Back to the Future (27 page)

“It’s the latest fashion in personal protection,” he explained. “Guaranteed to stop a slug from an elephant rifle at thirty yards.”

“Were you wearing that all along?” Marty asked.

“Sadly, no,” Doc Brown replied. “The first time around, I must have been taken by surprise. No, my boy, it was your warning that saved me.”

With that, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the letter that Marty had written in 1955. It was yellow and brittle, the Scotch tape holding it together withered and ready to fall apart.

Marty smiled and shook his head. “What a hypocrite,” he said. “After all that lecturing about screwing up the spacetime continuum…”

“Yeah, well, I figured what the hell…”

Nearby, the police had poured out of their cars and were busily rounding up the terrorists.

“Let’s get out of here,” Doc Brown said. “This is going to be impossible to explain.”

“I’m with you,” Marty said.

Together, they ran toward the mall core and disappeared in the shadows just as even more police cruisers turned the corner into the mall.

As they sped away in the step-van, the two men discussed their adventures. “I guess I did screw things up a little,” Marty said at the entranceway to the mall.

“How so?”

“Well, this used to be Twin Pines Mall in the 1985 I knew first time around. But when I went back, I accidentally ran over one of the farmer’s pines. I guess that’s why they call it Lone Pine now.”

Doc Brown smiled. “You’ll probably notice a lot of things like that,” he said. “It’ll be your own private joke with Hill Valley for the rest of your life.”

“Yeah…”

A few minutes later, they reached the DeLoren and Doc got inside.

“Won’t start, eh?” he said. Marty nodded.

Doc reached under the ignition, flipped a hidden switch and smiled as the engine roared to life.

“What are your plans now?” Marty asked.

“Well, first, I’m gonna wait until the cops clean up that mess at the parking lot and then I’ll drive my step-van outa there,” he said. “I got a few more plutonium pellets that I can use to travel, so I think that’s what I’ll do. After all, time’s a-wasting.”

“How far ahead are you going?”

Doc shrugged. “I figure I’ll take it slow at first,” he replied. “Maybe I’ll go about thirty years, just to get my feet wet. Then maybe I’ll take a look-see at the 22nd or 23rd centuries…”

“Well, good luck,” Marty said. “If you get a chance, look me up in 2015. I’ll be…let’s see…forty-seven years old. Wow. That’s ancient.”

Doc Brown snorted. “That’s just a kid. Anyway, I sure will look you up, my boy. It’s funny, isn’t it? I had to wait thirty years to catch up to you. Now you’ve gotta wait thirty years to catch up to me. Ain’t life weird…”

He winked. Marty closed the door and watched him drive off.

When he awakened, he was still in his clothes and morning sunlight was streaming through the window of his bedroom. Opening his eyes slowly, Marty looked around at the room which he knew so well and yet seemed so foreign to him now. Everything was still there, from the SR5 posters to the audio equipment. A calendar on the wall with X’s through the first twenty-five days of October 1985 informed him that today was the 26th.

Could it have all been a dream?

Getting out of bed, he looked at himself in the mirror, pinching himself several times to make sure the flesh staring back at him was real.

Next to the full-length mirror was a waste can with a familiar object projecting from it—the submission form to the record company. He had tossed it there in despair the night—or was it thirty years?—before. Now this act seemed as juvenile as the George McFly of 1955. Pulling a demo tape from his top drawer, he put it and the form into a mailing envelope.

“Why not?” he said. “My music has been wowing them for three decades. I’m a cinch to win.”

A few minutes later, after cleaning up, he went downstairs to breakfast. Linda and Dave were seated at the dining room table. They appeared the same facially but nearly everything surrounding them, from their clothing to the furniture, was different. Dave wore an expensive business suit and was reading
Forbes
magazine; sister Linda was dressed casually but elegantly as she ate what appeared to be eggs Benedict. The dining room was equipped with much more expensive furniture than he remembered, the table set with delicate linen.

At the door, he stopped, shook his head.

“Say, are we having company or something?” he asked. Linda and Dave looked at him and smiled.

“Not that I know of,” Linda smiled.

“Then why is everything so ritzy-looking?” Marty murmured. “Isn’t today Saturday?”

“That’s right,” Dave replied. Marty noticed that he was reading the business section of the morning paper.

“Aren’t you working this morning, Dave?”

“Sure. I always work on Saturdays.”

“At Burger King?”

Dave laughed. “What, are you hung over or something?” he asked.

“No. I just don’t understand the fancy suit.”

Dave looked at him, obviously confused. “Are you all right, Marty?” he asked.

“Yeah. Are you guys all right?”

“Sure. Never better.” Noticing Marty’s envelope, he reached out his hand. “Here,” he said. “Let me take that—I’ll mail it from the office.”

Marty released the envelope and sat at the table. A bowl of fresh strawberries was waiting for him.

“I still don’t get it,” he muttered. “Strawberries…eggs Benedict. We never used to eat that kind of stuff. It was just cereal and toast with a paper towel for napkins. What’s going on?”

Halfway through his strawberries, he heard his parents’ voices from the hallway. Their conversation was light and happy-sounding, the two of them just having come in from outside.

“Where were they, anyway?” Marty asked.

“Same as always,” Dave replied. “Tennis at the club.”

“Tennis? Dad and Mom don’t play tennis.”

“Then at explains why they’ve been club doubles champions for six years,” Linda said archly.

“I can’t believe it.”

“Where have you been?” Linda demanded.

Marty was seriously considering telling her when his folks walked in the room. Their appearance was quite a shock to Marty. Both looked tanned and healthy in their tennis outfits, but the transformation was far deeper than that. George McFly radiated confidence and self-esteem while Lorraine was thin and dynamic-looking.

Marty’s jaw fell.

“What’s the matter, son?” George McFly asked. 

“Mom! Dad!” he said. “You look—great!”

“Why, thank you, Marty,” Lorraine smiled.

“What can he want?” Linda said. “He’s already got everything.”

His parents eyed him quizzically.

“I don’t want anything,” Marty said. “It’s a great present, just seeing how terrific you look.”

“Wow,” Dave laughed.

His mother put her hand on Marty’s shoulder. “Well,” she said. “Tonight’s the big night, isn’t it?”

Marty looked at her blankly.

“Isn’t tonight your big date with Jennifer Parker?” Lorraine asked. “She’s such a nice girl. I really like her a lot.” Marty could hardly believe this was his mother talking, even taking the physical transformation into account. Could this be the same woman who continually bad-mouthed Jennifer? Obviously not.

“Pardon me, Ma?” he muttered.

“You’re going up to the lake tonight, aren’t you? Just the two of you. Haven’t you been planning it for two weeks?”

“Mom, we went through this last night,” Marty replied. “How can I go if Dad’s car is wrecked?”

“Wrecked?” Dad said.

“He’s been like this all morning,” Dave explained. “It’s like he went to bed and woke up in a different house with strange people.”

That indeed was the case but Marty didn’t say so. Instead he murmured: “I’m sorry. I…thought the car…was wrecked. You lent it to Biff Tannen and he ran into somebody with it.”

Dad chuckled. “Well, there’s nothing wrong with the car that I can see. In fact, Biff is out there waxing it right now.” Marty got up, walked to the kitchen window and looked out. There in the driveway was a sparkling new BMW. Next to it stood Biff Tannen, polishing diligently. His expression also seemed subtly altered, devoid of the usual arrogance and belligerence. As he worked, he whistled a happy tune.

“Jeez,” Marty murmured. To himself he said: “What difference a belt in the chops can make.”

His father opened the kitchen window and called out to Biff. His tone was pleasant but firm. “Hey, Biff,” he said. “Don’t forget—two coats of wax this time. Your job last week was a little sloppy.”

“Yessir!” Biff replied in a voice that was friendly and eager to please. “You’re the boss, sir!”

“Don’t be dictatorial, George,” Lorraine cautioned, smiling at her husband. Despite the warning, it was obvious she adored him.

George shrugged. “Sorry,” he said. “I don’t mean to sound that way. It’s just that some employees will try to get away with murder if you don’t stay on ’em. I’ve had to keep Biff in line ever since high school.” Then he added with a smile: “Although if it hadn’t been for Biff, your mother and I never would have met.”

“Yeah, Dad,” Linda interrupted. “You’ve told us a million times already. You beat him up when he was bothering Mom and that’s how the two of you fell in love.”

“It was more than that,” Lorraine added. “Your father literally came to my rescue.” She sighed. “It was so romantic…”

“Cornball city,” Linda said, rolling her eyes.

“Whatever happened to the other guy?” Marty asked.

“What other guy?” his father asked.

“The guy I was named after.”

“Oh,” Lorraine murmured. “We never saw him again. He vanished into thin air.” Then, looking at Marty closely, she said: “I don’t remember ever telling you about him.”

“Well, you must have. Otherwise I wouldn’t have known, would I?”

“No…”

Biff entered a moment later and handed George a hardcover book.

“Oh, Mr. McFly,” he said. “This just came in.”

“Good,” George nodded.

He held up the book, which was entitled
A Match Made in Space.
The art work showed a bedroom with a space alien very reminiscent of Marty’s Darth Vader speaking to a young man cowering beneath the covers. The author’s name, in large letters, was George McFly.

“Holy cow,” Marty said. “You wrote that, Dad?”

George nodded proudly. “My first novel,” he said. “I sure hope it sells.”

“Of course it’ll sell,” Lorraine gushed. “After all, it’s not like you’re a nobody. You’ve been selling stories ever since college.”

“That’s right, Dad,” Dave added. “You’re the one who’s always telling us to have confidence and a positive attitude. Where’s yours now?”

“You’re right,” George said. “I’m sure this book is going to do just fine.”

Then, turning to Marty, he put a strong hand on his shoulder and said: “And that tape of yours is going to do just fine, too.”

“I hope you’re right,” Marty muttered, suddenly thrust back to his 1985 cares and aspirations.

“Marty,” George said, “haven’t I always told you that all it takes is a little self-confidence? If you put your mind to it, you can do anything.”

Biff, standing with a deferential smile during the previous conversation, took advantage of the silence to thrust a hand toward Marty. “Oh, Marty,” he said. “Here’s your keys. You’re all waxed and ready for tonight.”

“My keys?” Marty stammered.

Biff nodded. “I put it in the garage,” he said. “Just in case it rains.”

Turning and racing to the garage, Marty gasped with amazement when he opened the door. There sat a tricked out black Toyota SR5 truck, as shining and beautiful as when it sat on the showroom floor. Only now it was his!

He ran to it, got inside and caressed the upholstery, gear shift, every switch and dial within reach. Opening the garage door, he was all ready to take a spin when he heard a familiar voice.

“How about a ride, mister?”

It was Jennifer, standing on the parking pad, looking as gorgeous as ever.

“Jen!” he cried. “Are you ever a sight for sore eyes! Let me look at you!”

Jennifer was somewhat taken aback by the unexpected display of emotion. It wasn’t as if they had been separated for a long time, having seen each other only the evening before.

“Are you O.K.?” she asked. “You’re acting like you haven’t seen me in a year.”

“I feel like I haven’t seen you for thirty years,” Marty smiled.

“That’s a long time to be deprived,” she smiled back.

He pulled her toward him and was about to kiss her when he suddenly felt a rush of electricity race through his body. Jennifer must have experienced it as well, for her hair crackled and literally stood on end for a few seconds.

“Holy—” Marty began.

A sonic boom drowned out the rest of his thought.

The source was Doc Brown’s DeLorean, which roared up to the front of the house and came to a squealing stop. Inside sat Doc Brown, wearing a cowboy hat. When he got out of the car, it was possible to see that he was dressed in a bizarre mixture of clothing types that included striped plastic pants, a cape and strange variation on a Roman tunic.

His features agitated, Doc got right to the point. “Marty,” he said. “You’ve gotta come with me—back to the future!”

“Why?”

“It’s important.”

“But I’ve got Jennifer here,” Marty said. “I was just gonna try out my new wheels.”

“That can wait,” Doc replied. “Anyway, you can bring her along. This concerns her, too.”

Marty felt a strong surge of apprehension. “What do you mean?” he demanded. “Does something happen to her? To us? Do we turn into assholes or something?”

Doc Brown smiled. “No, you and Jennifer turn out fine,” he said. “But your kids! Marty, something’s gotta be done about your kids.”

“Our kids?” Jennifer asked, her head swiveling between Marty and Doc Brown. “What kids? We aren’t even engaged yet…”

“We’ll explain later,” Marty said. “Would you like to come along?”

“Along to where?” she asked.

“The future,” Marty replied. “The year 2015 or thereabouts. I think that’s where Doc was headed—”

“We better hurry,” Doc said.

The two men looked at Jennifer. “Sure” she said. “Why not?”