Disclaimer: Sam Baines and Joey Baines belong to Robert Zemeckis and Bob Gale. Characterization of these both was made as canon as possible. Some liberties were taken for the Sam character from the first draft of Part II.
Vignette Nine: Tough Love II
The house lights went on as Joey was escorted up his own porch. Handcuffs itched his wrists like crazy. The trick to scratching them, he still didn't know. There was rumor going around the station that some handcuffs were defective. Do a little wiggle-jiggle and they would snap off. Joey's pair stayed on no matter what.
One of the officers knocked on the door.
"Oh Joe, you've done it this time." The officer said, shaking his hand. "Three whole strikes in one week. Do you want to be eating prison food?"
"Officer Luke, I'm only sorry you didn't let me finish." Joey said. "Here comes Ma."
The high heel footsteps stopped as the door opened.
"Oh dear, again?" Mrs. Baines sighed.
"Yes, Mrs. Baines, again." Officer Chad said. He led Joey inside. Everyone walked into the living room, Mrs. Baines following with her hands on her hips. "Room looks nice. New shade of paint?"
"I did it myself," Joey said as the handcuffs were snapped off.
"So you can use your talents for good," Officer Luke said. As Joey sat himself down, Officer Chad led Mrs. Baines off to talk. About his "felony". Joey groaned while rubbing his wrists.
Felony. What crime was it? A proclamation here, a proclamation there. It wasn't like these guys had anything better to do! Hill Valley never changed. No one ran through with a gang of guns. No one held the mayor for ransom. Nothing bad ever happened here. What harm was it when a seventeen-year-old took a stand? An un-armed stand?
Nothing. That was what was wrong with this town, this state, this country. People like him were trying to do something different. Go against the wave and the officials hated it. Change is their enemy. They had to stop it before it started. Even if it was in a town where nothing ever happened.
Mrs. Baines came back out with Officer Luke. She had her eyes closed and was shaking her head. No words were said as she led the two officers out the door. Not including the thanks and good bye as she closed the door behind them. Then it was just her and Joey. Although, not for long.
"Sam!" Mrs. Baines called. "It happened again!"
Joey picked at the paint on his vest as his father came in. Sam Baines, a representation of what was wrong with this country, stood in front of the couch. Brow low and sleeves uncuffed. They were always uncuffed after work. Rolled as stiff as his views. Yup, his father brought sternness and malice into the room. It was immediate and Joey had to curl his fingers and toes to stand it.
"Stella," Sam said to his wife. The remaining hair was stiff and did not move as he turned to her. "What'd he screw up this time?"
"I'm not sure," Mrs. Baines said, a hand going to her head. Exasperation lined her facial features. Her mouth in an unreadable line and her hair falling into her aging face. "Something about an obscene drawing downtown."
"It was a mural," Joey interrupted. "To say-"
Sam's gaze was almost murderous. Joey's words caught in his throat, unable to come out. A gaze that plagued the entire household. Receive it and it stopped you dead in your tracks. Mrs. Baines caught the look.
"I'll leave you with your father," She said and with that, left the room. Joey didn't watch her go. If he did, he feared that his eyes would beg her to stay. He wasn't in the mood for begging. After all, he had done nothing wrong.
Sam stared at him for the longest time. Longer than the last times. Then, finally, his father slapped the table.
"Damn it Joey!" Sam said. His voice echoed through the living room. He'd make a good peace speaker, if he gave a damn.
Feet came clambering down the stairs.
"Joey got cuffed again?" Sally asked from the railing.
"Way to go Joe! Fight the power!" Milton said, pumping a fist.
"Where did you learn that?" Sam yelled. His gaze turned back to Joey. "See what you're influencing? All that hippie garbage belongs on the TV. Not in my house!"
Sam slammed a fist on the table. Sally shared a look at Milton and they both bolted up the stairs. Joey caught a glimpse of Sally's skirt and the back of Milton's head. Boy, they were getting old. Sally would be moving out soon, she was already sporting a ring on her finger. His father was like a bear after that gold first appeared. Joey didn't dare ask for new sneakers. Milton sat up straight whenever Sam entered the room. Ellen focused on her homework more than any teenage girl should. It was better to just stay out of the house. The same thing happened when Lorraine got engaged to the old high school wimp. It'd probably happen again with Ellen in a few years.
"It's the third time in one month," Sam said. He became a dictarian rock. The second stage of his scolding. Milton and Toby had named their father's stations of scolding. They never wrote it down. It was taught to Joey and then to Ellen. Both of them memorized it.
"I'm sorry," Joey said. A lie but he had to get out of there. Fred was supposed to call with the signal. Tonight had been an interrupted part one. "I'm really, really sorry."
Sam sighed. "Sorry?" He said. "I don't give a rat's ass if you're sorry! I want to know why you're doing all this crap. Why, in God's name, are you painting women parts on brick walls?"
"I don't know," Joey said. Again, a quick lie. He knew why and Susan's explanation came back into his head.
"The brick wall never changes, guys." Susan had said as she held up an apron. It was speckled with cartoons of strawberries and flowers. "It stands there forever and ever."
"What's that have to do with the apron?" Fred had asked. "Are you gonna make us some eggs?"
Susan sent a dirt clod flying into Fred as a response. Fred was bent over, clutching his crotch. Joey laughed in hiccups into the fire. Susan raised the apron, as if to get their attention back.
"What I mean is women are expected to do only 'female work.'" Susan continued. "Cook everyone's meals, clean house, look beautiful, shop groceries, and birth and raise clans of kids."
"My mom likes doing that." Joey said.
"Yeah, mine too." Fred said.
"It's not bad if they like it," Susan replied. She still held the apron up high. Up over the fire. "The point we need to make is that they don't have a choice. They don't have a choice between being a wife and mother or being something else. Remember all those Home Ec classes in middle school? You guys got to skip out. Me and the other girls had to learn sewing and cooking. The teacher was an asshole too. She kept saying how she had to learn being a homemaker when she was a little girl. It's a never-ending cycle!"
The apron sizzled and blackened in the fire. The strawberries turned into crispy splotches. The flowers, too, seemed to wither in the cloth. "It's not fair," Susan said. "We have to fix this."
Joey looked at Fred. Fred looked at Joey.
"I'm in." Joey said.
Sam's brow ceased to raise. His temper also ceased to lower. "Your mother raised you and cooks in the kitchen. You think she hates that? You think she would want a change by painting nudity on walls?"
"Dad-"
"There's something wrong with you. You know that? When I picture you in five years, all I see is a straight jacket and metal bars. Is that what you want?"
"Yes." Joey said. "If it means the world is fixed."
"Go to your room," Sam said. "I don't want to look at you anymore."
It would never end. Joey knew it. The Baines kids that were free, going to be free, or stuck knew it. Joey knew he was in the third category. Now all he could do was go upstairs and think about the next step. Susan and Fred were joining him with the next mural. It'd be even bigger and better. The louder it was, the bigger the voice. Joey repeated this in his head as he climbed the stairs.
Sam watched his son go. Then he shook his head. "That kid…"
He sat down in his arm chair and clicked on the TV set. It was a Tuesday and who had their TV turrn was clear. A music channel blarred unnatural sounds of what was supposed to be music. Shaggy haired guitarists boogied across the multi-colored screen. Their words filled the heads of the watchers. All the other future American workers. Soon to be American bums. Sam swore under his breath.
"Damn Beatles." Sam said and switched the channel.
