June 30th, 1982.
4:35 PM.
Wee-uuu-weee-uuuu went the yellow creature on screen, as it appeared to disintegrate.
"D-mnit!" yelled Marty McFly. "I was up to level 6 too, the 3rd act!" he continued talking out loud to himself, as he often did. Sitting in front of the Pac Man machine at the 7-11, he lightly punched the side of it with his left hand, to illustrate a bit of frustration. Ever since this machine had been installed a year or so before, it had been one of the young teen's favorite things to do. It was easy, too, being only half a mile or so from his home.
Atari systems were the hot item of the past couple years, but there was no way his mother would buy him one, or would even let him buy his own. She claimed they were a mindless brain waste, and that 'boys should make their own entertainment outdoors.' Even though George wouldn't know how to play if his life depended on it, he had no objections to them, but was practically his wife's fourth kid, and wouldn't dream of going against her wishes. Dave liked them, but was too lazy to buy one of his own, and Linda thought they were 'stupid guy things,' so that pretty much ruled out ever being able to have gaming entertainment at home, thus explaining why he hung out there all the time.
As much as he wanted to stay there and play until the sun went down, he glanced up at the store clock, and knew he had to be heading home now. "Hey, thanks for the extra quarters, Dick. I'm headin' home before mom goes off on me," he said as he crossed the store and looked behind the desk before turning to the front doors.
"Oh yeah, anytime, Marty. So, how far did ya get today?" cheerfully asked the full-time clerk, 32 year-old Dick Wilson. He was a person who looked a little dangerous from first glance: he had a stubbly black beard with a slight beer belly and greasy long hair. His vocabulary and initial appearance seemed more like a 70s rock band or a biker than a retail clerk. Just a few seconds of talking to him, however, made it clear he was actually a really nice, jovial guy who probably would never even start a fight.
"Up to Level 6, before the stupid dorks cornered me. I can't believe it, I've never been to the 3rd act before," Marty said in a mix of excitement and disappointment.
"Whoa, man, you beat my record, I've never been past 5! I guess my problem is that I eat all the magical white dots first, then I'm had before I can finish the level off," the man said with a laugh.
Marty chuckled in return. "You'll get there someday, you're good at it too, man. I just with there was a slow motion thing for it. How many levels are there even on it? That's heavy, do they just keep going forever 'cause they know no one's gonna get that far anyway?" he asked, kidding. If there was one thing that could be said for Marty McFly at any age, it was that he had a sense of humor that was easily identifiable with.
"Geez, makes you wonder, huh?" continued the older guy, as he walked out from the counter with a price sticker, towards one of the small aisles near the direction of where the game machine was, but still focused on the teen. "Some guy the other week got up to Level 8. Past that, who in the hll knows?" he said as he put out a new price sticker, reading Donuts: 45c.
"Someday, someone will beat it, even if it ain't me," said Marty, half looking at his older acquaintance and half staring into space, wishing that it really was him who beat the game. Having George McFly for a father had, even by now, instilled this overwhelming desire to win and get ahead at even the simplest of things. "If I passed Jr. High, I can pass at a video game, huh?"
"Totally. When I was your age, I hated school, it's not like you're ever gonna use most of that stuff in real life, and what you do need, you can get information on by itself," declared the somewhat rebellious looking man.
"Yeah, at least high school is gonna be over, in only 4 years," Marty said, the last part with a little sarcasm, just as he heard the bell ring to announce a customer coming into the store. That brought him back to reality, realizing what time it was.
"Whoa, gee, I forgot how late it was. I'm getting home before mom blows another gasket. She had a lot to drink today too." Without his listener needing to even say anything, his nod of approval said it all, as if he totally agreed. He'd seen Lorraine Baines-McFly a few times too. "See ya later, Dick."
"Hey, take it easy, kid," Dick said, as he went back behind the counter to resume his daily work.
Marty exited the building in a jog, obviously in a hurry to get home. He trusted the convenience store clock more than his own watch for sure. Within the past year, he'd gone through two watches, not including this one. Either through a string of continuous bad luck or just not paying attention (probably both), he still was somehow oblivious to time. This Casio digital watch he had was holding up well, except for having a battery that seemed to like to stop at weird times, thus making it completely off-schedule sometimes. Marty had meant to get a replacement battery, but it wasn't exactly on the top of his priority list (which usually included rock, video games, and checking out girls - despite the fact, or maybe because they wouldn't go out with him).
It wasn't unusual for the teen to befriend and get along with older people like Dick Wilson better than his own peers at times. He figures since they had already been his age, so he could learn from them. However, they were young enough to still be cool. Emmett Brown, the approaching elderly man he had just met seemed to still tug at his brain as a large exception to that older rule. He never for a moment thought of him as a 'boring old man', or a 'grandpa' type to the least. He actually listened to Marty like he was a real person after barely meeting him, not to mention helped save him from the biggest jerks in school. He also just knew, call it an unnatural instinct, that he would definitely see him again, whether he planned to or not.
I can't let anyone know I met him. Not yet, at least. I don't need mom having a cow on me.
Marty turned right, into Lyon Estates sweating in the summer sun, falling over the western skyline, but without showing a sign of going down. He was reminded of the time of year it was. All over, the young teen heard the sounds of little kids playing on the sidewalks or in their kiddie pools, as if they hadn't a care in the world. The older folks were having barbecues or backyard parties. It sure was a great time for most people. Marty wished he'd felt the same way as he stepped onto his driveway just in time to notice his mom, Lorraine, getting out of her brand new red Ford Taurus station wagon parked in the family's two-car garage.
"Heya, mom," he said averagely, as they noticed one another on the empty driveway.
"Hi, Marty, you're home in time, hon," she said warmly, but matter-of-factly.
Wasn't that the point? "Uh, yeah. So, how was work today?" he asked, only remotely caring, but it wasn't that easy for him to converse with his parents sometimes. They were, to him, genuinely boring and negative most of the time.
"Fine, but the same way it always is, just more typing, more phone calls to answer. Almost no money," the 44 year-old woman said sarcastically, but bitterly, not being that fond of her secretarial job. She wasn't a mean person at all, just a bit unhappy with her life. Her family, including Marty, knew she loved them and did her best, but she could be short-tempered and unpleasant, especially when she'd been drinking.
"Yeah, sorry, work is h-ll sometimes," he said, ready to change the subject. "So, is dad still at work?"
As they walked into the house, Lorraine continued, "No, but I called him and told him to stop at the store to get some things for dinner tonight 'cause I'm too tired. I'm gonna go lie down until they get here."
Marty took the liberty of actually shutting the front door, since he was in last. Just as he was about to turn the hall and go to his bedroom, something caught his attention. "Okay, I—whoa, wait! Mom, what do ya mean 'they'? Aren't Dave & Linda both here?" he asked, genuinely not knowing, since he never actually went into Burger King.
"Well, yeah, Dave wasn't called into work today like he thought he'd be, so he's here. Linda is out with one of her friends, but what I meant is that your father is going to be returning here with Biff after work," she said with a sigh, fully knowing how her son would react. That was one thing she had to agree with him on, since she sure didn't like that creep making unwanted rude or romantic gutter talk remarks about her ever since they were in Junior High School.
"Oh, Jesus Christ, not again," he rumbled, slapping his hand against the wall in disgust. "That dumb sh-thead's presence can turn a good day into a bad one. Why is he coming over, is it, like, not possible for him to go home or have dinner with his own loser friends?"
"Don't dare use that language in this house, Martin McFly," Lorraine said, pointing at him. "Save that for the locker room with other boys. I agree with you about Biff, God knows I don't like him one bit more than you do, but he works with your father. But we have to be nice to him, no matter how we feel about him. You don't want dad to get in trouble at work, do you?"
"Ah, I guess not."
Lightening up only a little, Lorraine continued, "Well, I should hope so. Besides, Biff is bringing the VCR back. He's finished borrowing them, so we can watch movies on tape again."
Why are you treating this like it's no big deal? Marty couldn't help but to be annoyed at his mom's apparent lack of concern for this, as if it were an ordinary event. Well, it actually was, with them, at least. "I guess he couldn't spend $400 bucks to get his own," he mumbled under his breath as he went into his room and shut the door just lightly enough to not be called a slam.
With that, Lorraine went to pour herself a glass of Vodka as she typically did.
…..
5:20 PM.
George McFly made his way into Lyon Estates in his white '77 Plymouth Reliant. Even now, at only a half-decade old, was somewhat under maintained with balding tires, a worn-out paint job and a slow starter. The most notable thing, though, was it sure needed a tune-up like nobody's business. You could hear that thing coming from ten blocks away! His kids (Marty in particular) we're embarrassed to be seen riding in it.
George didn't have the easiest day himself. After getting off work at the bank where he was a loan officer, he had to stop at a Raley's supermarket near their workplace in Grass Valley, 9 miles west, at his wife's insistence. Not to mention, his pushy co-worker Biff Tannen, was following behind him.
Word had it that Biff might be promoted to supervisor with the work he'd been doing. That, of course, was largely George's own work that had gotten him there. Mr. McFly knew somewhere in his heart that was unfair, and couldn't stand the guy, but since he had pretty much known him and done his work their whole lives, he saw no point in complaining about it now. He had the mindset of Better to be unhappy and quiet than to cause trouble and be disliked.
Making the right turn onto his teeny bit uphill driveway, which curved to the right, George didn't bother to put the car in the detached garage, which had to be opened manually. It was too much trouble for now, so he just pulled over to the left side, close to the front door. Not long after getting out of the door, Biff's flashy green '73 T-Bird cut to an abrupt stop just past the driveway, with the front-right tire over the curb. This guy never was the best, or most careful driver in the world, that's for sure!
Decked out in plaid pants and a dark green cheap suit (which you got the feeling he only wore since he kinda had to), the large, somewhat goofy-but-threatening, athletic looking man briskly walked up his co-worker's driveway in time to meet him as he shut the driver's side door.
"McFly, the machine was great, go get it. It's on my front seat," he said, as he helped himself into the family's house as if it were his own. George knew they'd be less than pleased to see him make that entry, but couldn't bring himself to say anything in opposition.
"Well, okay, but it may take me a minute with these groceries and all."
Stopping at the screen door, Tannen turned around and said, "Hey, if you don't get it by the time I come out, I'm keepin' the thing. It's yours anyway; the store stuff can wait, can't it? I mean, if it ain't melted already in this weather, it won't be in another two minutes."
What a nice guy. NOT! You'd have to figure if he had the energy to use the thing as his own for a week, he'd be able to carry a 15-pound machine a few short steps into the house. But, Biff being Biff, wouldn't go a second out of his way for people, yet expected them to go miles out of their way for him. Quietly a little unhappy, but pushing his feelings down as always, George shuffled down the driveway, opened up his bully's passenger door to carry the family tape machine into the house.
At this time, Biff barged his way inside, to find Lorraine in the kitchen, looking as if she was beginning to prepare what they already had of their dinner-to-be, such as frozen macaroni and white rice. Having heard her husband's car a minute ago, she naturally assumed it was him at first. "Hey, G-oh, Biff it's you," she said, trying her best to sound cordial, however hard it was.
"Heya, Lorraine, lookin' good as always," he said, sounding like a wannabe middle-aged swinger.
Yeah, go to h-ll, Biff! "Thank you, I do my best. Now, what did George get at the store?"
Biff entered the kitchen himself, looking around in their cabinets without asking. As he picked up a box of pancake mix, he answered, "Ah, yeah, whatever you wanted him to get, looks like he did. Some fruit, Corn Flakes, spuds, uh, I think more frozen stuff, and of course, his own brand of lite beer. You ever had that stuff, honey? One can barely gets me buzzed anymore; I guess Georgie is just a lightweight drinker," he ended with his teasing sounding trademark laugh.
The idea of picking up the frying pan she was currently looking at and knocking this goon over the head out cold - if for nothing more than to shut him up - was starting to look really tempting. She'd usually just do what she could to get along with him. Worse case scenario was that he'd stay for dinner and bug them. She could certainly put up with him for an hour or so. "Yeah, he sure doesn't drink half of what even I do," she replied to his last comment.
Before anyone could say anything else, George came in as planned, with the VCR. "Hey, Lorraine," he said softly, putting the machine on top of the TV for now. He'd set it back up later.
"George, please tell me you went to the grocery store, just like Biff said!" she demanded, not seeing any bags with him on the way in.
Going back for the front door, he reassured her, "Yes, don't worry, I stopped there, I just had to drop this off first. Everything you wanted, I-I, made sure to go through the whole list. I'll be right back."
Soon as he was no longer in earshot, Biff continued, "Gee, sure sounds like you got the run of the household, huh. I'll bet you've scared the pants off the guy before."
Choosing not to answer that directly, she just said, "I always took care of him in a way, ever since we met I guess." She couldn't believe she was more or less confiding in the guy she hated regarding her husband's lifelong weakness.
"Yeah, well, if I'd been knocked out by your old man's car, you think you woulda taken care of me too?" asked Biff a bit straightforwardly.
"I already knew you, I didn't know George, that's why I took that much care of him. Besides, he was so shy and so scared of girls, it was almost cute," she reminisced. "But, anything between us happened and was over when we were 12 years old, you know that."
Biff knew he wouldn't exactly be able to sweep Lorraine off her feet at this point in time, or ever, but he still was a little annoyed about that, as well as their one date all those years ago, at the end of their 6th grade. Ever since then, he'd always kept bothering her and acting like a possessive ex-boyfriend. He didn't quite know why he liked her more than any other girl, he just did. Just as he was about to talk, one of the back bedroom doors burst open.
"Son of a b-tch, I don't friggin' believe this!" shouted 19 year-old Dave as he quickly walked into the hallway.
"David, what have I told you about speaking that way, young man?" his mother scolded. "We have company, too, be nice."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever ma! Don't you know what happened? First of all, the schedule at BK said I was working this afternoon, but I get there for them to change it at the last second. Now, they call and ask if I can come after all. Can't they make their fat heads up?" the teen said with heavy sarcasm.
Before he even could see who this company was, it did the talking. "Hey, what the h-ll is the matter, kid? Just go to your greasy burger-flipping job and quit complainin'. Life s-cks sometimes, than you die."
His uniform in hand as he made his way into the refrigerator for a soda, Dave blasted, "For Pete's sake, I'm not in the mood for this and didn't ask you what you thought. Just stick a sock in it, Biff."
Any traces of joking were long gone. Even though Tannen was clearly a bit dumb and clumsy sometimes, one thing you did not want to do was make this guy mad. "Hey, I'm a lot older than you are, punk!" Biff declared, moving closer to the young man so as to appear threatening. "Didn't your nice mother here teach you not to talk to adults that way?"
About to go out the front door, he said, "Hey, I am one now too, so I can talk however I want to you. Plus, it's my house, not yours, jerk!" he declared, borderline slamming the door behind him.
Unbeknownst to him, Marty had been watching this whole thing through the crack in his bedroom door. He was for sure gonna be staying in here, so as not to deal with the nuisance. He was partially glad Dave at least told him off to an extent. "I'm not coming out there, no thank you," he said, lightly closing the door so he wouldn't be heard.
Meanwhile, Dave stormed down the driveway, clearly annoyed, just in time to see his dad.
"Oh, hi there, Dave. Is something the matter, son?"
His mood only improving a little, said, "Hey, nice seein' ya pop. Yeah, first of all, work called me in again after they said they didn't need me this afternoon, Next thing I know, Biff is in there telling me how to talk in my own house. I hate that moron!"
"Yes, I know he can be difficult. He's just a little short on temper because he's worried about that, uh, promotion he might get. Just try not to anger him, even if he is being rude, he'll have less to complain about," said George as he approached the house with a couple shopping bags.
"Yeah, I guess. Well, I'll be back about 11. Later, pop," said Dave as he jogged down the driveway toward the bus stop at the entrance to Lyon Estates.
Saying a quick good-bye to his son, George finally turned around and went inside. Lorraine noticed this time, however, he had two grocery bags. "Oh, George, so you got what I asked you to, right?"
He hoped she wasn't in a lousy mood. "Uhh, yeah, everything on the list," he said, unsure of himself.
"Well, our children need to learn some manners, don't you think, George?"
Before he could respond, Biff did for him. "McFly, your older son is a burger-flipping punk with an attitude problem. And I thought Marty was the worse one."
"I know Dave seemed unhappy, but it won't be for long. He just needs time to calm down," said George, as he went to turn the TV on. He'd connect the VCR later, but could hardly live without having the television on.
"Well, I'm outta here myself. McFly, make sure you do a good job on that report I gave you today. I'm up for a promotion soon, and I don't wanna miss out 'cause of you!" commanded Biff.
"I'll, uh, be sure to give it the best work I can, Biff," said George weakly but as sincere as he could.
"Yeah, neat writing helps too. Well, have a nice dinner, see you at work tomorrow McFly," called Biff as he walked through the kitchen, stopping to pick up the same box of Bisquick Pancake Mix he'd looked at earlier. Opening up the screen door, he said to himself, "I haven't had pancakes for awhile either." George clearly saw him doing that, but was too gutless to do anything about it.
He simply went to turn up the volume on this particular episode of Leave it to Beaver.
"Oh, now Beaver, we don't want you to be late to school today, do we, Ward?"
"Surely not, June. The boy has got to be on time, right Beav?"
"OK, guys, you're both right. I'm heading out on that school bus right now."
On-screen, the boy's mother continued, "You also promise to ignore Eddie Haskell if he says anything silly to you, right?"
"Certainly!"
Looking at the simple family life comedy before him, George did what he often did watching television: a huge laugh. "Ah ha ha ha ha ha ha," he continued, sounding more than a little dorky, pointing to the TV set. His wife listened and looked on in remote disgust from the kitchen, where she'd begun preparing dinner. She loved this guy very much, but sometimes couldn't believe she was married to him. Down went another shot of Vodka!
…..
Marty stayed glued to his room as he often was at home. He didn't yet have a phone line, though, so sometimes he'd have to go out to the kitchen for that. For now, he was reading a Rolling Stone magazine article on a newly popular artist named Huey Lewis. A few months earlier, their new album's debut single, "Do You Believe in Love" had been released. Marty quite liked the song, but somehow had never bought the album yet, fearing it wouldn't be as good as that single, which had been co-written by AC/DC producer Mutt Lange.
"If this review is even partly right, what do I got to lose by pickin' up the album? Me and the guys might even start playing that song," said Marty out loud. "I might just like this guy from now on."
He didn't know how right he was.
…..
6:00 PM.
"Everybody, dinner is ready!" called Lorraine from the kitchen.
A couple of unexcited "Yeah, coming" type answers were heard from Marty, Linda & George. Within seconds, Lorraine was serving that night's meal of mashed potatoes, a side of frozen macaroni & cheese, asparagus, and the main course: Hamburger Helper.
Linda trudged out into the living room, having arrived home just several minutes earlier, and looking less than excited. "Mom, why can't I just take dinner back to my room? Dave isn't even here, dad's busy and Marty is late," the 15-and-a-half-year old whined.
"Sweetie, I know David has to work, but the rest of us are here and should be able to sit down to a nice family meal together," she continued, placing napkins at all the plates "It would be nice if your father could help, but I'm used to doing this on my own now."
George faintly heard himself being mentioned. "Lorraine, do you need something? I'm-I'm sorry, but I'm just extremely busy now." That was clearly evident, since he seemed to even stop paying attention to the TV and was immersed in papers, writing like crazy.
"It's fine, George, but dinner is set now. You're not too busy to eat, are you?"
Looking at the clock nearby, he paused to think. "Well, maybe I can afford to take a break for awhile, but I really have to finish these and make them well-written. You know how important this promotion could be to Biff."
She considered arguing with him, but thought better of it. "You should work to get him demoted instead," she said quietly, sitting down. Just as she was getting ready to ream Marty for not showing up, he came out of his room at a quick pace.
"Hey, I'm here now, I didn't miss anything, did I?"
"Marty, just try to be here on time from now on. No, you didn't miss anything, other than me cooking and setting the table by myself as always."
Not liking the negativity, but he decided not to say anything of it and stay on their good side (especially if he wanted to bring up Doc in the recent future). He opened his can of Tab, simply saying, "Oh, hey, sorry, I would've come if you wanted. I was just trying to avoid the crazy man earlier."
Linda said, half condescendingly, "I didn't even have to be here to see that bozo Biff, but being out with the girls is just about as bad. If I have to listen to one of them go on about how many guys they're going with or anything, I'm gonna be sick. I can't get any of the guys I like to notice me. It's just these total nerds that make Anthony Michael Hall look like a soap opera hunk."
Lorraine dearly understood what she was saying (especially with the part about nerds!) but went about it another way. "Hey, honey, don't worry, you'll meet a nice boy someday, it's just not the time yet. You shouldn't worry about it so much. I didn't meet your father until a few weeks before I turned 18, and you're not even 16 yet."
"Hey, Linda, no girl will even give me a second look that way, except as this cute kid or something, so we're even," said Marty, though he usually didn't talk that much.
"Marty, what do you expect, you're 14 and look 10. Be glad they like you at all," snorted his sister mockingly.
"Actually, Linda is right, Marty. I know there are three teenagers living here, so it's hard, but you kids should try to keep your thoughts to yourself. Everybody has hormones, but you don't need to obsess about this subject matter all the time," Lorraine said, with only a shred of doubt.
She wasn't exactly following her own advice or thought pattern. Hardly a day went by that she didn't dream of asking out some guy in her office, or wondering what her life would've been like had she married a famous movie star, athlete, or heck, even a rock musician. Being married to a spineless man like George could have that effect, she supposed. That was all in the past, but she came to loath her children dating, fearing it could lead them into a similar situation. She loved them, unapparent as it may have seemed to them, and just wanted the best for them in the end. Better to be single than miserably married.
"I'm not tryin' to think about it, mom, but it's around me and in the world. I can't just, ya know, avoid it my whole life," chimed in Marty, but not in his typical upbeat, slightly overconfident nature. He really meant it, but he decided not to try and argue the issue.
"Marty, listen, I didn't mean to avoid it or to never want to interact with the opposite gender. I just meant we don't have to have it as dinnertime conversation," Lorraine said frankly.
That sounded reasonable enough to everyone, since it wasn't like anyone had a ton of friends over. George continued working on his papers, only a little aware of the conversation, but it just wasn't his style to join in, unless someone asked his opinion. He also didn't dare risk making his wife mad if he even hinted at opposing anything she said. She was basically head of the household, after all.
…..
7:45 PM
Emmett Brown was attempting to tidy up at least a little in his messy, cluttered living space which was now probably less than 2000 square feet. His former garage was nothing compared to his mansion, which once belonged to his family before being passed on to him.
"Great Scott! That will be the 20th anniversary of this unfortunate event this upcoming August 1st." The scientist spoke aloud in his energetic, slightly gravelly voice. His only company was Einstein, but having lived alone so many years, he had over time, developed the habit of talking not only to himself, but at fully conversational volume, when he was alone.
He had once been a part-time professor at the Hill Valley University, specializing in physics before retiring in 1977. Since then, he'd lived a relatively secluded life, despite having his home in a public parking lot. Recently, he'd gotten back into inventing all sorts of devices. There was one that would open cans of dog food and throw away the can, and many more things like that were all around his home now. He'd also been busy with Dr. Brown's 24-Hour Scientific Services, a handyman business he did on the side for five years and even had his own van for.
In the mid '50s, after a series of inventions continued to fail, he'd just given up on most of them. However, one of them had always remained close to his heart. The vision 27 years ago he'd had of time travel. On the side, he'd done extensive research on the theories, read countless books, and having his own job in that area didn't hurt things too much either. In all that time, he'd invested tons of money into it (too much, in fact, if he were to continue that much longer), he'd made progress in the academic area, but he still needed more. Specifically, he needed something he could use as a time machine, and had no idea how to do it, at least not yet. He didn't know how, but sometime soon, he promised himself he would.
A loud bark from Einstein broke the silence of the summer evening, catching the inventor's attention.
"Oh, Einy, I haven't been paying you enough attention, have I?" he said, quickly leaving his papers on the small coffee table near his old jukebox to pet the animal as it wagged its tail in return. "I'm on the way out to Burger King for a little snack, but I'll be back within 10 minutes, okay, boy?"
Somehow, Doc seemed to be able to teach every dog he'd had to have a fairly good understanding of English words. He received another bark in return, as if to say 'Don't leave me out'.
"I can't give you human food, Einy, but let's go get you some of your own, specified completely for canines such as yourself," he said, as Einstein followed without thinking again.
The machines weren't turned on for the moment. He only did that when he was gone for a lengthy time. He didn't want to waste energy while he was already home anyway. Manually opening a can of Alpo, and getting a bowl of fresh tap water, he set both down, which could hardly be set up fast enough for the dog to begin getting into. Soon as Doc could see that, he grabbed his wallet and skipped out the front door. Exiting the gate, he was going on another venture to the fast food restaurant he must've gone to at least once every day or two. It was practically his second home now. He'd even get discounted meals on many occasions, especially after befriending several of the employees.
The sun was still in the sky, only beginning to show any sign of getting dark on this, the nearly longest day of the year. It was, in fact, very comfortable here right now as Emmett went inside the restaurant. Amazingly, it was not terribly busy, at least not in line. The tables were another story. Entering the big puzzle-like maze of railings that made up the line, the scientist stepped up ready to place his order as he was recognized.
"Yo, Brown, what's goin' on, huh?" called Dave in a considerably better mood than he'd been in when he left home. "The usual?"
"Hi there Dave. Sure, might as well, if I like it on a typical basis, I figure why should I change it now?" he said almost jokingly.
"Oh yeah, totally, man," said Marty's brother as he continued into the loudspeaker microphone attached to the counter. "Number 3 with a Diet Sprite, it's Doc!" he called, a little too loudly as always.
Doc wanted to tell the young man about his little brother whom he'd had a very positive meeting with earlier in the day, but wanted to wait for the right time. If there was a crowd of hungry, rushed customers behind him, that would clearly not be it. To ease confusion, he decided to ask, "David, do you by any possibility have a break coming up in the near future? There was just something I wanted to tell you about earlier today."
"Sure thing, I was just gonna ask Mr. Smith for one anyway. Soon as your food comes, I'll go outside with ya."
Sure enough, a few minutes later, after saying a quick hello to the whole crew, his order of a Double Whopper without any ketchup or mustard, onion rings, and a Diet Sprite arrived. He and Dave McFly went just outside as promised for a moment.
"So, Doc, what's on your mind?"
Digging into his onion rings first and sitting on a nearby plastic chair, Doc began, "Oh, well, actually something I never thought would happen. I actually met your younger brother, Marty this afternoon, under the most precarious and unusual circumstances imaginable. Has he told you yet?"
"Whoa, that's amazing. Nah, he never coulda told me. I was sleepin' in this afternoon when they suddenly called me into work! Anyway, I didn't hear Marty come back, and I left before I saw him. I doubt he'd tell anyone yet. Our mom wouldn't take it too well."
"I've heard the same from his point of view as well," said Doc, not surprised. "Well, basically Marty was being cornered by some hooligans from school – Douglas Needles and his dimwitted friends – when I intervened at the right time. Turns out the kid and I had an almost instant bond, despite our quite large age difference."
"Hey, that's really nice, good going with that," Dave said, actually meaning it. It was hard to tell sometimes, since he'd often have sarcasm twice as bad as his younger brother.
"Thank you. In any event, I've long been considering getting an assistant. I literally have thousands of things I need sorted and cleaned up around my place. To the point, if I see the kid again, I may just ask him if he'd like to assist me in some way. Would that be too sudden or inappropriate?" he asked with concern.
"Oh, I'd say it's gonna be fine. I'm sure he'd like to get some money, plus he wants to get his a-s out of that house as much as possible. I don't blame him. It's really cramped there. Mom & my sister are always complaining about something. I mean, I love 'em, but it still gets annoying after awhile," Dave confessed, but realized he was drifting off the topic. "But, anyone Marty's ever been friendly with has been cool, ya know? Maybe I oughta break the news to him tomorrow or somethin'."
"That sounds logical, Dave," said Doc, before realizing there were tons of people entering the place.
From the door emerged a middle-aged man who looked casual in real life, yet a very serious on the job guy. Emmett remembered him to be the manager, whom he'd met on a couple occasions. "Hey, Dave, sorry to interrupt, but there's a huge line and we need you back on register," he said.
"Oh yeah, Smithy, no problem," said Dave, turning his attention to see the older man. "Gotta go, see ya soon Doc," he went with a wave and a dash inside.
"Hiya Dr. Brown, haven't seen you for quite some time," said John Smith, the manager of this location.
Shaking the man's hand back quickly and with a friendly greeting, Doc said, "Ah, yes, Mr. Smith, how are you this evening?"
"Really nice. You should stop by more often, especially in the mornings, that's when I'm usually present."
"I'll certainly take that into consideration, even though I have a tendency to be a morning sleeper at times," he said as he slowly walked back toward his garage. "Have a nice night."
"You too," said Mr. Smith as he joined his employee back inside.
Emmett Brown slowly walked back toward his home, weaving through the now-filled parking spots out front. Usually they were empty unless it was unusually busy, like tonight. He casually happened to notice one car pull in on the far end of the row. The engine cut, and a 40-something man came out, almost certainly heading into the BK. Doc didn't think anything of it until the man said something to him.
"Still showin' your face around here, Dr. Brown? Don't you know what this town thinks of failures like you? Nothing you invented works, you're jobless and even burned your own house down," came the heartless voice as it disappeared (with the man it belonged to) into the restaurant before the scientist could hardly respond.
Somewhere inside him, he wanted to grab the guy and punch his lights out, but quickly reconsidered. He always felt that fighting was the wrong thing to do, unless there was no other choice. It would be from time to time he would still get comments like that from people around town. Most people were nice enough to him, or at least stayed out of his way, but all in all he had become some kind of recluse in comparison to others, especially after retiring from teaching. By this time in his life, he'd become so used to the insults that he almost would expect them on occasion. That didn't make it feel any better, though.
Opening up the fence-like door that led into his property, he stopped to think about himself for a minute.
Of all the lives whose thoughts I've apparently tainted, how many have I improved? My students at the University, most likely, people I've assisted in my new business, my family by nature. Of course, Marty!" he thought back again to just a few short hours ago as he'd taken Einstein out for a neighborhood walk. The way his life was then, compared to how it would be within 10 minutes later. The acquaintance he'd made in a slang speaking, rock and roll loving teen may have been highly improbable and unlikely, but no matter, it had still happened.
He marveled at how he'd seemed to connect so well to the teen, much better than people who were close to his own age. He didn't quite know how it would turn out in the future. He always had to assume Marty, upon getting a little older, may find going to parties or on dates with girls far more appealing than spending time working on some invention with a near senior citizen. Maybe he'd go away to college, or later than that, he'd even start his own family and they'd be sure to drift apart by then. He, however, decided to stop before his thoughts raged out of control and take it one day at a time.
As if to answer himself on the matter, as well as a fitting adage for his long-running project, he said something he felt only appropriate.
"Time will tell."