~~ Chapter Eight
Bobby looked totally confounded as Allison related their plan to take democracy to the streets of the San Francisco bay area. If it were any other two individuals who hijacked his miserable life causing him to stay alive even a minute longer than necessary, Bobby probably would have raised holy hell. However, the longer Allison sat with him helping him consume the revitalizing liquids prepared by Ernest while at the same time ensuring him they were going to find a way to help him work things out, the longer he remained amazingly docile.
Allison could see Ernest watching her progress in the rear-view mirror while he drove the VW bus through the heart of Oklahoma City and out the other side. Allison knew it pleased Ernest to no end that he looked to have clear sailing the rest of the way to the home of the famous onion-fried burgers. He has to be thinking that there’s no way I can watch them both. Maybe he’s right. Bobby’s questionable physical condition precluded directing any attention elsewhere for the time being. She resigned herself to the fact that nothing less than divine intervention stood between Ernest and his fancy pile of dead meat.
Reconciled to the inevitable, Allison took a quick inventory of the time of day and the progress made to this point. By her best reckoning another seventeen hundred miles were between them and San Francisco. The time on her watch read just after 3 p.m. They likely required another forty-eight hours to reach their destination. Arrival time would be late Wednesday afternoon unless they ran up against more of Ernest’s culinary fantasies.
Bobby’s situation improved. He sat upright on the pallet of blankets with his back against the rear bench drinking one of Ernest’s concoctions and listening to Allison’s barrage of encouraging words. Not since his opening salvo of questions had he made another outburst regarding what was going on and where they were taking him. This had to do more with Allison’s constant chatter than his lack of interest. Allison could care less as long as he showed signs of progress. She very much wanted an alive and alert Bobby to participate in this crusade to help the country regain its sanity and her reclaim a missing part of her soul. During the brief intervals when she wasn’t busy encouraging Bobby she wondered if he, too, perhaps left something behind the first time, something that would give him the courage and the strength to battle the illness that underlay his abusive consumption of alcohol.
Try as she might, she could no longer block out Ernest’s guilt inspired outbursts. She had conceded defeat regarding his insistence that he would not be deterred from his devious plan to consume one of those delicious, onion-fried burgers awaiting him a few more miles ahead. Who was he arguing with?
“I’m telling you, a man’s got to be allowed to eat some food that has some taste to it occasionally. All this baked this, and broiled that, and fresh green this, and fresh green that will break a man’s spirit. I’m tired of baked skinless chicken. I want something red, and I want it fried!”
Allison didn’t know whether to laugh or worry. Before she had time to do either, Ernest started again.
“I know you’re back there giving me that evil eye just like Rosa Lee, but I’m still gonna’ do it. That’s right, I am! So I won’t live to be eighty-five or ninety years old. Do people ever stop to think that most people who live to be that age don’t know they are that age? Why put off enjoyable experiences right now so you can live a few more years with the presence of mind of a big turnip?”
Allison’s instincts told her nothing had to be done as this entire matter headed towards a climax of Ernest’s own making. Ernest’s conscience as well as his years of scientific training was preparing to do battle with those self-destructive inclinations that from time to time resurface from some dark chamber within our psyche and urge us to participate in childish, irresponsible behavior, and they stood a much greater chance of stopping him from going ahead than Allison. Besides this might be fun to observe, she reckoned.
“I’m not an unreasonable man,” said Ernest in a slightly more conciliatory tone. “Although, Rosa Lee says I am. So at times like this I open my mind and look for signs, or I listen for a message. That’s what I am going to do at this very moment. If I’m not supposed to enjoy one of those delicious onion-fried burgers I’ve remembered with such fondness for all these years, there will be a sign or a message. So show me the sign. Send me the message.”
After quietly asking Bobby to excuse her, Allison returned to the front passenger seat to watch the events unfold. A sign along the side of the road informed them the exit to the onion-fried burger community lay ten miles ahead.
Turning to Allison as she finished reseating herself, Ernest displayed a smile of confidence. “Now in the future during one of your conversations with Rosa Lee, if this little matter should come up, which I expect it shall if I know anything about wives, I would appreciate your acknowledging my willingness to be directed.”
Allison nodded, agreeing to become an open-minded observer to Ernest’s scheme. Be careful what you ask for, ancient wisdom says, because you might get it. After glancing back to check on Bobby, she returned Ernest’s smile in kind, then sat back to watch the show. With nine miles to go to the exit, all looked well for Ernest. At eight miles to go and at seven miles to go, he tried hard not to gloat. Six miles to go and he acted as if he imagined smelling the onions frying on the grill. Only five miles to go and she figured he probably wondered if he should get two, one to take with him. Four miles to go and Allison decided he’d likely made up his mind to get three in case he had to share. At three miles to go road signs began to appear. One sign proclaimed the community ahead to be the home of the world famous onion-fried burger. A second sign informed the traveler that Big Tom’s was the best place to eat onion-fried burgers. The third and last sign unceremoniously informed passersby that “Heart attacks are the number one cause of deaths in older adults.”
A surreptitious glance at Ernest revealed a defeated man, a person quite possibly pondering why life should go on. Two miles to go and a heavy pall blanketed their small corner of the universe. At one mile to go the off ramp appeared. Allison spoke not a word lest she risk incurring the wrath of a wounded creature. This was a time to be wise, and the easiest way to be wise is by not saying something stupid.
Allison felt sad for Ernest as they came to the onion-fried burger exit and passed on by. Ernest kept his pledge to listen to the signs although his moaning revealed a broken man. She felt so guilty she thought about telling him to turn around and go back. Before she had time to wrestle with that decision, Ernest spoke.
“What? I’m not speeding! Why is that trooper behind us with his red light on? This is all I need right now!” Ernest slowed the bus down and pulled over to the side of the interstate, all the while mumbling incomprehensively.
Allison, too, shared his concern. Why were they being pulled over? The thought raced through her mind that the people of this state might have something against hippies, even old hippies. The vehicle’s psychedelic paint job made a strong statement as to their politics. The stares they got from the group of locals at the truck stop earlier that morning came to mind. She started to worry.
Bobby also took interest in the events happening around them by this time. Although weak, his comment caused Allison and Ernest to be grateful they weren’t back in ‘69 again. “I hope you guys don’t have any drugs in this vehicle because if you do, we are in a world of hurt. We’ll be on a prison farm shoveling horse crap for years.”
The question had not come up between the two front seat occupants until now as they looked pleadingly towards one another.
“Not me,” proclaimed Allison hurriedly.
“Me either,” said Ernest with relief evident in his voice. “I haven’t messed with that stuff since ‘69.”
Ernest brought the bus to a safe stop well off to the side of the interstate. Behind them the Smokey Bear prepared to exit his vehicle. The obvious fact that they had not broken any traffic laws or carried any contraband helped not at all. Both passengers sat apprehensively a
waiting their fate, and Bobby returned to his resting position still feeling the effects of his recent binge.
The state trooper, wearing his Smokey Bear hat, approached the driver’s side window smiling as if old friends awaited his arrival.
“Afternoon, how are you folks today? May I see your driver’s license please, sir?” A pleasant smile accompanied the request.
Allison watched intently as Ernest presented his license to the patrolman along with the customary first question to come from motorists who have been pulled to the side of the highway. “Something wrong, Officer?”
The patrolman did not respond to Ernest’s question but instead heightened the anxiety of the occupants of the vehicle by requesting the identification of the other passengers. Allison complied by presenting both hers and Bobby’s, which she carried in her bag for safety until his condition improved. The patrolman excused himself and returned to his patrol car. Watching intently, Allison noticed the patrolman conversing with another person sitting in the back seat. This is odd, she thought. The patrolman then exited his vehicle and returned to the side of the bus.
This time there was no smile as the patrolman began to ask questions. “Sir, are you the same Ernest Bartholomew Calhoun III who tried to stick a vacuum hose up the rear of one of your grandma’s chickens to make it lay eggs faster?” Ernest’s mouth fell open. He sat stunned. Allison almost laughed, but before she could, the next question was directed at her. “And you ma’am, are you the same Allison Marie Yarbrough who threatened to beat up little Jimmy Joe Jamison when you were both eight if he didn’t show you his special thing that he claimed made boys better than girls? Allison also sat stunned as the patrolman leaned his head partway into the open window and looked back where Bobby helplessly awaited his fate. “You sir, are you the notorious Bobby Floyd Owens eater of dried horse-turds to win a ball glove in a bet in the third grade?”
Not a single occupant of the bus could imagine a more surreal event. They looked to one another for some sign of a return to reality. All the while, the proper young state trooper stood beside the bus oblivious to the traffic behind him and awaited their responses to his charges. Allison responded first.
“Sam? It has to be Sam!” Allison exited the vehicle heading for the patrol car. No one had time to stop her. Ernest looked towards the officer hoping he wasn’t going to shoot her for running away.
“Officer, please don’t shoot her. I’m her doctor, and she is under my personal care for severe psychiatric problems. When we get to California she’s scheduled to be committed for long term care.”
Ernest finished with his plea for her life right as Allison arrived at the patrol car demanding that the rear seat passenger, sitting behind the heavily tinted window, exit the vehicle. The state trooper made no move to halt her.
“You better get out of that car and defend yourself like a man, you big snitch. How dare you tell that story! You have ten seconds to come out, or I’m going to tell this young officer about your little experience involving the horny old lady in your mother’s flower club who had the peg leg and lived down the street from you when you were a kid. One, two, three… What... What do you mean the door can’t be opened from the inside? It has a handle, doesn’t it? It doesn’t? Officer, will you come back here and let this sick individual out of this car so he can get what’s coming to him?”
The young patrolman did exactly as asked. He pressed on the outside door handle in front of Allison and the door swung open. Inside sat a middle-aged white man laughing uncontrollably. Allison promptly reached into the car and forcefully pulled him out and wrapped him in a bear hug.
“Sam, you came! You wonderful man! Why did I ever doubt you? I’m so happy to see you.” Just as quickly, she relaxed her embrace and asked, “But how did you get here? How did you know where to find us? And how did you get this wonderful young trooper to help you pull this off?”
Sam halted his laughing to answer Allison. “I’ll tell you the whole story later. Help me get my stuff into the bus so I can let Trooper Johnson return to work protecting the people on the roads from the likes of you guys.” Sam turned around to face the trooper as Allison began to carry part of his grip to the bus.
“Trooper Johnson,” he said, “you have been a wonderful help to me and a very good sport. I’m going to be speaking to the Lt. Governor again soon, and I assure you, I will let him know how grateful I am for your assistance. I promise to make sure this rowdy-looking group obeys the traffic laws as we travel the interstate west.”
The four old friends gathered beside the busy interstate highway. Bobby, still feeling queasy, couldn’t get up so he smiled and waved. Ernest came around to the side of the bus smiling and lifted Sam off the ground with his embrace. Allison, overcome with happiness, stood there allowing the tears to flow openly for the world to see.
Sam, to no one’s surprise, took control of the situation. “Okay then, I believe we’ve got some miles to cover, don’t we? Let’s get this bunch of Dandelions moving.” Ernest turned to head back around to the driver’s seat. “Hold on there, Ernest. I think you ought to take a rest and let me drive for a while. Besides, it’s going to be hard to steer this bus when you’re wrestling with a couple of these monsters.”
What happened next was nothing less than the act of divine intervention Ernest had hoped for earlier, when he asked to be given a sign. He had his sign in diamonds – a large brown paper bag partially soaked through with grease containing two onion-fried burgers. Probably not since the time when he was but a child had Ernest expressed such glee at receiving a present. Sam could see that a cord had been struck as he guided Ernest into the rear of the bus to enjoy his feast without interruption.
Allison allowed the moment to soak in. She was happy for Ernest, and maybe he had a point when he alluded to the wisdom of enjoying the moment and not worrying so much about the future. For the future has no plan, she realized, no agenda. It only has witnesses stumbling among the ruins of unrealistic expectations.
Maybe that is true, thought Allison. For the moment, though, her fondest wishes were fulfilled. The Dandelions were together again, and they were going back to San Francisco.