Back to the Future (16 page)

“So what can I do?”

“Go back to school.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re a kid. Kids go to school. Your parents are kids. They go to school. You interfered in your parents’ relationship. Therefore, you have to go to school to fix the damage you did.”

“Can’t I just hang round before and after classes? I mean, school was boring in 1985. When I think how dull 1955 will be, it blows my mind.”

Doc Brown shook his head. “You can’t afford to fool around now. There’s less than a week we have to work with, right?”

Marty nodded.

“So you have to use every available minute to get them together. Otherwise, you won’t exist in the future. It’s as simple as that.”

He stepped back to look at Marty’s new outfit. “Not bad,” he said. Reaching into the shopping bag, he pulled out a final purchase—a bottle of Vaseline hair tonic. As soon as he unscrewed the top, Marty curled his lip.

“Look, Doc,” he murmured. “I’ll admit that these threads are pretty cool. But you’re not putting that greasy shit in my hair.”

“Why not? A lot of the kids wear it.”

“It looks terrible. And who knows what it contains? I mean, it might give me cancer.”

“You need it for your disguise,” Brown said. With that, he started combing some of it into Marty’s hair. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “This is supposed to very fashionable, for both kids and grown-ups.”

“Well, then how come you don’t use it?” Marty challenged.

“It’s also very flammable,” Doc replied.

“Great.”

Doc Brown stopped combing Marty’s hair, but seemed as if he wasn’t quite finished. He looked sideways at the effect, not sure it was right.

“Allow me,” Marty said, taking the comb.

Going to the mirror, he started combing the hair back along the sides and forced an errant curl to fall down across his forehead.

“If I’m gonna go through with this,” he explained, “at least I’m gonna look like Elvis.”

“Elvis? What’s Elvis?” Doc Brown asked.

“You’ll find out.”

Having been built during the later years of the Great Depression, Hill Valley High wasn’t new in 1955. Its worst days—the spray-can graffiti era of the late ’60s and ’70s—were still ahead, however, and it seemed clean and shiny to Marty as he drove up with Doc Brown on Monday morning. Dressed in his new outfit and with his hair slicked back, he barely resembled the young man from 1985, whom Stella Baines thought worked for the circus.

“Wow, they’ve really cleaned this place up,” Marty said, whistling softly. “It looks brand-new.”

“Maybe your generation didn’t take very good care of it,” Doc Brown remarked acidly.

Marty shrugged, recalling the times he had written on walls and desks.

“Remember now,” Brown said as they walked toward the main entrance. “According to my theory, all you have to do is introduce them to each other and nature will take its course…I hope.”

“I don’t think that’s gonna be enough now,” Marty replied. “Lorraine’s father’s hitting him with the car gave them a special relationship. She felt sorry for him, brought him into the house.”

“You’re probably right. Maybe you’d better push, make it seem like you think he’s a great guy.”

“That might not be so easy,” Marty sighed. “He’s a real prototype nerd.”

“Don’t do it for him. Do it for yourself.”

“Yeah…”

They entered the school that was familiar and yet so different in Marty’s eyes. The halls and classrooms looked basically the same but the atmosphere was totally different—it resembled something from an old movie, except that it was in color. As they walked, they spotted Lorraine rushing into a classroom. Marty started to move after her but Doc Brown grabbed his arm.

“That’s your mother?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“It’s better if you don’t go in the same class,” Doc Brown suggested. “The teacher won’t know who the hell you are. My first notion of having you really go back to school isn’t practical, I guess. Better we just hang around and see what we can accomplish.”

“Sure. Let’s see if we can spot Dad. Then at the end of the period, we can arrange to bring them together.”

“Good idea.”

They spent the next twenty minutes wandering the halls, systematically peering into classrooms in order to locate George McFly. Finally he could be seen in the back row of a class only a couple rooms away from Lorraine’s.

“We have about ten minutes to wait,” Marty said, looking at the hall clock.

“Ten seconds slow,” Brown muttered, comparing it with his pocket watch. “You’d think a public school would at least have the correct time.”

They strolled back to Lorraine’s class and peered inside again. She was seated in the second row, writing. The class was obviously taking a test.

“I see the resemblance now,” Doc Brown said. “She has your eyes…” Then, with a little chuckle, he added: “And eyes for someone else’s paper, too.”

“My God!” Marty whispered. “She’s cheating.”

It indeed seemed so. With her hand in writing position and head tilted downward, Lorraine’s eyes were pointed directly at the paper of the young man next to her.

“I can’t believe Mom would do that,” Marty whispered.

“Why not?” Doc Brown countered. “She’s an ordinary human being, isn’t she?”

“Not to hear her tell it. She always talked about what a straight-shooter she was in school, how moral and nice she was—and practically everyone else, too.”

“She has a selective memory like the rest of us,” Doc said philosophically. “Still, I can understand your feelings. It’s kind of a shock to see our parents show their dishonest or seedy side.”

“Maybe we better go get my father,” Marty suggested. They arrived back at George McFly’s class just as the bell rang. As his father got up, Marty was doubly impressed with his nerdish qualities. His shirt tail was out, his hair poorly combed and his papers practically fell out of the three-leaf binder.

“That’s the old man, eh?” Doc Brown said, displaying a notable lack of enthusiasm.

“Yeah.”

They noted that several boys walked behind George McFly, barely suppressing giggles as he moved out of the classroom into the hall. When he neared them, another boy walked up behind George and very deliberately kicked his behind.

George turned, looked at the fellow with downcast eyes. A sign reading
KICK ME
was hooked onto the back of his collar. He was, of course, completely aware of it.

“Maybe you’re adopted,” Marty heard Doc Brown say softly.

Fat chance, Marty thought.

Just as George McFly was about to be kicked by another student, a familiar figure suddenly appeared on the scene, snatching the sign from his shirt and showing it to him.

“Good God!” Marty gasped. “It’s Mr. Strickland.”

It was true. Hill Valley High’s avenging angel, still wearing a bow tie, was there in the form of Gerald Strickland. He looked younger, a bit tauter; but basically the same. His presence caused the other students to go quickly about their business.

“McFly! Shape up, man!” Strickland shouted.

George regarded him like a prisoner about to be sentenced.

“You’re a slacker!” Strickland charged. “These things happen because you’re not paying attention. Your head must be off on Mars or something. Do you want to be a slacker for the rest of your life?”

George shook his head unconvincingly.

“Then wake up and join the human race,” Strickland continued. “That’s all.”

Thrusting the sign into George’s hands, he stalked down the corridor toward his office.

“You’re sure your Mom fell in love with that guy?” Doc Brown asked.

“Yeah.”

“Looks like a match made in heaven.”

“My Mom always said it was meant to be,” Marty sighed, “I sure hope she’s right…”

“Hey, she’s coming now,” Brown said. “Better get ready to make the introductions.”

Marty nodded, took a deep breath and started toward George.

“George!” he cried. “Hey, buddy! How are you?”

George nodded weakly. “Fine…”

“You’re just the guy I wanted to see,” Marty continued. Then, noting George’s nearly blank expression, he said: “You remember me, don’t you? Saturday when you fell outa the tree…I probably saved your life.”

“Oh, yeah…” George muttered.

“The binoculars didn’t break, did they?” Marty asked, unable to help himself.

His father reddened. “No,” he replied.

“Good! Listen, there’s somebody I want you to meet. C’mere…”

Grabbing his arm, Marty led George down the hall in the direction of Lorraine. As his father’s gaze fell on her, his expression whitened, his eyes filling with panic. Marty saw his body stiffen and for a moment he thought poor George was going to try making a break for it. Then he relaxed somewhat as the meeting became unavoidable.

“Excuse me, Lorraine,” Marty began.

Lorraine’s eyes caught his. For a split second, they were confused, but as soon as she stripped away the changes in Marty’s clothes and hair style, she brightened considerably.

“Calvin!” she nearly shouted. “I mean, Marty!”

So delighted was she to see him, she dropped her books. “Oh, let me get those,” Marty offered.

He felt a hand on his elbow. It was Doc Brown.

“Let him do it, jerk!” Brown whispered.

But Marty was already bent over and George was just standing there, slack-jawed, looking as if he wanted to be anyplace but here.

Retrieving the books, Marty handed them to Lorraine, whose eyes shone with gratitude and infatuation.

“Oh, thank you,” she gushed.

Marty smiled, cleared his throat, and then thrust his hand out at the pathetic figure of George McFly.

“Lorraine,” he said. “I want to introduce you to someone. This is my good friend, George McFly. George, this is Lorraine.”

“Hi, it’s really a pleasure to meet you,” George managed to say.

Lorraine’s eyes moved toward him and then turned back to Marty, bequeathing barely a flicker of recognition at her future husband.

“Build him up,” Doc Brown whispered.

“How?” Marty demanded, sotto voce.

“I don’t know. Fake it.”

Bringing about a meaningful introduction being the purpose of his visit, Marty sallied forth. “George here is a terrific guy,” he stammered. “Really great…He’s smart…and a good athlete…”

“No—” George interjected.

“He’s got a great sense of humor, too.”

“No—” George repeated.

Marty might as well have been talking to Lorraine in Sanskrit or Choctaw. Her eyes never moved from his during the entire eulogy.

“Marty,” she said, her voice dripping with sincerity. “I was so worried about you running off like that the other night with that bruise on your head. Is it better now? It looked so sore…” She reached out to touch his forehead.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Marty nodded.

“It could use something to take down the swelling,” Lorraine suggested. “I’m sure we have something at home in the medicine closet.”

“Uh…I believe in letting things get well by themselves,” Marty replied. “That way, your body builds up certain types of immunities…”

“You’re so smart,” she smiled.

“Yeah. But George here—”

The bell rang.

“George here is even smarter than—” Marty continued.

“Never mind,” he heard Doc Brown whisper.

Marty looked around. George McFly was nowhere to be seen.

“Where is he?” Marty asked Doc.

“He went thataway.”

“Why didn’t you stop him?”

“What did you expect me to do, tackle the guy? Anyway, he did it kind of sneaky-like…Just sort of sidled a few steps away and then bolted.”

“Damn,” Marty murmured.

Lorraine was still smiling at him, obviously perfectly content to stare at him during the brief interruption.

The bell rang again, snapping her out of her romantic trance.

“I’m late,” she said. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah…” Marty said.

As she turned away, her girlfriend, who had been waiting patiently to one side, joined her.

“Isn’t he a dreamboat?” Lorraine rhapsodized. “I’ll tell you a secret. I’m gonna marry him.”

As they watched the two girls walk away, Marty and Doc Brown issued perfectly synchronous sighs.

“She didn’t even look at him,” Marty said.

“You’re right.”

“On the other hand,” Marty continued. “Why should she? He’s a nerd.”

“I understand perfectly what it means, but is that a 1985 word?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s interesting, and you’re probably right. This is a lot more serious than I thought. Apparently your mother is amorously infatuated with you instead of your father.”

“Are you trying to tell me Mom’s got the hots for me?” Marty asked.

“At the risk of sounding crude, yes. If we let it happen, an Oedipal situation could develop…”

“Oedipal?”

“Yes. A very undesirable attraction between mother and son. Of course, this is probably the most bizarre condition under which it’s ever occurred. Still, the psychological implications—”

“Jeez, Doc, that’s pretty heavy…” Marty said.

“There’s that word again,” Doc Brown replied with a shake of his head. “Heavy. Why are things so ‘heavy’ in the future? Is there a problem with the world’s gravitational pull?”

“Huh?” Marty said.

Doc smiled. He enjoyed confusing his young friend occasionally. But rather than explain the remark or try to add to Marty’s confusion, he leaped ahead to another aspect of the Lorraine-George dilemma.

“New theory,” he continued. “The only way those two are going to successfully mate is if they’re alone together. So you’ve got to arrange to get your father and mother to interact in some sort of social encounter, some mutually acceptable and stimulating premating ritual.”

“You mean a date?”

“Excellent, my boy. I think you’ve put your finger on it.”

“But what kind of date?” Marty asked. “I don’t know what kids do in the ’50s.”

“Kids are always kids, aren’t they? It’s the background that changes.”

Marty shrugged. “She did talk some about the kids in her day going to the Essex Theatre and necking in the balcony. How’s that sound?”