, thought Allison. Men are such children. She never met one that could abide a woman staring at them. She kept it up awhile longer.

  “You are one lady who is wasting her time trying to see if I’ll break under the stress of that evil look.” Ernest couldn’t take it any longer. “You can’t do this to me. Go ahead and blab to Rosa Lee, I don’t care. I’m getting old, and I may never pass this way again, and I’ve thought about those onion-fried burgers for over thirty years. I’ve got to have one of them, do you hear me. You better not try to stop me because I’m driving, and I might do something desperate.”

  Now Ernest gave a look that told Allison he was determined not to relent. Earlier it merely involved a few pieces of bread products, but this involved onion-fried burgers, a whole town full of onion-fried burgers. Great, mouthwatering, smothered with caramelized onion, onion-fried burgers. A few miles ahead was the onion-fried burger capital of the world, and Ernest appeared ready to put up a fight.

  Allison could see the fire in the man’s eyes. He looked determined to go to the wall in defense of this one. They were still forty-five minutes away, so she had time to do something if she could come up with a suitable threat to get him to change his mind. She, too, remembered the onion-fried burgers. They were to die for. She ate meat sparingly, but even she would have a hard time resisting grabbing hold of one of those monsters. They were a delight to the palate indeed.

  Their verbal scuffle never got the chance to escalate as providence intervened and Bobby came back to life.

  “What? What the hell! Where am -” Bobby’s first words upon his resurrection were cut short by Allison’s effusive greeting.

  “Bobby! How wonderful you’re awake. How do you feel? Ernest has some liquids for you to drink. Let me get one for you.” Allison turned in her passenger seat to head for the rear of the bus where the specially concocted liquids awaited Bobby’s awakening.

  “Allison? What the hell?...Allison, where are we? Is that Ernest?...Ernest, what the hell is going on? Where am I? Why am I in this…is this our old bus?” The flood of unexpected events took its toll on Bobby’s weakened system. He fell back upon the pile of blankets.

  Allison arrived by his side and quickly began to reassure the confused man on the floor of her VW bus that all was well and he should not worry. “Bobby, it’s going to be okay. The Dandelions are back together and everything’s going to be alright.”

  “What... The Dandelions are back? What the hell are you talking about? Where are we? Why are we moving?” Again he fell back exhausted by the effort.

  “Don’t you remember when you and Sam came up with the idea that we were like dandelions? We agreed that if any one of us went back, then all of the Dandelions would go back together. Remember?”

  Bobby opened his eyes and tried hard to focus on Allison’s smiling face looming over him like a mother hen. “Lady, all I know is that you have got to be drinking something strong, and if you have any decency, you’ll share some of it with me before my head explodes.”

  From the front of the bus Allison heard Ernest’s laughter. “What are you laughing at? What’s so funny?” she asked indignantly.

  “I’m sorry,” said Ernest. “That was rude, but I suggest you slow down and let him get his bearings before you go telling him he’s what most people consider a noxious weed. He may not possess your same vivid recollection of every single event that transpired during the ‘60s. Why not concentrate on getting some of that liquid I mixed up into him before you give him the good news?”

  Allison understood the wisdom in his words and commenced to re-hydrate their long absent friend before commencing his reindoctrination into the Most Exalted Order of Worthy Dandelions, the semi-official name Sam came up with.

  Allison’s plate was full. Her work spread before her. First, she needed to find a way to convince Ernest it was not in his best interest to consume a huge greasy pile of artery blocking dead meat no matter how great it tasted. Secondl
y, another of the original members of the Dandelions had forgotten about his pledge made long ago. She needed to move cautiously because she didn’t want to lose Bobby like she had lost Sam. She must find a way to help him remember.