Chapter 35
“I’m coming with you this time,” Marsha said as she opened up the bus doors. “I don’t know what’s going on exactly, but I care about both Richie and Al.”
Sam B frowned. “I’d really rather you didn’t tag along.”
“Well that’s just too bad,” she said, holding up the bus keys. “No me—no key.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Marsha.” Sam rolled his eyes. “If you must. Just keep out of my way when we get there and let me handle things. I don’t have time to waste.”
“I’m comin’ too, Sam,” announced Alicia, climbing on to the bus, a bag full of snacks slung over her shoulder.
Sam sighed. “Uh… yeah, sure,” he said flatly, shaking his head in exasperation. “Why not make a field trip out of it…”
The two women planted themselves in seats a few rows back as Sam wrestled with the controls at the driver’s seat.
With a sputter, the engine of the old school bus roared to life, and Sam B fumbled with the unwieldy gear shift and hula-hoop sized steering wheel, pulling away from the commune that he had managed to see so little of. Nursing a reluctant sense of preservation, he watched the glistening dome in the side mirror as it disappeared in the distance.
As he drove, Al popped into existence beside him.
“So, Sam…” he began, glancing down at the handlink momentarily before shoving it in his breast pocket, “You seem a little less angry today. Those hippie broads really loosened you up, huh?”
Sam shook his head. “It wasn’t like that. I mean, yes, I did let them pull me in there and… well, you saw the rest. But it was something else.” He looked up at Al sincerely. “For the first time this leap, I had begun to relax, and it happened at the moment I accepted the other me was gone. I just… gave up, Al. And it was nothing but a great big relief.”
Al regarded him with a look of concern. “You were really just gonna let him go get himself killed?”
“He seemed pretty damn set on it—he left me a letter, Al. He’s a big boy.” Sam reasoned. “Besides, he was already gone when I woke up. For all I know, he’s already half way to ’Nam and I’m wasting my time.”
“Well, he’s not,” Al asserted. “He’s only half way to San Diego. Given Bobby doesn’t have to report in for four more hours, that gives us enough time to get there. Just step on it.”
“I’m going as fast as this damn tractor gets,” Sam said through gritted teeth.
Al frowned at this. “That’s rough. I go three times this speed in my convertible. Gets me out of nowheresville in no time.”
Sam shot him a look. “Thank you very much for that useful piece of information, Al. Really makes me feel better that I’m driving a gigantic hunk of scrap metal that may be older than me.”
“Hey, who are you talking to, Mister Al?” came a voice that definitely wasn’t Marsha or Brenda, or even Al. Sam B’s eyes widened as he spotted some kid emerging from under one of the seats. He flicked a bewildered look at Al.
“Uh, wh-what are you doing here?” Sam asked, assuming Sam A had probably met this boy before. He didn’t know how to broach the topic of not being ‘Al’ with some random kid, so he let it slide.
The boy bit his lip nervously. “Uh, well, I sometimes play on the bus. There’s a loose window and I climb in that way. I didn’t know someone was about to start drivin’ it.”
“Well, I think you’d better go sit with Marsha, kid. This is gonna be a long round trip.” He gave the boy a terse smile, and nodded back to Marsha and Alicia further back in the bus. “Oh, and uh—I was talking to my outer space friend.”
“What’s his name?”
As Sam squinted at the hologram, trying to figure out how to answer that, Al gave Sam an amused look. “Hey, don’t look at me. Al’s already taken.”
“His name is… Bingo,” Sam answered with a wink. “Like the dog. Now go on over to Marsha.” He took a hand off the steering wheel, and used it to gently push the kid down the aisle. “It’s too bumpy to be standing up, okay?”
As the kid—Mike?—stumbled away, Al put a hand on his hip. “Did you have to add the bit about the dog?”
“Well, you are my best friend, aren’t you?” Sam said with a smirk. “Though you don’t always come when I whistle.”
“Oh, ha ha, Sam.”
“Just be glad I didn’t call you The Great Gazoo.” Sam wasn’t quite sure why the invisible alien character from The Flintstones had just popped into his head, but it seemed fitting somehow.
This comment earned a funny look from Al, but he didn’t say anything.
Several silent minutes passed, as Sam settled into his drive. The loud engine and occasional backfire, combined with the constant bouncing in his seat filled up his senses as his anger at Sam A began to percolate again.
Sure, a few days ago he would have jumped at the chance to put Mister Perfect on that plane in his stead—but in leaving, he’d already solved the problem of Bobby’s death. And his new knowledge that Sam A wasn’t cut out for war sealed the deal on it being a terrible idea. And though his only motivation to stop him now was self-preservation, he almost felt as though maybe he was the better half. After all, when push had come to shove, it was he that was able to do what had to be done.
“Al…” Sam said finally, after thinking things through, “go and tell Sam A that I’m still at the commune and I give him my regards, okay? If he knows I’m coming, he might try to evade me.”
Al nodded. “Good idea, Sam. In the meantime, just keep that pedal to the metal.”
“Pedal, metal. Got it.”
Al called upward to Gooshie, before flickering out.
Sam checked the mirrors of the bus, seeing Marsha and Alicia talking to the kid. Alicia was passing him what looked like a Baby Ruth bar. Marsha caught Sam’s eye and stood, moving to his side.
“You finish your communion with the mothership?”
Sam snorted. She really did believe all the alien stuff, huh?
“For now,” he said.
Lurching to the left as the bus rocked, she delved into what had brought her up here. “So, why is Al going to San Diego, Sam?”
Sam drew a breath. How was he going to explain this without bulldozing through the elaborate lie that Sam A had let the hippies construct about him?
“Well…” he scratched his nose, “we aliens aren’t as perfect as we’re cracked up to be. And sometimes we do stupid things. For example, trying to take someone’s place in the war.”
Marsha looked at him, her eyes wide. “What…?!”
“Al thinks he can save Bobby’s life by swapping out with him. But he’s wrong. So I’m on my way to stop him.”
“I thought he was against the war…” Marsha said, covering her mouth.
“He is,” Sam B said plainly. “So much so, that his pacifism is going to put people in danger.”
“And what about Richie…?” Marsha said, voice shaking.
“Exactly,” Sam B said with a scowl. “‘What about Richie’ indeed. Al’s got the best of intentions—he just wants to save Bobby’s life, and his reputation—but he has no sense of judgement or perspective. Which is where I come in; I gotta bring him down to Earth. So to speak.”
“So you were sent here to be the yin to his yang?”
“Something like that.” Sam smiled privately, realising that hippies were pretty quick to accept far-out concepts. No wonder they’d accepted ‘Al’ so readily. And Marsha seemed to have really hit the nail on the head. “That is a pretty apt analogy, actually.”
It wasn’t that one Sam was ‘better’ or ‘worse.’ They were both needed as important parts of the whole. And in this case, Sam B was needed to knock some damn sense into Sam A. Which he would do with pleasure.
“Right on,” Marsha said, placing a hand on his shoulder and smiling. “If you need my help with anything, I’ll be here and ready.” Looking away, she added: “This may be the last time I can do something for Moonstone Ranch…”
Sam glanced up at her with curiosity. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Danny’s father owns the land, Sam,” she explained grimly. “And we just kicked Danny out. How long are we gonna get to keep living there with him gone? We may have just signed the commune’s death warrant.”
“That’s too bad,” Sam said. But it wasn’t his responsibility. He had enough to deal with. He couldn’t fix everything, despite what Sam A believed.
He fixed his eyes on the road, away from the pleading eyes of Marsha.
Stop looking at me like that.
But even as she returned to her seat, he could still feel her unspoken question: ‘Can you save our home?’
Okay. He’d mention it to Al next time he showed up. Just in passing. But he wouldn’t get Marsha’s hopes up with any promises.