Chapter 12
Another enjoyable night of good cheer with friendly hippies passed Sam by, and he awoke in the morning with the lingering scent of marijuana in his hair and painted stars smudged on his face. Well, he assumed they’d smudged while he slept, but given he didn’t have a mirror to check it out, he didn’t know for sure. All he knew was that he’d felt them being painted on, and everyone had described them as ‘far out.’
He’d been unable to get Danny alone to talk, which had been a shame, so he simply tried to show that he was invested in the community by getting to know as many of them as possible.
Sam washed away the cobwebs with a brisk shower, and sat down to breakfast in the dome among a greater volume of people than the previous day. Marsha was already at the table, waiting for his presence by minding a seat beside her.
“Morning, Al!” she greeted with a generous smile.
“Morning,” Sam replied, and gave the others at the table a wave. “I see everyone’s excited about this march we’re going to.”
“Oh, we’ve been planning it a while now,” Marsha said between bites of oatmeal. “So we’re all stoked. The bus is loaded with supplies and we’re going as soon as breakfast is over.” She took his hand. “Will you be marching with us? You’re against unjust wars, ain’t you? Richie wasn’t gonna go at all—I’m not sure why.”
A plate of oatmeal appeared in front of Sam, and he looked up at Clover, the cook, with a smile. “Thank you.” He returned his gaze to Marsha, as he considered whether he should. “Well, I have a lot of supplies to find, but maybe I can march a little while before I peel off.” He nodded. “I do think the war is a terrible waste of life. And we’re going to lose, but not before… well, a whole lot more unnecessary bloodshed.”
He stirred the oatmeal as he thought about all the young men forced to fight in a war that meant nothing. Losing their lives in horrible ways, or arriving home with serious physical and mental injuries. He felt his throat constrict with emotion.
“I just don’t know why there has to be so much suffering,” he murmured, followed closely by a shaky sigh. “I wish everyone could just understand one another and get along.”
“Right on,” Marsha whispered, putting her arm over his shoulders. “I bet your advanced society is long past the need for war—right?”
“If only,” Sam managed to choke out, before filling his mouth with oatmeal to cover up his uncontrolled emotional response.
This is unlike me, he realised as he struggled to bear the weight of his feelings. It usually takes a lot more for me to fall apart like this.
Perhaps, he thought, it was the influence of this peaceful society that was causing him to be over-reactive to the mere thought of violence. Though that explanation didn’t really ring true.
Something was up with him. He’d felt it from the very beginning of the leap. And he couldn’t help but wonder if it had something to do with Al having so much trouble getting through to him. He began to wonder if something had altered his brainwaves enough for the Imaging Chamber to fail to properly connect.
But he was still Sam. Wasn’t he? Just… not quite right. Off-balance in some way he couldn’t quite define.
He finished his breakfast in silence, lost in thought about the unusual nature of the leap.
Before he knew it, he was being ushered to what looked like a former school bus that had been painted in psychedelia.
The sight of it was enough to draw him out of his thoughts and smile as his eye wandered over the wheeled mural, where faces and hands morphed into words and stars and moons and crystals and clouds. Bold black lines filled in with bright pinks and blues and yellows. This was not a bus that would go unnoticed, certainly.
He climbed onto the bus, and shared a front seat with Marsha, while Danny sat in the back row among four women Sam had come to recognise as his multi-partner relationship. Had he been Al, he might have called it a harem.
“So, uh,” Sam said as the bus began its journey, and the radio began to play Jefferson Airplane, “where are we actually going?”
Sam still didn’t have any good ideas of where this commune was located beyond his assumption that it was a southwest state.
Marsha grinned. “Somewhere there’s a major military presence so we can really get in their faces,” she said. “San Diego.”
“We’re in California?”
Marsha shook her head. “Not for another half hour or so.”
So either the commune’s in Mexico, or it’s in Arizona.
Soon, when Sam saw a sign for Yuma, it seemed to confirm the latter.
Well, that’s one mystery solved.
* * *
Sam nudged at Brenda’s sleeping form, causing her to roll over onto her stomach, burying her face in the pillow.
She was out of the danger zone for alcohol poisoning, but now she was hurtling toward hangover town at full speed.
“Brenda. Listen,” he said in as soothing a voice as he could muster. “I’m sorry for what I said yesterday. I should have broached the topic more delicately.”
She turned her head, looking at him through bloodshot eyes. “Damn right you should’ve. Now would you get me my hangover cure, please?”
Sam shook his head. “I’ll give you aspirin and water. Okay? Water.”
Brenda’s face grew stormy, and she returned it to the pillow.
“Jerk,” came her muffled response.
Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. If it wasn’t for an innocent child in the mix, he would have just let her keep pickling her organs. He really didn’t much like this woman, but the baby didn’t deserve this kind of punishment.
“Brenda, I’ve poured all the booze down the sink,” he announced. “Okay? I can’t watch you do this to our baby.” He made sure to say ‘our’ this time. “It can cause birth defects, if the pregnancy even gets that far.”
A muffled scream emanated from Brenda’s prone form, before she rose to all-fours and turned her frigid gaze to Sam.
“You bastard,” she spat as she stumbled off the bed to a standing position. “You complete and utter bastard! You can’t take away the only thing keeping me going. The only thing that’ll still be here for me when you—”
She pushed past Sam, covering her mouth, and made a beeline for the bathroom.
“Dammit, Brenda!” Sam called. “Just listen to me, for god’s sake!”
The only response was the distinct sound of vomiting in the toilet.
I don’t think that’s morning sickness, Sam thought, shaking his head.
He decided at that moment that he had to get out of this house. It was driving him bananas being cooped up with this volatile alcoholic.
Brenda would be down and out for a good portion of the day, it looked like. Then again, she’d probably end up looking to replenish her lost stash. But at this point, he just couldn’t face another minute with her.
He headed out of the front door, and stretched as he took in the morning sun, yawning deeply as his body reacted to its precious little sleep. He realised, as he looked upon the lawn, that it had been a full day since Al had last shown up.
Despite telling Al not to come back until the problem was fixed, he found himself yearning for someone to talk to about all of this that wasn’t going to throw wine in his face or call him a bastard.
And then there was the churning anxiety within that wouldn’t leave him alone. He felt unmoored and aimless. And he just wanted to get away from Bobby’s depressing life.
So he got into Bobby’s Chevy and started driving. He cranked up the radio and let the road take him where it would.