Author's Note: The characters of George McFly and Marty McFly respectively belong to Robert Zemeckis and Bob Gale. Copyright Universal.

Vignette Two: Saturday

(Lone Pine)

The rain hit the roof, performing its talented traveling into the house for the thousandth time. It hit the roof tile, sunk through the cracks, dripped into the attic, seeped through the attic floor, and in turn came out of the attic's floor to drip from the living room's ceiling. Drip, drip onto the F key of George McFly's typewriter. Tiny droplets diversed from it, hitting the other keys and George's tapping fingers.

"Dad I'm so bored."

"What?" George said, looking up at the wet patch on the ceiling. Another drop leaked and again hit the F key. The dark stain was the size of a football and was dangerously close to the couch. Maybe he could use the royalty check to fix the leak. Before he had to sell ten stories to fix the couch.

"I said I'm bored." Marty said and flopped down on the couch. He brushed potatoe chip crumbs off his green t shirt. George stayed at the armchair, his fingers continuing to type. Tappity, tap, tappity, tap, tap, tappity.

"I said I'm bored."

Tap, tappity, tappity, tap, tap.

"Really bored."

Tap, tappity, tappity, tap, tappity, tap.

"Really, really bored."

Tappity, tappity, tap, tappity.

"Dad!"

George jumped a little in his seat. The heavy typewriter slid on the TV tray and scrapped his knee. "Marty if you're so bored then why don't you find Dave?"

"He's doing algebra with his tutor," Marty said, debating whether or not he should turn on the TV. "Dad, it's raining hard out and there's nothing to do in here. Don't say homework 'cause I was so bored this morning that I did it all!"

George surpressed a laugh, but barely. "All right. Do you want to help me with something?"

"What are you working on?" Marty asked and picked himself up off the couch. He helped George get the typewriter back on the TV tray. Marty leaned on his elbow against the arm chair to get a better view of his father's current work. The boy read the title: "Century Chasers: Case of the Queen's Great Wig?"

"It's a funny story for a junior science fiction magazine," George explained. "A nice break from serious science fiction for serious magazines."

He laughed at his own joke.

"I'll bet," Marty said. A thought occurred to him. "Are you sure you want my help? I get C's in 're going to waste a lot of paper."

"I waste a lot of paper anyway," George said as he took out the sheet he was working on and put in a fresh one. "Besides I need a break from this. Go."

Marty glared at him. "I thought you wanted my help."

"I meant start a story," George corrected. He posed his fingers ready over the keys. "Give me the first sentence."

"About what?" Marty asked.

"About anything," George said. "You're eight years old, use your imagination."

Marty crossed his arms and chewed his lower lip. A few seconds past with George marveling his youngest child. Dave was way too old for "babyish day dreaming" now. Although, photographs of young Dave playing Indians (in a homemade teepee) were plentiful. The family favorite being the one with him, shirt off and a constuction paper headband on, pretending to stab a stick into fish that were really leaves. Linda too claimed that she was ten now and distinguished ten-year-olds didn't play pretend. Last week, however, Lorraine caught her with a backpack full of Barbies going over to Sarah's house. Now Marty, the youngest, the last baby, just turned eight. Did the want for adult-ness kick in at eight?

Marty himself answered George's question.

"Derrik couldn't find his dinosaur anywhere." Marty said to the rainy boredom in the air of the Saturday. "He looked in the cave but realized the cave was too small. So, he looked in all the other caves. His neighbors got mad and kicked him out of every single cave. Derrik rubbed his head after being thrown out again. Where the heck was his dinosaur…"

George typed all this up as Marty dictated. He threw in the Century Chasers while Marty came up with the pirates kidnapping the dinosaur and an amazing battle breaking out. Maybe, just maybe, Marty wasn't growing up so fast.