“Better that I devote myself to studying the
other
Great mystery of
the universe— women.”
-Doctor Emmett L. Brown
·Prologue·
The eccentric and slightly mad scientist, Doctor Emmett L. Brown, picked up the greasy wrench from the table and loosened a bolt on his latest invention, a peculiar looking coffee maker. When in fact, the coffee maker did more than make coffee. It was attached to an analog clock, set to go off at precisely 7:00 a.m. The clock was also assigned to trigger several other household appliances in a chain reaction, all set to go off in sequence. Being so, when the Doctor tested his invention, carefully moving the hands on the clock to display the seventh hour, he started the chain, for in seconds, the radio nearby automatically came to life, and in the blink of an eye, a light appeared on the coffee maker, and began making a batch of coffee. Dr. Brown smiled proudly as he watched his project work fittingly. He was working on this stimulating invention in his home, a four-car garage, which was the sole survivor of a beautiful mansion that had once stood upon the hill nearby. This garage had since been remodeled as his living quarters, as well as a small repair shop, which stood as a front for his lab, where he continued to produce his inventions.
He was also a dedicated Physics professor at the local university in nearby Nevada City. He normally worked on his inventions during the weekends, but still found enough time during the week to occasionally keep up his hobby. The low profiled Doctor Brown was tall, well built, and quite physically active for a 60-year-old man with a full head of grayish white hair. He was dressed with bizarre apparel consisting of a silk, blue and white T-shirt, tan trousers, and a long, white lab coat.
Despite his career at the local college, very few residents of Hill Valley knew the truth behind the so-called crazy scientist who lived in his garage. Nor did they think much of him or his crazy inventions. Locals avoided him, but knew everything but the truth. One rumor had explained the burnt ruins of his mansion, destroyed back in 1963, as a mysterious experiment gone wrong. But no one ever hears the same story twice.
As the coffee finished percolating, Doctor Brown poured himself a cup and turned his attention to a different project, a 1957 Mercedes-Benz 300SL. Its silver body was still as shiny as it had been when he had purchased it 23 years ago. He had since added several minor inventions to this rare automobile, inventions which were supposed to make driving easier or more enjoyable. Tonight, he had yet another advanced technological adjustment to give to the car. He computed some equations into his calculator. According to his recent data, this car might just be capable of what he had planned.
Wednesday, November 19, 1980, 8:04
a.m.
The blood red sun rose in the eastern horizon above the proud town of Hill Valley, California. The autumn sky blazed with sunshine above the small farming community. Its warmth dried the crisp, crackling leaves on the old sycamores shading the neighborhood streets of Lyon Estates, the home of the McFly’s.
They were a family of five, a family not unusual, nor peculiar, merely an average family getting ready for the long, average day ahead.
“Martin McFly, you're going to be late for school!” Marty's mom shouted down the hall.
Twelve-year-old Marty McFly was, as usual, running late. As quickly as he could, he scampered out of bed and dressed himself. Dashing from room to room, he got ready in a fourth of the time it takes him if his alarm clock doesn't fail. As he passed through the kitchen, he said good morning to his mother and kissed her on the cheek. He greeted his dad with a 'morning pop', but George McFly did not budge from his TV show.
Their house was a typical ranch home in Lyon Estates, a housing development on the East Side of Hill Valley. They were a normal blue-collar family; George was a financial advisor and Lorraine was unemployed, a housewife in simple terms. He was a major pushover; she was an alcoholic.
They had three kids, 2 boys and one girl. David and Linda were in high school and Marty, the youngest, was in 7th grade. 19 year-old David was the oldest, but was 2 credits short of graduating with his class next spring. Linda was 2 years older than Marty and couldn't get a date if her life depended on it.
Marty had the dream of one day becoming a wealthy instrumentalist in a popular rock band. The only thing that stopped him was that he didn’t have a guitar, or the experience. However, he did have a splendid singing voice for a twelve-year-old.
He was shorter than most kids his age and was often misrepresented as being younger than his twelve something years. Aside from being short, his main weaknesses were that he didn't take lightly to insults and name-calling. He also was never on time for anything.
Marty ran out the front door with his skateboard, backpack, and a half eaten pop tart. When he stepped outside, his smooth, rounded face twitched and his blue eyes squinted at the chill of the morning breeze. His light brown hair overlapped the top half of his ears and almost touched his shoulders in the back. His flannel shirt remained unbuttoned on the top and his jeans were relaxed at the heels.
“Hurry it up, will ya!” His friend, Ned Hoffman called out to him from a half a block up the street. He was taller than Marty and had short, blond hair. When he saw that Marty was racing toward him, he got up from the curb and began skating ahead on his own skateboard.
“Hey Ned, wait up!” Marty dropped his skateboard to the ground, and raced down Lyon Estates Road. Ned paced himself so Marty would catch up.
“Hurry up Marty!” Ned called back as his friend got closer. “What took you so long? I've been waitin' forever!”
“Chill out, I overslept.” Marty remarked when he had caught up to Ned.
“Well, then you shouldn’t stay up so late.”
“You sound just like my mom!” Marty snickered.
“Kiss my grits. I do not.”
“Just kiddin’.”
“Hey, did you here about that gang fight at the arcade last night?”
“Nope, I was at Greg's.”
“Man, you should have seen it. The cops were there and everything!” Ned explained. “You know Ricky Helmfield?”
“Yeah, he’s an eighth grader, isn’t he?”
“Right. I guess he and some dude from Grass Valley got into a fight over something. They started pushin’ each other and finally the dude behind the counter told ‘em to stop it or he’d call the cops.”
“Cool. And he did?”
“Yep. After the Grass Valley guy gave Ricky a bloody nose, the clerk called the cops and made everyone else go home. Hey, did you and Greg figure out another song for the band to play?”
“Either Johnny B. Goode, Imagine or some Beatles song.”
“I wanna play Johnny B. Goode, that’s a cool song.” Ned said. “But I kinda wish Greg had an electric guitar, and Mike’s drums—.”
“Greg’s gonna find something for Mike to play on. He wants his own drum set, but his parents won’t let him have one.”
When they got to the intersection where Lyon Estates Road met Highway 5, Marty spotted something with delight.
“Check out that new pickup truck comin’ this way!” Marty gazed at the shiny new 1981 Ranger F-150 with admiration. Its shiny coat of bright red paint gleamed in the sun. The truck's appearance gave Marty the impression that it had come straight off the dealer's lot that morning.
“Big deal,” Ned retorted. “Let's see you tow behind it.” Marty looked at him, shocked by the suggestion.
“I don't know Ned, that truck's coming awful fast, and if it doesn't slow down—.” Marty said, thinking cautiously about the potential hazard. But he was fruitlessly talking himself out of a dare.
“It'll slow.” Ned said with pure confidence. “Besides, you were boasting the other day to those high schoolers that you were gonna do it.” Marty didn't say anything. He simply stared at the truck, mesmerized by the hypnotic effect it had on him, as it got closer and closer.
“I dare you to tow behind it.” Ned leered. Those words plowed Marty down like a Mac truck, and Ned was driving it at full speed. And Ned knew it, for Marty never said no to a dare.
“You're not afraid, are you?” Ned teased.
“Of course not!” At that, Marty gave a heavy push on the asphalt and rushed past Ned. Marty looked back at him with an expressionless face; no fear.
“Hey Marty? You know, I was just kidding with you!” Ned shouted relentlessly, knowing it wouldn't help. It was too late; Marty was more concerned about the pickup going by. Ned was right; the vehicle was going about 15 or 20 miles per hour as it drove by.
He had always wanted to do this, so he sped up as the truck went by and grabbed a hold of the cab hatch. The driver didn't even notice! It looked so cool; he had seen it done so many times by the high schoolers. But he never had actually considered trying it himself, he had only been kidding.
Suddenly the truck decelerated and turned down a side street. Before he knew it, the truck was speeding up again and it wasn't going toward the school. Sure this was cool, but Marty didn't know how to get off without killing himself! Looking back, he saw Ned at the intersection, shaking his head in bewilderment. After all, Marty deserved it. But Marty didn't think so! Once again, he was going to be late for school. He looked at his watch; it was seventeen minutes after eight o'clock. Perfect! Another 8 minutes of recess and school would start. He loosened his sweaty grip and straightened his feet out on the base of the board.
He was about to let go.
8:15 a.m.
Two minutes earlier
Doctor Emmett Brown accelerated as he neared the city limits, shifting gears on his gray El Dorado, the only vehicle, of three that was in one piece. He was in a hurry to get to the university, 15 miles away. His Physics class started in less than an hour, and he had hoped to be there earlier than this.
Nothing had gone right that morning, Brown recalled. He had set up his new invention the night before to serve him coffee in the morning, and perhaps wake him up, but it did neither. He discovered later that the problem was bad wiring on the clock, which had stopped the hands in the dead of the night.
On the other hand, Doc was looking forward to this afternoon. According to the Hill Valley Telegraph, there was an auction in the neighboring town of Nevada City that had advertised a large variety of mechanical knickknacks, materials that he knew he needed. But what really caught his interest was the brief description of, ‘rare, old clocks,’ Dr. Brown’s expertise. As a serious collector of rare, antique clocks, he couldn't pass the opportunity by.
The way he figured, Doc would stop at the auction during lunch, and arrive back in time for his two o'clock lab.
Great Scott!
Suddenly, all of his mental thoughts faded out as he
looked back in disbelief. Some kid was being pulled behind a truck on a
skateboard! Doctor Brown glanced in his rear view mirror in time to see the
truck turn down a side street. He had heard how local teens would ride behind a
random vehicle with their skateboard for the occasional thrill, even though it
was illegal. Illegal, but not well
enforced, Doc thought as he sped along.
·
·
·
·
8:19 a.m.
Marty looked over his shoulder to see if Ned was still watching. Good, he was gone. Marty didn't want Ned to think he couldn't handle the dare. But on the inside he was actually skeptical about the whole thing; he had never done something this dangerous in all his twelve years of being alive.
Cursing under his breath for talking himself into this, he let go altogether and attempted to balance his weight and veer the wheels straight in the road. He bent his knees and tried to stay balanced. The truck drove further ahead as Marty attempted, fruitlessly, to maintain control. Marty veered across the street like a sled on ice, and headed for the nearest driveway. He lost his balance somewhere between a pothole in the street and the driveway, and crashed into a pile of black garbage bags, very much alive and very much late.
Marty squirmed and groaned. The garbage bags broke his fall and the risk of breaking his arm, but he could tell already that he'd still have bruises. Not only was he sore, but also he stunk! The smell was so putrid, that he stumbled out of the pile of garbage plugging his nose in disgust. He grabbed his skateboard and ran down the street.
8:35 a.m.
When Marty got to school, he cut though the empty football field on the playground and dashed up the steps of the old brick building. Marty stopped briefly at the front doors to check his watch. It was only 8:20! That was impossible! He could have sworn his watch had said 8:17 when he was towing behind that truck. Shaking his arm, he put the watch up to his ear. There was no sound. It must have stopped working after he wiped out. The watch had been a birthday present from his mom and dad to keep track of time. But he wasn’t as concerned with the watch, as with the skateboarding incident.
How would he explain this if someone asked him what had happened? Ned would most likely spill the beans by
the end of the day. Maybe nobody
will notice, Marty thought. Maybe he’ll let this slide.
Three stories up, Mr. Fredrickson's 8th grade history class was already in the middle of discussion. He was writing some notes on the chalkboard and lecturing about the Civil War period. Mr. Fredrickson was a tall, middle-aged man with an extended forehead, thin gray hair, and black-rimmed spectacles. He was a stern man, but could be friendly and understanding once he got to know you. If that is, you paid attention in his class or weren't always absent.
He didn't like Marty.
Marty slowly opened the heavy, wooden, classroom door and stepped inside. He went up to Mr. Fredrickson and gave him his tardy slip like a dog giving up his owner’s slipper. Mr. Fredrickson looked at Marty with eyes made of hard, cold stone.
“Go sit down.” He told Marty hoarsely. Marty nodded and sat down, but didn't say anything.
“See me after class about this.”
“O.K.” Marty replied. Mr. Fredrickson turned back to the chalkboard.
“Now, like I was saying,” Mr. Fredrickson continued his lecture, “The first Battle of Bull Run was fought in July of 1861. Union General Irvine Dowell; now this will be on your next test so please write it down; General Irvine Dowell led the Union troops against the Confederate soldiers...”
Marty sat with his eyes on the chalkboard, listening to Mr. Fredrickson’s soupy history lesson, but his mind had since wondered off. He glanced over at Ned, who was sitting across the room. What was he going to tell him? He couldn't possibly tell him the truth! Ned would laugh at him if he explained how he lost his balance and fell into a pile of garbage! His thoughts drifted him away, but he tensed up when he heard someone shout his name.
“Marty McFly!” Mr. Fredrickson called.
“Huh?”
“I asked you a question Marty. Weren't you paying attention?”
“Uh, what was the question again?” Mr. Fredrickson pointed to the boy sitting behind Marty, who had his hand up.
“Yes, Scott.”
“Stonewall Jackson.” Scott replied.
“Very good. That's right; Stonewall Jackson was the nickname of General Thomas Jackson.
He was known best for the Battle of Bull Run. Marty, if you can't pay attention, you'll have to go down to the principal's office.”
“I'm sorry, it won't happen again.” Marty said.
“Then get out your book and follow along. We’re on page 93.” Mr. Fredrickson advised him.
History class was going to be a long hour, even though he had missed most of it. The minutes appeared to pass as hours as Mr. Fredrickson continued to ramble on. Marty was very tense and unfocused as he struggled to pay attention.
Finally, the bell rang. He approached Mr. Fredrickson's desk with caution.
“Marty, why weren't you here on time this morning?”
“I over slept.” Well, that much was true, Marty thought.
“Marty, you need to start coming to class on time. So far you've been late every day this week, always unexcused. Son, you're going to get way behind the rest of the kids in the class. And you still have to make up that quiz from last week.” Marty nodded but said nothing.
“You know, when you're in high school, the teachers won't care if you miss their class; they'll just flunk you. It's very important to start coming to class now, while you're still in middle school.”
“O.K.” Marty said, starting to walk away.
“Hold on there, Marty.” Mr. Fredrickson. “I'm not finished. You have a quiz to make up. Why don't you come in at noon and take it, so I don't have to give you a zero in my grade book?” Mr. Fredrickson explained. “ And in the meantime, find a way to get to school on time.”
“O.K.” Marty could feel the butterflies in his stomach fluttering about. “I'll get an alarm clock or something.” He didn't know what else to say.
“Fine, just make sure you don't miss any more days from now on, all right?”
“O.K.”
“Now, you may go.”
The rest of Marty's morning classes took an eternity to get through. He felt as if school would never get out. When lunch finally rolled around, Marty found no mercy when he met up with his friends in the cafeteria.
“Hey McFly!” Doug Needles called out as Marty passed through the salad bar. Doug wasn't exactly a friend. He was a husky seventh grader, and although he was the same age as Marty, he was much larger. He had an unpredictable persona and could be the agitating source of recess fights. No one ever remarked of his unappealing overbite or the gap in his front two teeth, nor did they insult him directly, because everyone in Hill Valley Middle School knew that Doug would take them on, and win. While Doug could be a minor nuisance to him at times, Marty had nothing against him.
“I heard you went for a little joyride this morning.” Doug said, loud enough for the entire cafeteria to hear. “How'd it go?” Doug and Ned were sitting at the table where most of the seventh grade boys sat. It seemed that Ned, as usual, couldn't keep his mouth shut.
Marty sat down next to Greg Richards, Marty's best and most trustworthy friend. He and Greg had known each other since preschool, and they had developed the same interests, skateboarding and guitar playing.
“It was cool.” Marty explained. “Although, the truck did give me a tour of the wrong side of town. That's why I was late.” Doug and the others laughed. Marty eyed Doug curiously and threw a glance at Ned. “What else did you tell him?” He asked Ned.
Ned smiled and Doug Needles spoke up. “Did you wipe out?” Marty tried to look natural,
“No, of course not.” Seemingly convinced, they changed the subject.
“Who do you think’ll get to the Super Bowl?” Brendan Woods asked the table. “Dallas or Miami?” Brendan was a comical and energetic seventh grader, the center of attention, and the master of ignorance. He always seemed to have a funny grin on his face as if he’s about to burst out laughing. He was well known at school as Scooter, because he was the only kid school who was silly enough to ride a scooter to school.
“Dallas stinks this year.” Marty retorted. “The Rams are the best in the conference.”
“No way; the Rams have a weak defense. Dallas has a strong de, and the best offensive line in the NFL.”
Marty smiled. Scooter was often pessimistic and full of useless knowledge. Marty wasn’t following football anymore and was too preoccupied at the moment to care. He chugged the last of his milk and went to go take his history quiz and tried to forget that the incident before school had ever happened.
Doc stood gazing at his new prized timepiece, a plastic alarm clock with a Denver Broncos helmet on face.
O.K., so it wasn’t what he expected to find at the late home of a retired district attorney. The residence was a beautiful lakefront property decorated with pricey antiques and designer furniture. There had been 2 other timepieces up for sale, a pocket watch from the turn of the century and an undated grandfather clock from Germany. He chose not to bid on either of them at the last minute because, upon close inspection, they were both in poor condition and he didn’t have the time to fix them. He did bid for several other items, however, walking away from the auction with 3 boxes of old tools, going for well below their worth. They were mostly just hand tools, but nonetheless, they would come in handy; they almost always did. He left the auction his purchases and went back to the campus.
Chapter Three
3:37 p.m.
Hill Valley was known for two things. One was its downtown area, which had seen better days. The streets used to be booming with people drawn to the many stores and businesses. At present, the surviving stores, which barely made ends meat, stood struggling in the shadows of a splendid, well-built courthouse and its marvelous clock tower.
Which brings us to the second feature of this small California town. The county's judicial building, a grand, brick structure, built in the 1880's by the heart of America, overlooks Hill Valley's pathetic business district, in silence. The clock above the main entrance has not made a sound since the mid 1950's, when a precise lightning bolt struck the clock, paralyzing the hands in their final spot, four minutes after ten.
Everyone who was alive at that time remembered where he or she was when the clock had stopped on the night of November 12th, 1955.
And that's where it remains standing today.
Four minutes after ten o'clock. No more; no less. For the last 25 years, the city has refused to repair one of its most ingenious landmarks.
Today, like they always did, Marty and his friend skated down to Lou’s Café, passing the courthouse displaying the silent clock.
Marty knew his mom's story about where she was, on the night of November 12th. In fact, she and George were on their first date at a high school dance that evening.
Marty and his friends skated across the park in front of the courthouse. He was ahead of all of them, followed closely by Ned, one of the best skateboarders Marty knew. Greg, Scooter, and Tommy Hanson followed them. Tommy was Scooter’s best friend but had almost the opposite personality, quiet and shy, however, he was rather outgoing when Scooter was around.
All five boys entered the café as one, and sat at the bar in one unbroken line. Marty sat down in between Ned and Greg. He and Tommy each ordered a Pepsi; Ned ordered a Tab, and Greg and Scooter got milkshakes.
The café was full with kids of all different ages and grades akin to Marty and his friends. The boys were there to impress the girls. The girls were there to check out the boys. Everyone was talking at once over the jukebox, which commonly played new wave groups such as The Cars, Hall, and Oates and the B-52’s.
“That Ms. Garrison, man I hate her class! She's so boring. I hate math.” Greg was saying. Marty turned to him.
“Me too. But I think Mr. Fredrickson's history class is worse.” Marty scowled. “He should go jump in that ravine over by the tracks.”
“Clayton Ravine.” Scooter corrected him.
“Yeah, that’s it. He told us it was named after some teacher that fell into it in the western days.”
“Cool. Ms. Garrison should fall in too.” Greg chimed.
“How did you know the story of Clayton Ravine?” Ned inquired, hastily. “You're never in class!”
“Everyone knows that story!” Marty smirked. “I guess one time when he was telling it, the accident got me thinkin’ and I imagined old Fredrickson driving his old Pontiac over the side of the cliff.”
Marty and his friends broke out roaring with laughter at the thought. But after a moment, Marty stopped laughing and gazed at the front entrance where a group of seventh grade girls had just walked in. One of them in particular caught Marty's full attention.
Her name was Brittany Schroeder. Marty watched as she brushed her long brown hair out of her sparkling baby blue eyes. . Marty watched as Mmmm She and her friends passed the counter and sat down at a booth to the far left of Marty, well out of earshot. Marty didn't take his eyes away from her for a second.
“Hey Marty, what's gotten into you?” Greg asked, looking back at where Marty was watching. After noticing Brittany, he sighed. “You're not gonna fall for her now, are you?”
“What's wrong with that?” Marty asked, now only glancing in her direction.
“Well, for one thing, she's only the hottest girl in school!”
“Keep it down, will you!”
“Look, Marty, she won't go out with you. She's too popular.”
“He's right, Marty.” Ned included. “And she's probably got a boyfriend anyway.”
“Who is it? I’ll kick his ass!” Marty insisted. Ned and Greg looked at each other and shrugged.
“Why don't you go ask her?” Greg said, finally.
“What, right now? No way.” Meanwhile the other boys had finished their drinks and got up to leave. Ned and Greg got up too.
“Hey, Greg, wait up for me.” Greg sat back down.
“Hurry up.” He said, impatiently. Marty hadn't finished his soda.
“Greg,” Marty said quietly. “I want to ask her out but I don't know—.”
“Go ahead.”
“But you guys said she had a boyfriend.”
“We were just foolin' with you, I don't know if she does.” He looked beyond Marty. “But with a bod like that, she won't stay single for long.” Greg teased, checking her out in a glance.
“Cut it out.” Marty said, sipping the last of his soda.
“O.K. If you're not going to ask her, I will.”
“Marty opened his mouth but never got the chance to say anything. Greg stood up.
“Stay cool, buddy.” He said, advancing toward her booth.
“Jesus Christ, Greg,” Marty muttered to himself.
She was on the outside of the booth sitting with four other girls. Her back was to the boys.
“Hey, Brittany?” Greg asked.
“Yeah?” Brittany looked up.
“Has anyone asked you to the dance yet?”
All four girls stared at Greg. “No.” Brittany said, curiously. She looked up at Greg with a question mark expression.
“Well, I have a friend who really likes you. He wanted to know if you'd go out with him.” Brittany blushed and the other girls were quiet. Greg turned around, and pointed to an empty stool.
“Who?'' Brittany asked, looking at the empty stool.
“Uh, never mind.” He muttered back, running out the door.
· · · ·
Greg found Marty leaning against the side of the café, waiting. He had been watching from the window near Brittany's table.
“I can't believe you asked her out for me.” Marty said as soon as Greg came out of the café.
“ I can't believe you chickened out!” Greg said.
Marty stared at the ground. Finally he asked, “What did she say?”
“Relax, I didn't tell her who you are, but I found out she's hasn't been asked out yet. You practically got yourself a date. Now all you gotta do is ask her yourself.” Marty let out a sigh. Greg explained. “Look, I'm sorry. C'mon, let's go to the arcade and find Ned and the guys.”
“Greg,” Marty hesitated, “You go on ahead. I'll talk to you tomorrow.” Greg nodded silently, and looked at Marty.
“Are you gonna ask her-?”
“No.” Marty exclaimed. “Not yet anyway.”
Greg turned away and smiled, chuckling to himself, as he skated down the street for the Seven-Eleven.
Thursday, November 20, 1980, 7:45 a.m.
The next morning, Marty awoke to a wailing alarm clock and the slamming of the front door. He got dressed and stumbled sleepily down the hall to the foyer. Biff Tannen, his dad's co-worker and overall town bully, was arguing with George. Biff was always pushing George around, manipulating his opinion to his own satisfaction. Marty couldn't help but stare.
“Biff, I'm sure there's just a misunderstanding for the computer problem.”
“No, McFly. There's no excuse for this.” Biff said angrily. “Why? Are you saying this is my fault? Huh?
“No, no, I'm— I'm just saying, the problem with the—”
“That's it, isn't it? You're blaming me—!”
“No, no Biff I have no reason to put you at fault...”
“Maybe not, but you are. You think that because I was the last person to be in that room and that I was—.” Biff looked at Marty. “Hey, what the hell do you want?”
“I don’t know.” Marty said quietly.
“Huh?” Biff asked him and Marty just shrugged and passed them as he hid in the kitchen. As Biff continued to rant and rave, Marty fixed himself a bowl of cereal.
Five minutes later, Biff and George left for work. Meanwhile, Marty's mother had gotten up as Linda and David were coming in to eat breakfast. Lorraine McFly hadn't put on her make-up or even gotten fully dressed. Her hair was in curlers and she was wearing a bathrobe. She entered the kitchen with a slightly joyful look on her face.
“Kids,” Lorraine was saying, pouring a cup of coffee. “Your Uncle Joey is coming tomorrow to visit for the weekend.” So when you get home after school tomorrow, he's going to be here.” She paused to take a sip of coffee. “Marty, I want you to come straight home on Friday, no arcade. I want everybody to be here when your uncle arrives. Understand?”
“I guess.” Marty sighed. “Where's he gonna sleep?” He added, with the hope of keeping his room.
“He'll sleep in your room,” She replied and Marty groaned. “But he's only going to be here for the weekend.”
“Can I spend the weekend at Greg's?” Marty pleaded.
“No. My brother's coming all the way from Sacramento, just to see us all, and I think it would be nice if you stayed here to visit.” Marty groaned.
“Why can’t he stay at grandma’s instead of here? He always stays here.”
Lorraine was becoming aggravated with all of these questions.
“That’s just the way things are dear. Now hurry up and eat your breakfast or you'll be late.” He finished his cereal, got ready to leave, and approached his mother one last time before departing. She was pouring another cup of coffee.
“Mom? Mom, my watch doesn't work. Can I get a new one?”
“No, Marty. You can get it looked at somewhere.”
“Where?”
“I don't know, check the classified ads in the paper, there might be a place that'll look at it. Here’s five dollars.”
“Can I have ten?”
“No, five will be plenty.” Marty went for the newspaper in the TV room, but his mother stopped him, and turned him toward the door.
“You can check it at school.” She explained handing him his skateboard and guiding him out the door. “Now don't be late this time.”
Ned didn't expect Marty to be in a hurry to get to school, and had difficulty keeping up with him.
“What's the hurry, McFly?” Ned shouted up to Marty. They were a block from the school.
“I don't want to be late for History again.” But Marty didn't have History on his mind. “What time is it?”
“8:12, we have plenty of time.”
Today, Marty was not only on time, but he was early to school. He and Ned had made the distance in record time.
When they got to the playground behind the school, Marty searched for Brittany. He spotted her alone, on the swings at the other side of the soccer field. He sauntered to the swings with a sort of nervous chill. By the time he had walked around the field, the first person he wanted to see was seated next to the last person he wanted to see: Doug Needles.
Before he had gotten up this morning, Marty had anticipated this to be the best day of his life. Last night, he had thought through exactly what he would say to Brittany, and had been eager to carry out his mission as soon as he got to school. As he imagined it, everything would go smoothly, and Brittany would turn out to be the perfect match, and they would live happily every after. But that was the day, at first glance, and in the perception of a fairy tale. Now, he feared, this was going to be the worst day of his life.
And he couldn't have been more right.
Marty was almost to the swings. He swallowed hard and didn't stop walking until he had reached the swings. He chose a vacant one and pretended to ignore Doug and Brittany.
“So what happened next?” He heard Brittany ask him.
“Well, after the cops chased us around the neighborhood, me an' Jeff, he went one way and I went around the block as if we were goin' to different houses. But then, we doubled back to my place and nobody ever knew it was us that did it.” Brittany giggled. Doug jumped off the swing.
“See ya later.”
“Bye.” Doug headed for a group of kids playing football. Marty stopped his swing. It was now or never.
“Hi, Brittany.” Marty said, swallowing his fear. He sat down on the swing next to her.
“Hi,” Brittany said.
“Um, I was wondering. Would you, uh, do you want to go out with me?” Marty said tensely, with a dash of fretfulness.
“Uh, sure. You mean like to the movies?”
“Um, yeah. And there's the dance coming up.”
“O.K. Sure. I'll give you my number later,” Brittany said. “At lunch, because I don't have any paper right now.”
“Cool, O.K.” He smiled. “Hey, I heard that you play volleyball.”
“Yeah, we practice every night after school.”
“Cool.” He looked at his watch, but then remembered it was broken. A moment later the bell rang. Together, they walked to the front door.
“I'll see you later.” She said as they went their own ways into the school. On his way to his locker, he passed up Greg and Ned at there lockers. When Marty saw them, he just grinned and said hi.
“Hey, Marty, when did you get here? Greg asked.
“A while ago.” Marty said, holding back his excitement.
“About ten minutes ago.” Ned jumped in.
“Well then why didn't you play football with us?”
“I don't know.” Marty lied. “Didn't want to.”
He waited for Ned and they went to history class. Marty showed up for history and broke a personal record for being to his first class on time.
Finally, lunch hour became the present time.
Marty caught up with Brittany in the hall on his way to the cafeteria.
“Hi Brittany,” Marty said. She turned around.
“Oh, hi! Here's my number.” She said, giving him a piece of paper as they made their way to the end of the lunch line. “I won't be home until 7:00 though, I have volleyball practice right after school.”
“Me neither. I hang around at the arcade.”
“Cool. Do you skateboard to school often? I saw that you were carrying it this morning.”
“Yeah, almost every day.” Marty said. “Unless it rains. My friends and I sometimes do tricks out in the mall parking lot on Sundays 'cause it's always empty then.” Brittany nodded impassively.
Doug Needles was at the other side of the cafeteria, when he noticed Marty McFly talking to Brittany. As he watched the scene, he passed the salad bar and headed for an open seat close to Marty's usual table.
When they passed the salad bar, Marty and Brittany went different ways. He sat down at his friends' table, and Brittany went to another table, among her friends.
“What happened to you?” Ned asked.
“What?” Marty responded and started to eat as if nothing special had happened.
“You ask her out yet?” Greg asked, knowing Marty better than anyone else. Marty gave him a dirty, but guilty look.
Ooh, he's gonna get it coming to him, Doug thought as he sneered at Marty from across the cafeteria.
Marty glanced up to see Needles sitting at a nearby table, within earshot. Marty looked at Greg and shook his head. “Yeah you did—!” Marty put his finger up to his lips and looked from Ned to Greg. They got the idea.
After lunch, instead of recess, Marty went to the library to look for an ad on a clock repair shop. He picked up the current Hill Valley Telegraph, Hill Valley's humble newspaper, and paged through it. He had never read a newspaper before and found most of it boring. In the back of the sports section though, he found the classifieds where he soon discovered an ad, which read:
Dr. E. Brown Enterprises
We do repairs and
inventions ON DEMAND!
1646 John F. Kennedy
Drive
Hill Valley,
California
Call (916) 555-4385
11-6 weekdays
Marty looked at the advertisement with keen interest. He copied it down and went to recess. He got outside just seconds before the bell rang. Won’t be playin’ football today. He sighed.
Before he went back inside, he found Greg and told him that he’d meet at the arcade later than usual.
Chapter Five
3:09 p.m.
After school, Marty headed in the opposite direction of the café, looking for 1646 John F. Kennedy Drive. He ventured up and down the tree-shaded streets until finally he came to a building on the edge of an open field, away from the other houses.
At first glance, he was unimpressed at what he found. Dr. E. Brown Enterprises was just a large garage, the last remaining building in the neighborhood. The only sign that a house once stood beside it was the old cracked cement slab, which lay at the top of the hill, now covered with moss and grass. Marty went to the garage and tried the door. It was unlocked. On the side of the garage by the door was a sign that read:
Dr. E. Brown Enterprises
Come in, I will be with you shortly.
When Marty opened the door, he heard a ticking sound, the sound of hundreds of clocks. When he entered the garage, he found himself in a small room jam-packed with clocks of all shapes, sizes, colors and styles. There was everything from a black cat with a tail pendulum, to cuckoos, to the newest digital designs. A table was set up, displaying several items, which appeared to be broken or dismantled. As he looked closer, he realized they weren't broken; they just had unusual adjustments made to them. Among the inventions, there was a toaster with wires running in and out of it, a seemingly normal radio, and a coffee maker with extra wires and a hose attached.
From what he could tell, every clock in sight was synchronized. He tried to count them all but soon lost track. They were everywhere, on the walls, on the furniture, up on shelves and in between books. There were so many clocks to look at in the room that Marty practically forgot what he was there for.
All of a sudden, a man with chalk white hair and a white lab coat appeared from the back room. He was about 60 years old, Marty guessed. He had a smile on his face and a sheep dog by his side.
“Are you ‘E. Brown’?” Marty asked him.
“Yes, I'm Dr. Emmett Brown.” Dr. Brown explained. “But you can call me Doc for short. This is Einstein, my canine companion.” Doc said pointing to the little sheep dog. Einstein came up to him curiously, greeted Marty with a wet nose on his pants leg, and received a pat on the head in return.
“And who might you be, young man?”
“I'm Marty McFly.” Marty replied.
Doc nodded.
“What can I do for you today, Marty?” Doc asked him.
“Can you tell me what’s wrong with my watch?” He took it out of his pocket and handed it to Doc. “It's not running anymore. I don't know what happened.”
“Well, let's have a look at it. Follow me through here.” Marty followed the Doctor to the other side of the garage. This side was a disastrous mess. Screws, bolts, wiring, sheets of metal, dismantled clocks, and other household electronics were lying out on the floor and the worktable. There were enough engine parts lying among the tools and boxes to build at least one car. In front of one of the garage doors stood an old fashioned car with its hood up.
Doc moved some boxes off a workbench to examine the watch. He found a tiny screwdriver in the drawer and began taking off the back piece of the watch mechanism.
“Wow, you have a lot of stuff!” Marty exclaimed.
“Please excuse the mess.” Doc apologized. “I’ve been doing some late spring-cleaning.”
“What were all those things over there for?” Marty pointed to the broken coffee maker.
“They're inventions that I've developed from regular appliances. Modifications really. I'm still working out some other things to add to it, but when I'm done, they'll be programmed to go off at precisely 7:00 am, to wake me up in the morning. That way, when I get up every morning, my coffee is percolating, and I can watch TV and listen to the radio.”
“Cool.” Marty said, looking around. He soon became distraught from watching Doc tinkering with his watch, and began wandering around the room, looking at the various inventions and pieces of junk. Against the wall, he found a pinball machine, which he tried to play. Pulling on the handle, he soon realized there wasn't a spring, so he moved on.
“Hey, is that a Mercedes Benz?” He asked looking closer at the partially dismantled car.
“That’s right. It's an original 1957 Mercedes-Benz 300 SL with gullwing doors. Right now, I’m working to restoring it to the original condition in addition to some things of my own.”
“Is that what you do for a living, make inventions and restore cars?” Marty asked.
“Well, it's a pastime; my real job is teaching.”
“You're a teacher?” Marty asked, surprised.
“Yep. I'm a professor at the college in Nevada City. A professor of Physics by profession, but an inventor by choice.” Doc proclaimed proudly. “I'm dedicated to science and it's philosophy.”
All of a sudden, every clock in the garage chimed four times. Marty ran into the front room to look over all of them again. The sight was mesmerizing.
“I've never seen so many clocks and junk in one place.” He exclaimed. “Where do you get them all?”
“Well the clocks, I either bid for at auctions or find them at antique stores. If they’re broken, I fix them up. I get most of my auto parts and other trinkets I use from the junkyard.”
“Aren't clocks really hard to fix? Don’t they have little gears inside or something?”
“Yeah, watches do, but they’re not really all that complex. Although dismantling a clock may seem to be a mind-boggling task to some people, all you really need to have are the right tools and plenty of confidence in yourself. Not to mention patience and tolerance.” Doc explained. “Because, Marty, if you put your mind into what you do, you can accomplish any task, and solve every problem.” Marty nodded and listened with admiration. “Here's your watch. It's operating correctly now. “He handed Marty the watch.
“Thanks.” He said. “How much will it cost?”
“It's on me.”
“Thanks! What was wrong with it then?”
“Oh, just a minor mechanism failure.” He smiled at Marty. “The battery was dead.”
“Thanks again, Sir.” Marty said, heading back the way he came. Doc stopped him.
“Please, call me Doc.” Doc corrected him. “By the way Marty, would you like a job? You could help me out in my lab here sweeping up and keeping order. It would only be a couple days a week.”
Marty was stunned. “Really? I could work here?”
“If you'd like to, otherwise I'll be putting an ad in the paper. The task would only take about an hour after school a couple times a week. You’d be sweeping up the floor, and helping me just keeping things orderly and neat. When I find parts I need I put them in boxes and they often clutter the shop.”
“Sure! I could do that.” Marty said.
“Come back at this time on Monday and you can start.” Doc said,
“I'm there!” Marty said, fascinated by all the provocative inventions and clocks.
“In that case, I'll see you again.” Doc said with a thoughtful mind. “In the future.”
“The future.” Marty echoed.
Chapter Six
4:15 p.m.
Marty skateboarded though the downtown square as skillfully as ever as he considered what Doc had told him about self-confidence. He headed for the Seven-Eleven a couple blocks down the street from the courthouse.
About a block away, Marty noticed Doug Needles hanging out against the wall of a building, smoking a cigarette. He tried not to make eye contact with the bully as he steadily skated past. When Marty was out of sight, Doug dropped his cigarette to the ground and smothered it.
Marty stopped at the door of the gas station, flipped his board up, caught it with one hand, and went inside. The arcade was a small space on the side of the store, complete with a glass door, large windows, and only four games, a goldmine to the kids of the small community.
Marty was a regular to the arcade, which contained his favorite video game, Wild Gunman, a fast paced western gun handling game. He was big fan of western films and arcade games with guns. Marty made his way into the game room, and directly to his favorite game. His friends, Greg and Ned, were still waiting for him, but in the meantime, busy playing their own games.
“Hey guys!” Marty said, stepping up to Wild Gunman and inserting a quarter into the slot.
“Where've you been? We thought you'd be here by now.” Ned asked.
Boldly, Marty lifted the red gun from its built-in holster and pressed the ‘one player’ button then ‘start’. Immediately, the bandits began to jump out almost as fast as Marty could hit them.
“Oh, just running another errand for my mom.” Marty explained waving the gun at the screen.
“Did you hear about Doug?” Greg asked, slamming buttons on the second level of Asteroids.
“No, what about him?” Marty asked, puzzled.
“You'll find out.” Ned said, before Greg could respond.
Marty groaned. “Damn!” The words 'game over' flashed before the screen. He dropped another quarter in the slot.
“He's pissed off at you for something.” Greg explained. “You must've really done it now. What did you do?”
“All I did was ask— Brittany out.” To Marty's surprise, Greg and Ned began to laugh at this. “What's so funny? She gave me her number.”
“Brittany and Doug—” Ned said, slowly, in between chuckles. Marty could feel a lump forming in his throat. “Are cousins!”
“Great,” Marty said surprised, yet relieved. “No wonder nobody's going out with her. She's related to that buck-toothed moron. I saw him outside a little while ago. I bet he's—.” Marty looked at Greg. “Hey Greg, could you do me a favor?”
· · · ·
Marty and Greg walked casually out the rear exit of the gas station and into the back alley. But what they didn't realize was that in the meantime, Doug had been watching them from an unseen distance. They crossed the street by the Bluebird Motel, and entered another alley, which would take Marty to Lyon Estates, off the main highway.
“You know, sooner or later, you're going to have to stop running from your problems, Marty. Doug's not stupid. He knows you can't beat him up.”
Marty stopped dead in his tracks and considered what Greg had said.
“The hell I can't!” Marty finally said stubbornly. He turned around and went back toward the gas station. Greg followed him, unsure of what to say. Marty knew Doug was stronger than him, but Greg had a point; he never defended himself.
Marty crossed the street back to the gas station. Doug was leaning against the wall of the store, waiting for him.
“What do you want?” Marty demanded, storming up to him.
“Stay away from my cousin Brittany.” Doug said sneering menacely, showing his crooked teeth.
“Or what?” Marty said, his mouth moving faster than his mind. He could feel the adrenaline rush kicking in. He squeezed his fists and gritted his teeth. There was no turning back.
“That.” Doug pointed over Marty’s head. As soon as Marty turned to look the other way, Doug punched him in the stomach. Hard. Then he shoved the boy to the ground, with barely any effort. The pain was so intense that Marty couldn't stand up. He was helpless, and beaten.
But suddenly, Greg came to Marty's defense. He and Doug stood staring face to face, each waiting for the other to make a move. Greg was about the size of Needles and was enough to block him from getting at Marty. But Doug still had the advantage of muscle mass.
“Leave him alone, Needles.” Greg said with the utmost confidence. “He's not worth the fight.”
“Stay out of this, Richards.” Doug said, to Greg, but looked directly at Marty. “You're right, he ain't worth it; he's a wimp.”
Meanwhile, Marty was trying to stand up, the pain in his stomach still lingering. When he heard Doug, he forgot the pain and charged at him, with everything he had.
“Why don’t you say that to my face, you son of a bitch!” He stood up to Doug, punching and swinging at him with everything he had. This didn't do any good since Greg held him back.
Doug was still determined. “Come on McFly! Let’s see what you got.” Doug challenged him. He punched at Marty again, and they conflicted with one another with more pushing and punching, while Greg struggled to hold them apart. Finally, Doug got through with a direct punch to the jaw, almost sending Marty off his feet. Greg failed to restrain Doug when he delivered a final blow, sending Marty motionless to the pavement.
Chapter Seven
6:30 p.m.
The last thing Marty remembered was a firework of colors, as Doug and Greg grew taller than him and everything went black. The next time Marty opened his eyes, he wasn't outside the gas station with Greg and Doug.
Everything was gone, the arcade, the sound of the wind, the rumbling of the cars and the curious pedestrians. He felt strange. At first he couldn't tell if his eyes were open or shut. He touched his face, and soon it became apparent that he was lying in his own bed. His jaw was sore and his head hurt.
He soon recalled what had happened and wondered how he had gotten home. Suddenly, he realized he wasn't alone in the room. It was too dark to see her, but he could sense his mother standing over him.
“Mom, is that you?” Marty said groggily, trying to sit up.
“Just lay back down, dear, you had a concussion.” She placed something warm and moist on his forehead, which felt soothing on his bruised head.
“What time is it?”
“6:30. I had David and your father go out looking for you after you didn't come home. You're lucky they found you when they did.” His mother explained. “What were you boys up to that has to be so violent?” Marty didn’t answer her. “How’s your head feeling?” She turned on the lamp beside his bed, and he squinted at the flash flood of light.
“It hurts.”
“I can imagine it does. David said you where lying on the pavement at the gas station downtown.”
“Did he see Greg?”
“I don't know, but someone called asking for you while you were asleep.”
“Who?”
“I'm not sure, you'll have to ask your father later.
“I gotta call Greg!” Marty said trying to sit up, but his mother resisted.
“Lay back down dear, you had a concussion, and you need your rest.” She repeated. “You slept through dinnertime, so in a little while I'll bring you some hot chicken soup, but you have to stay in bed.”
Marty sighed and lay back down. He was confused and disoriented. The best day of his life turned out to be the worst. And it all started with Brittany, his date to the dance. He never realized love could be this confusing, and painful.
Marty tried to go back to sleep again, but he couldn't. Around 8:00, he snuck out of his room and called Greg while his mom and dad glued themselves to the TV screen.
“Hey Greg?” Marty whispered.
“Yeah?” Greg replied. “Marty! Are you all right? Your Dad showed up right after Doug knocked you out. Lucky for you, huh?”
“I'm feeling better now, but my ma said I had a concussion and I'm not supposed to be up. Did you call me before?”
“Yeah, I wanted to know if you were O.K.” Greg explained. “I think Doug got the best of you.”
“No kidding.” Marty replied. “Thanks for sticking up for me. I still think I could’ve kicked his ass if you just hadn’t held me back.”
“Maybe.” Greg said, knowing Marty wouldn’t quit if he disagreed with him. “Did you give Brittany your number yet?”
“Hell no! My mom says I'm too young to date. She'd have a cow if Brittany called here.”
“Then how are you ever going to take her out?”
“I don't know man, I'll think of something. Are you taking Michelle Erickson to the Christmas Dance?” Michelle was Greg's girlfriend.
“I think so.”
Do you remember what day it’s supposed to be?
“Yeah, it’s on December 12th. Hey, I got an idea. Why don’t we go on a double date this weekend, and then you wouldn’t have to bug your mom for a ride.”
“What would we do?”
“Go to the movies.” Greg said. “We could meet Michelle and Brittany at the cinema, and my mom could take them home afterwards. What do you say?”
“What about Doug?” Marty asked, rubbing his jaw. “He doesn't want me near her.”
“What about Doug,” Greg said, seemingly unworried. “He's harmless.”
“That's easy for you to say.”
“I know. He got in trouble.”
“What! How?”
“The clerk in the gas station called the cops on him after he knocked you out. They didn't take him to jail, but his dad was sure pissed! By the way, the guys and me wanna practice on the band this weekend, probably Saturday. You gonna make it?”
“I'll try, but my Uncle's comin' over and my ma wants me to visit with 'em.
“Damn, that sucks. Well, we’ll be, at my house tomorrow if you can get out. I'll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, I'll call up Brittany and see if she wants to go to the movies.” Marty said. “See ya tomorrow. He hung up and called Brittany.
“Hey Brittany.” He said. “It's Marty.”
“Hi Marty.”
“How was practice?”
“Oh, so, so, nothing new.”
“Do you have a game this weekend?”
“Nop. Our next game is on Tuesday against Nevada City.
“Good luck. I hope you win.”
“Thanks. Me too.” She was quiet for a moment. “By the way, I heard about you and Doug.”
“Oh, yeah; well, it was nothing.” Marty said, unsure of exactly what she had heard.
“He thinks he can push anybody around just because he's bigger than everyone else. But nobody really likes him.” Brittany explained. “Including me.”
“Yeah.” Marty agreed, but changed the subject. “Do you know Michelle Erickson and Greg Richards?”
“Michelle's on my volleyball team. What does Greg look like?” Marty described him. “I think Greg's in my English class.”
“Well, Greg was wondering if you and I wanted to double date with them at the movies on Friday or Saturday.”
“Sure, that'd be great! Should I meet you there?”
“Uh, O.K. Greg's mom can probably take us all home.” Marty said. “I'll find out the time and everything for sure tomorrow.”
“O.K. I'll see you tomorrow then.”
“Bye.” Marty snuck back into his room, and went to bed.
Chapter Eight
Friday, November 21,
1980, 7:46 a.m.
Friday morning wasn't as much of a burden as Thursday had been. In fact, with his uncle planning to spend the weekend in his room, Marty expected Friday to be equivalent to entering the gates of Hell.
Before he left for school that morning, his mom reminded him that Uncle Joey would be there when he got home, and that he should come home early to 'make him feel at home'.
Once again, Marty got to school in plenty of time. He actually arrived early enough to play football during morning recess. As Marty got to the field, Greg was playing quarterback for his team, which was short one player.
“Hey Marty, go long!” Greg shouted when he saw Marty. Dropping his book bag, Marty cut down the field, and caught the pass. He spun around two defenders on the other team, who both tagged him. Marty stopped and tossed the ball back to Greg.
“You’re not as good as you used to be,” Greg remarked after the bell rang. “It's been how long since you've played?”
“Don't remind me. Hey, what did you find out about the movies?”
“We're going Saturday night at seven. And probably around noon, the guys and me are gonna set up the band stuff in my garage. Have you asked if you could go yet?”
“No, not yet.”
“You could stay for supper, and just tell your ma you're stayin' for a while to watch TV and then my mom'll drive you home after the movie.” Greg explained. The bell rang and they made their way inside the school.
“O.K. I'll ask tonight. See ya around.” Marty said, heading for class.
In history, Mr. Fredrickson was impressed to see Marty on time for the second day in a row. But the class itself was rather dull.
During study hall, Marty got a pass to the library where he met up with Brittany.
“Hey Brittany.” Marty said, sitting down at her table.
“Oh, hi Marty. How's it going?” Brittany said, looking up from her book.
“It's going,” Marty said rubbing his jaw. “What're you studying?”
“Science. We have a test today, you know.”
“I know. I took it last period.”
“Oh yeah? How do you think you did?”
“I bombed it.”
“Oh. Didn’t you study?”
“Naw. The idea slipped my mind.” He joked, rubbing the bump on the back of his head.
“Yeah. Doug told me he creamed you pretty bad. But I don’t see any marks at all.” Brittany looked Marty over curiously. Most of his bruises weren't visible. “Wow, I’m surprised. I thought you would’ve had a black eye or something since it happened only yesterday.”
“I'm a fast healer.” Marty replied.
“So what day are we going to the movies?”
“Saturday at seven. Oh, and Greg and I are gonna be at your game Tuesday.” Marty explained. “We'll be way up in the bleachers cheering you on.”
Brittany giggled. “Thanks. I'll watch for you. I'll meet you at the movies at about quarter to seven, O.K.?
“Sure, I'll see you then.” Marty got up and left.
Fortunately, Marty didn't see Doug in school.
· · · ·
3:25 p.m.
It wasn't until after he got home, that things began to go wrong. First of all, he expected his mom or dad to be around, but the both the family cars were gone. Marty went into the house, looking for some suggestion that would tell him where his parents were. The second thing he noticed was that his Uncle, Joey Baines, hadn't arrived from Sacramento. This didn't bother Marty, since he wasn't really looking forward to spending the weekend camped out on the cigarette-fumed davenport in the family room.
The house was silent and cold. It was apparent that no one had been there for hours. This troubled Marty, for he feared something was terribly wrong. He went to the phone in the kitchen and called his grandparents' home, which was only on the other side of town. There was no answer.
His uncle was Lorraine's baby brother, a 16-year difference. They had four other siblings, Aunt Sally, Aunt Rose, Uncle Milton and Uncle Toby, all married and all still living in Hill Valley. Joey was Marty's only relative who lived out of town. He decided to try Aunt Sally’s number next.
Suddenly he heard a car pull up outside. He ran out to see the family station wagon rattle into the driveway. His father was at the wheel and appeared very concerned.
“Hurry up Marty, get in the car!”
“Where is everybody?” Marty asked him, puzzled. “Why isn’t Uncle Joey here?”
“I'll explain on the way.” George McFly said in a harsh tone. “Get in.”
Marty froze. “Where are we—?”
“Your mom is in the hospital.” George explained with a worried look. Marty stared at him glassy eyed with disbelief and got into the car in silence.
George backed up his ancient Crown Victoria out of the driveway and squealed through Lyon Estates Drive, fluttering the leaves on the road as he made his way to the highway and turned east into town.
“What happened?” Marty shouted. “Is she all right?”
“She had a heart attack. She's under nurse’s supervision right now. The doctors think she should stay in the hospital for a while, but—.” George sighed. From the way things were going, his wife was not recovering well from the heart attack, and somehow he couldn't verbally say that to his youngest son. It was too much for him, especially now. “—She’ll be there for a while.” He concluded nervously.
There was a moment of disturbed silence as they drove to the hospital. During the drive, Marty sat stunned by the news, a million questions filling his mind like a cloudburst hitting a storm drain on a rainy day.
George led Marty to the waiting room on the intensive care level, where the rest of their sullen family was waiting for them. As soon as Marty saw his Grandma Baines, Lorraine's mother, he began to ask one question after another, but she hushed her youngest grandson and led him down a hallway. George, and Marty’s brother and sister followed them.
Marty didn't understand what was going on, and Grandma didn't explain. Finally, they came to a plain hospital room with one bed, and a fancy new television mounted on the wall, with a big black remote control on the night table. Next to the bed, Grandpa Sam Baines was sitting quietly in a chair next to his eldest daughter. Lorraine was lying motionless with tubes running in and out of her mouth and nose. Her breathing was slow and her appearance was disturbing.
When Marty saw his mother in this way he began to slowly understand what his father was trying to say, and it soon struck him. He went up and hesitantly touched his mother's hand.
“It's O.K.” Grandma said, softly.
“Mom?” Marty whispered, trying hard not to cry.
“She can't hear you,” Grandma said, her lip quivering. “She's resting now.” Marty hugged his grandmother, crying softly. She took him out of the room and comforted him.
“She's going to have to stay here for a few more days, so we can monitor her and make sure she doesn't have another attack.” The nurse explained to the family as they stood in the hall, outside Lorraine's room. “But she seems to be recovering better now.”
When he had finally gotten control of his emotions, Marty went back into the room to see his mother. Grandma Baines followed him in.
“Marty, Grandpa and I will be going to your house tonight to help your father while your mother's getting better.” Marty nodded silently.
“Gramma, why did Mom have a heart attack?”
“It's because she's been smoking for such a long time. Honey, your Mom started smoking when she was very young, around the same time your grandpa was smoking. Except Grandpa stopped smoking when his doctors told him to. Your mother didn't listen to the doctors.”
“Did you ever smoke, Gramma?”
“Yes dear. But it was a very long time ago. And I was able to quit right away. It was harder for Grandpa.” Grandma explained. Marty stared at his mother in silence. “Marty.”
“Yeah?”
“Will you promise me something?”
“What?”
“Will you promise me that you'll never smoke?” Grandma asked. “Promise me you won't make the same mistake as your mother.”
Marty looked at his motionless mother. “I promise.”
Chapter Nine
Friday, November 21, 1980, 6:20 p.m.
An hour or so later, Marty's family was packed into the old station wagon, heading back home. It was almost dark when they reached Lyon Estates. Supper had not been made, Lorraine's absence had caused everyone remorse, and Marty still hadn't gotten an answer concerning Uncle Joey's whereabouts. Despite potentially being kicked out of his own room, he wanted to know what had happened to his uncle. He finally asked his Grandma Stella after they got back from the hospital.
“Your Uncle Joey won't be coming to visit.” Grandma explained with a concerned tone. “He— was arrested and taken back to Sacramento.”
“Why?”
“He was driving drunk and—.” Grandma Stella thought for a moment about her choice of words to interpret what she was told by the Sacramento Police Department on the telephone. “—He made some poor decisions.”
Marty held off asking his dad if he could go to Greg's house and spend the day. It was a bad time. Instead, he went to his room, turned on the radio, and flipped through an issue of Acoustic Monthly. When one of his favorite songs came on, he cranked it up and played it to his air guitar. After the song ended, he continued to page though his magazine. He paused with interest when he came across a guitar ad, for a Washburn natural Acoustic, but it cost way too much. The record store downtown had some pretty decent guitars, Marty thought.
Greg was the only kid he knew that both owned and played an acoustic guitar. The combination was rare being that most kids who were into playing guitar only had one or the other: the skill, or the instrument. Greg had taught Marty how to play a little, and as a result, they had formed an amateur four-member band. Usually, Greg played the guitar and Marty did vocals, but every now and then Marty did the guitar playing. One day, Marty hoped, he could get his own guitar. But his parents told him he would have to wait and buy it himself. Now that he had a job, he hoped to make enough money to buy the guitar he had his eye on, featured in his magazine.
Marty vaguely heard his grandma over the music, calling him for supper. He switched off his turntable and shouted back. “I’m coming!” As Marty entered the hall, he smelled the aroma of pizza.
The setting in the kitchen was remorse as everyone was quiet and grieving. Even George didn't laugh at his TV show. Everyone knew what was going on, but no one seemed willing to talk about it. Finally, Grandma Baines tried to raise their spirits.
“How was school today, kids?” No one answered. “Marty, how’s school going?”
“Fine.” Marty said quietly.
“How's your band going?” She asked.
Marty almost smiled. “All right. Greg wants me to go over to his place tomorrow and play.” He turned to his father. “Can I, Dad?”
“We're going to visit your mother in the hospital tomorrow morning. But after that, I guess it would be all right.”
“O.K. Thanks, Dad.”
He suddenly felt guilty for planning a date on the very day his mom was in the hospital. But this may be the only time he'd be able to go to the movies with the prettiest girl in school.
After supper, Grandma and Grandpa Baines went home, promising to meet again the next morning at the hospital.
Around 8:00 o’clock that night, Greg called to find out if Marty would be coming over the next day.
“My mom’s in the hospital; she had a heart attack.” Marty explained. “But I can be over there after we visit her tomorrow morning.”
“Jesus Christ.” Greg said, at a loss of words. “How bad is it?”
“The doctors say it’s nothing deadly. But it was quite a shock.”
“Yeah. I’d say.”
“So, tomorrow after lunch?”
“Sounds good. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Chapter Ten
Saturday, November 22, 1980, 10:15
a.m.
Doc pulled up to the East Side Auto Salvage in his slick El Dorado. A scruffy old man came out of a garage to meet him. He had unkempt gray hair, which matched his faded pants and old T-shirt. He knew the Doc by name and was pleased to see him.
“What can I do for you, Emmett?”
“Oh, just looking for some more scrap metal. I seem to go though that stuff in no time at all.”
“Scrap metal. Hmm.” The old man took out a pack of cigarettes, lit one up and took a puff, then offered one to Doc.
“No thanks.” He rejected the offer. They cut through the garage into the yard out back, where the old man led Doc to a large storage shed with an incredible variety of metal, engine parts, and dashboard electronics. The old man pointed out a specific pile of metal, then left him to continue rummaging around on his own. Doc was a frequent customer and knew he would find what he was looking for.
An hour later, Doc was leaving the Auto Salvage with several sheets of scrap metal in his trunk, and a box of additional things he had found. Among them were parts of a condenser, lots of washers and bolts, and some rubber tubing for a radiator system. His handiwork on the Gullwing demanded more and more welding and sauntering as it neared completion.
The old man watched Doc leave with an itching curiosity. He had seen Emmett come back every week, filling the trunk with scrap metal only to return the next week for more stuff. He couldn’t complain though, Emmett always paid him generously for the material. But still, he had heard strange things about the man and couldn’t help but wonder what kind of a scientist Doctor Brown really was.
· · · ·
Today, as Marty saw it, was for better or worse. Better, because he was actually going on a date without telling his mom. But for worse because his mom was in the hospital and it sort of bothered him that he was out having a good time while she lay in a hospital bed. However upon visiting her that morning, he and his family found that Lorraine was recovering faster than the doctors claimed and would probably be out of the hospital by Monday.
Greg's house found Marty skating all the way on the other side of town near the middle school. When he finally arrived, Greg and Ned were setting up a turntable and speakers in the garage. They had what is appropriately known as a garage band. The fourth member of their band was Greg's neighbor, Mike Thorson. He played the drums for their group, which they called The Neighbourhood Kids, also appropriately named. Everyone in the band, except Mike was either in chorus or band at school. Ned played the Saxophone in the school band, and both Greg and Marty were in chorus. Greg was also taking guitar lessons to improve his playing techniques.
Greg, at lead guitar, warmed up his acoustic, adjusting the keys on the instrument. When he saw Marty, he plugged the microphone into a small, cheap karaoke machine and turned it on.
“Here's our vocalist now.” He said, over the karaoke machine. “Hey Marty, you wanna sing for us?”
“What song?” Marty asked.
“Well, I've got a Chuck Berry record here, and we’ve been practicing Johnny B. Goode, since you know the song by heart.” He grinned. “But just in case, I’ve got a copy of the words.” He handed Marty the photocopied lyric sheets.
“What’s up Mike?” Marty said as they slapped hands. Marty couldn’t help but smirk at Mike’s ‘drums’, nothing but an upturned garbage can, and 2 twelve-inch dowels. “Nice drums.” He said.
“Hey Mike, Marty’s goin’ out with Brittany Schroeder tonight! Greg said suddenly. “Your old flame.”
“You went out with Brittany?” Marty asked, sitting down on a stool near the front of the garage.
“If you wanna call it that. We broke up after two weeks. So, you and Brit, huh?
“Uh, yeah.”
“I’d stay away from her, man. She’s related to Needles.”
“He knows.” Greg replied.
“And I don’t care.” Marty said looking over the lyric sheets. “Alright. Johnny B. Goode huh?” He said flipping through the pages. “Or Imagine?” He was holding both lyrics.
“Johnny B. Goode. We’ll try Imagine later. So, you gonna sing or what?”
“Yeah. Gimme the mike,” Marty said standing up. Greg warmed up his guitar and the others rooted him on.
“All right, start the song.” Greg started strumming his guitar.
Ned switched on the turntable and adjusted the settings. Then he gave a hoot on the saxophone.
“Ready?”
Marty turned around. “Yeah, go for it.” Ned placed the needle on the record. The garage boomed with the music of Chuck Berry. Greg played on the guitar like there was no tomorrow, slightly off key. Marty sang the words with the record, mumbling only small sections of the song, but all in sync. Overall, for a bunch of twelve-year-olds, despite the vibrations of the speakers, they sounded rather decent.
They rocked and rattled until 5:30, when Ned and Mike went home, leaving Greg and Marty to continue playing.
“Can I see your guitar?” Marty asked. He had learned how to play guitar on an old acoustic Greg used to have before he got his new one. This one was a Harmony student guitar, part of a kit Greg had bought from his instructor. He was taking guitar lessons after school and had showed Marty how to play a few songs. Both of them eventually wanted to rise from acoustic to electric.
“Here you go.” Greg said, handing him the shiny new acoustic and pick.
“Put on that really old Lennon Record.”
“Imagine.” Greg said, flipping through his record collection.
“Yeah, put on Imagine”. Marty said, adjusting the strings on the guitar. “You gonna sing on this one?”
“Not unless you forget the words.” Greg said setting up the record. “Ready?”
“Yeah, go.”
“Here goes.” Greg shouted over Marty's rather loud warm up. The turntable crackled and John Lennon's voice could barely be heard over Marty's voice and music.
“Imagine There's No Heavvvven.... It’s easy if you try!” Marty sang the song louder and played the guitar faster than John Lennon himself, giving the sound a whole new meaning, but he played Greg's guitar with pride. To Marty, this song was the meaning of joy.
But after the first chorus, Marty began to stumble on the words. Greg stopped messing with the drums, set the lyric sheets in front of Marty, and assisted him with the vocals.
Together they sang the lyrics in their own, childish ways.
It was all joy to Marty.
“Oh ho oohhhh!” They sang together. When the song came to an end, Marty added random notes as an encore.
“That was awesome!” Greg said, slapping Marty a high five. “You should take guitar lessons.”
“I know, I want to, but my mom thinks I should continue chorus. I will when I get a guitar.”
“Well, you're a pretty good singer too,” Greg said.
“Thanks. Hey, let's go inside, I want to show you the guitar I want to get. It’s in the new Acoustic magazine.” Marty said, handing the guitar to Greg.
After Marty ate supper with the Richards, the boys went down in the basement to watch TV.
The rec room in the basement was decorated as a second family room, with a brick fireplace and a pool table off to the side of the carpeted TV area. Marty plopped down on the couch and Greg took a chair within reach of the TV and turned it on.
“Hey Greg, I forgot to tell you, I met this guy the other day that offered me a job. He’s an inventor and owns a clock shop.” Marty explained.
“You got a job from an inventor? What do you do?” Greg asked, astonished.
“I'm not sure yet. I think he said I’d be sweeping the floor or something like that It would just be a couple days a week, after school. The shop's run by a Doctor, uh Doctor E. Brown.”
“The Doctor Brown?” Greg said, taking his attention from the TV.
“Yeah, I didn't know he was famous.”
“Well, my dad said he's heard a lot of strange rumors about the guy— like that he obsesses with inventing weird pointless gadgets that nobody ever buys —and that he went bankrupt buying appliances and junk to build them.”
Marty took in what Greg just told him, but couldn't accept it.
“His inventions aren't pointless, they're pretty awesome; I saw a bunch of them. And he's not bankrupt. He's got a restored 1957 Mercedes Benz with Gullwing doors!” Marty explained, trying not to lose his temper.
“Then why doesn't he build himself a real house instead of that old garage he lives in?”
“I don't know; I'll ask him.” Marty said.
“Yeah, you do that.” Greg said to prevent an argument. Greg glanced through the paper to look at the movie showings.
“What movies are playing?”
“Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back and Prom Night.”
“Good, I've been wanting to see that new Star Wars movie for a while.”
“Me too. I heard it's even better than the first one.” Greg said. “Joe Callis said there's a big light saber battle at the end, but he wouldn't tell me anything else. Says I should see it for myself.”
“We should let the girls choose though.”
“Right.”
“What time is it?”
“6:20. My mom'll take us in a little while.”
“Good, because I told Brittany I'd meet her there at 6:45.”
“Stand up once, Marty.” Greg said, rising from his chair.
“What?” Marty said. “Why should I?”
“Just do it. I wanna show you something.” Marty slowly rose.
“What?”
“Hey, Marty, what's that?” Greg asked suddenly, pointing.
“Huh?” Marty looked around. Greg tackled him and pinned his arms behind his back.
“Gotcha!” Greg laughed.
“Hey, what the hell?” Marty asked, surprised.
“Next time someone like Doug corners you, pull that on 'em. It'll only work if you do it just right.” Greg explained. “Hey what's that?” He added again, quickly.
Marty almost turned but stopped himself. “I'll remember that.”