Chapter 8: Karma Conducts a Trio

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     "De, de-de-de, de-de, de-de, de-de, de-de, de" I sing out from between them in the bright blue of the late afternoon sun as the song comes on the radio.

"Du, du-du-du, du-du, du-du, du" booms Blaine in his basso profundo as he gazes out the windshield at the reflections of East Bay on the surface of San Francisco Bay.

"De-de, de-de, de-de, de-de, de, de, de-de, de" joins in Dogman tapping his hands on the steering wheel as the Jeep hits eighty the interstate and on the speedometer.

And with that, my shoulders relax for the first time on this road trip.

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     "Let's get out of here" I chimed, climbing up onto the bench seat and reaching back to pull Blaine in by his tie-dyed t-shirt.

"What's the plan, Stan?" asked Dogman from behind the wheel as he pulls out of the Oaklawn Naval Hospital lot.

"Chicago" I blurted to double-takes from my left and right. "We're going to join the yippies at the Democratic Convention."

"What?" exclaims Dogman with panic in his eyes. "This is a National Park Service Jeep and I'm back on duty tomorrow."

"We can call when we get out of the city" I reason to his horizontal head shaking. "We've got to make sure the next President gets us out of Vietnam."

"Whatya say there, GI Joe?" says Dogman glancing over at Blaine and fishing for agreement.

"After being there I can't argue with that" Blaine mumbles, turning to look at the Oakland neighborhoods as we approach the highway.

"Dang, two to one" Dogman groans, clamping down on the wheel as he turns onto the eastbound ramp for interstate eighty.

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     "Where have you gone, Joe Dimaggio" I sing out. "A nation turns it's lonely eyes to you."

"Woo, woo, woo" my guys join in as I glance back and forth between them.

"What's that you say, Mrs. Robinson?" I belt out, elated at our complicity. "Joltin' Joe has left and gone away."

"Hey-hey-hey" we sing all together. "Hey-hey-hey."