by Ian Doescher
With these few cows who call the barn their home.
I must attempt to make some sense of this.
[Calling out:] What ho, good citizens! I mean no harm,
And sorry am I for thy lovely barn
That lately I have wreck’d with this, my car.
[Marty emerges from the barn and Pa shoots at him.
SHERMAN Already doth the wicked beast mutate,
Into a human form. O Father, shoot!
[Marty retreats into the barn.
PA Die, alien—our planet is not thine,
Thou mutant son of wenches most impure!
[Marty bursts from the barn driving the DeLorean.
SHERMAN It flees within its spaceship, like a fiend!
PA Hold, monster, thou shalt not defile my land.
MARTY [aside:] Enow of shooting and of threats have I,
And would not face another e’er again.
Where is the peaceful life, which once I led?
Now all is bullets and horrific strife.
[The DeLorean smashes a pine tree as it drives away from the farm.
PA Nay, not my precious pine! O, naughty knave—
Space bastard hideous, thou kill’dst my pine!
[Exeunt Peabodys.
MARTY Take simple breaths, McFly, all is not lost.
This must be but a dream, and nothing more—
A most intense and strange and awful dream.
Alas! What is this sign before mine eyes?
Stop, car! I must outside to see it clearly.
[Marty steps out of the car.
These pillars I have seen a thousand times
As I unto my neighborhood arriv’d.
My parents’ home in this development
Doth stand and always hath—Estates of Lyon.
Two matching lions lie upon the blocks,
Like monarchs of the forest keeping watch.
Yet now, beyond those pillars, nothing is—
No streets, no homes, no neighborhood of mine.
Is this some trick, some odd hallucination?
Bulldozers only, and a road of dirt,
Are all that do remain of mine own home.
Aside I see another sign, which may
Provide some context to mine aching mind.
“Live in tomorrow’s home today,” it sayeth.
Enter two SENIOR CITIZENS in a car.
Good gentles, can you help me? Please, I beg.
OLD LADY Nay, do not stop, sweet Wilbur, drive thou on—
This stranger, strangely clad, shall be our end!
[Exeunt senior citizens.
MARTY That car was classic, from another time.
Not from my era, nay, but older far.
This cannot be, ’tis madness, pure and simple.
[Marty tries to start the DeLorean, and it stalls.
Now doth the car e’en fail me—O, perfection:
A perfect muddle into which I’ve fallen.
What beeping’s here? A sensor doth report
The car is missing its plutonium.
Of course, for if ’tis all as I suspect,
The rare plutonium hath been us’d up
As I did make a backward jump in time.
Then I must be in nineteen fifty-five,
However doubtful such a truth may be.
I’ll push the car behind this billboard large,
That none may find the thing and pilfer it.
This sign upon the road doth say Hill Valley
Is but a two-mile walk away from here.
Howe’er unlikely this scenario,
Though time would trap me, I’ll not have it so.
[Exit.
SCENE 2
In the town of Hill Valley.
Enter various RESIDENTS OF HILL VALLEY. A car passes by with RED THOMAS’s image upon it. An announcer on the RADIO can be heard from within the car.
RADIO [in car:] Elect again our baron, good Red Thomas,
For truly, progress is his middle name.
His progress platform meaneth more employment,
Improvèd education for the young,
Improvements civic, and reduc’d taxation.
I bid thee, when election day doth come,
Cast your votes for a trusted, proven leader!
The car leaves. Enter MARTY MCFLY from the same direction.
MARTY [aside:] What sights I’ve seen since I did here arrive—
This is Hill Valley, town where I reside,
And yet undoubtedly ’tis chang’d as well.
The music I hear playing is no song
Of modern times, but something from the past.
The tale of Mister Sandman and how he
Assisteth in the work of bringing dreams:
This drowsy Cupid—Eros, by the Greeks—
Doth use no arrows but a sleeping draught
To lull a paramour to loving sleep.
The song enchanted thirty years ago,
Yet now it soundeth old to youthful ears.
The films our nearby theater doth screen
Are also from the bygone days of yore—
The Stanwyck/Reagan western that it shows
Doth sound to me more like a voting platform;
The Reagan that I know doth lead our nation.
The cars are classic, from another time,
The people, too, array’d as once they were
In photos of a history now past.
The service station seemeth heaven sent—
A bell dings playfully as cars approach
And men—like bees upon a fragrant flower—
Do swarm to help the customer at once.
’Tis all familiar, yea, yet unfamiliar.
A car did pass with message to convey:
To reelect the baron—one Red Thomas—
Whom I know not, of whom I’ve never heard.
Moreover, whilst I stood dumbstruck and gap’d,
The clock—the very clock which should be broken—
Began to chime as it has never done,
Not in my lifetime, nay. Its mournful tone,
Westminster, is a deep and soulful knell
That shakes me to my core. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Was one newspaper someone did discard,
Which had the current date upon its masthead:
November fifth of nineteen fifty-five.
My previous opinion I repeat:
This must be some strange dream, and nothing more.
O’er yonder is, perhaps, mine only hope:
A public telephone in a café,
Wherewith I may find Doc, who should be here,
Wherever—or whenever—I may be.
[Marty enters the café.
Enter LOU CARUTHERS and CUSTOMERS of Lou’s Café, including young GEORGE MCFLY. Enter GOLDIE WILSON aside, working.
LOU What is thy story, junior? What hast done—
Hast thou jump’d from a ship and wander’d here?
MARTY What, sir?
LOU —The life preserver thou dost wear
An ’twere a doublet, yet ’tis surely not,
For never was there doublet so absurd.
MARTY Forgive me, I would use thy phone. ’Tis all.
LOU ’Tis in the back.
MARTY —My thanks, kind sir, for this.
[Marty walks to the phone and searches the phone book for Doc Brown.
A phone book, ah! Familiar tome, indeed.
At least this trusty, critical device
Shall ne’er be out of fashion in the future!
Ah, Brown, so many people have the name—
As if the rainbow had been melted down
And smelted, leaving only that dark hue
To represent the spectrum. Here it is!
One Emmett Brown, a scientist, who doth
Reside at sixteen forty Riv’rside Drive.
Hurrah that thou art here and art a
live!
I call, but only ringing do I hear,
An endless ringing mocking all my hopes.
Alack! I’ll take this page with his address,
To find him with my feet, if nothing else.
[To Lou:] Know’st thou where sixteen forty Riverside—
LOU Shalt thou some morsel order, wayward lad?
MARTY Indeed. Give me a Tab.
LOU —A tab thou’lt have
Once thou dost place thine order. Know’st thou not
How this doth work in modern times as these?
MARTY A Pepsi Free, then, prithee, shall be mine.
LOU No Pepsi free! Thou must pay for thy drink.
MARTY [aside:] The man doth turn my words in baffling circles
As if they were a top and he the spinner.
[To Lou:] Give me some drink that hath no sugar, yea?
’Tis all I ask of thee.
[Marty sits next to George but does not notice him.
LOU —Aught lacking sugar.
Thou art a puzzling and a naughty lad.
I’ll give thee coffee black, with sugar none.
Enter young BIFF TANNEN with SKINHEAD, 3-D, and MATCH.
BIFF Thou imp, McFly! What art thou at herein?
[Both Marty and George turn their heads toward Biff.
MARTY [quietly:] Biff Tannen, by my troth, yet young and strong.
BIFF [to George:] I speak to thee, McFly, thou Irish pest.
GEORGE Holla there, Biff, and sirrahs all, hello!
[Marty gawks at George.
BIFF Hast thou my homework finish’d yet, McFly?
GEORGE In truth, it is not yet completed, Biff.
Because it is not due until far later—
[Biff grabs George and begins knocking on his head.
BIFF I’ll bash thee on thy pate, an thou so speakest!
Are brains herein, that I must knock and see?
Use thou thy mind and with it think, McFly—
I must have time enow to write the words
In mine own hand, as if the work were mine.
Hast thou the consequence consider’d, George,
Should I submit some homework penn’d by thee,
Writ in the manner of thy shaky hand?
I would, most quickly, be sent from the school.
Thou wouldst not want that lot for Biff, wouldst thou?
Wouldst thou? Speak faster, for thy pause doth vex.
GEORGE Of course not, Biff, ’twould be a tragedy.
[Biff notices Marty staring at George.
BIFF [to Marty:] Upon what lookest thou, thou arse-like pate?
SKINHEAD Behold his life preserver, Biff—ha, ha!
This knave, this rogue, this dork thinks he shall drown.
GEORGE Ha! [Aside:] If I laugh, belike they’ll let me be.
BIFF About the homework I require, McFly.
GEORGE Forsooth, Biff, I shall finish it tonight.
Deliv’ring it to thee upon the morrow.
Shall this suffice?
BIFF —It shall, but not too early—
My wont on Sundays is to slumber late.
O—look below, McFly, thy shoe’s untied.
[George looks down and Biff slaps him.
Thou art too gullible by thrice, McFly.
Now, as I leave, hear thou these final words:
I would not see thy face herein again.
GEORGE Biff, what a wondrous person. Ta, farewell!
[Exeunt Biff, Skinhead, 3-D, and Match. George continues eating while Marty stares.
MARTY [aside:] Amazing sight—my father—O, ’tis he!
GEORGE What is it? For thy stares are like two knives,
Which slice the air and pierce my very visage.
MARTY By all the heavens—thou art George McFly!
GEORGE Indeed, yet who art thou that I should care?
GOLDIE [approaching:] Now wherefore shouldst thou let those naughty boys
Push thee around as though thou wert their plaything?
GEORGE They bigger are than I, and if thou seest,
They number four, whilst I am only one.
GOLDIE Stand tall and proud, my boy, have more respect
For he whom thou shouldst most respect: thyself.
Dost thou not know? If, in the present time,
Thou now allowest folk to tread on thee,
Thy life entire shall folk repeat the walk,
And thou shalt live thy whole life underfoot.
Look thou on me—think’st thou that I shall spend
My days entire within this slop house bleak?
LOU Pray watch thy tongue now, Goldie.
GOLDIE —Nay, not I!
I shall make something better of myself.
My dreams shall take me far—to night school now,
And in the future I’ll somebody be.
MARTY Indeed! ’Tis right! The man shall baron be!
GOLDIE Yea, I shall—[aside:] baron, what a pleasant thought!
[To all:] I shall be baron, ha! So shall it be,
This strangely cladded soothsayer is right.
A fine idea, which well doth please my mind.
LOU A baron with a skin of color, nay—
This is a future I’ll not live to see.
GOLDIE I bid thee, watch me closely, Sir Caruthers—
I’ve work’d on jobs with my feet and my hands
But all my work was for the other man!
Now I’ve a chance to do things for myself;
No more I’ll beat my head against the wall.
I shall be baron, the most pow’rful man
In all Hill Valley. I’ll clean up this town!
LOU ’Tis well. Begin by sweeping of the floor.
[Lou hands Goldie a mop. Exit Lou. Exit George severally.
GOLDIE It soundeth sweet: thy baron, Goldie Wilson!
Most amply would it suit my fervent goals,
The worthy heart and soul I do possess,
With needed progress for Hill Valley, too—
The town that I do love, which must yet grow.
[Exit Goldie.
MARTY Where hast my father—George McFly—escap’d?
There, there, outside the window, doth he fly
Atop his bicycle, with chiming bell!
How quickly he eludes discovery,
As if he were engag’d in some foul deed.
I’ll follow him, not let him disappear,
For gladly would I meet someone I know
In this mysterious, confusing past.
E’en someone awkward and unsure, like Father.
(And, verily, what damage could it do
To make acquaintance with a person whom
I shall, hereafter, come to know so well?)
What ho, Dad! George! Thou who dost ride the bike!
I bid thee, stop! Cease all thy pedaling!
Fie, neither ears nor heart do heed my call—
He heareth not, so I must follow on.
[Exit Marty, chasing after George.
Enter GEORGE MCFLY above, on balcony.
GEORGE With these binoculars I shall espy
A woman at her leisure, being dress’d.
Such sight doth stimulate, arouse, excite—
She is the Muse who sparks creative thought,
One of the nine who thus may move men’s hearts.
The finest of her sisters: skin like silk,
And pink like tulips at the height of spring.
Forfend me, Fate, that she turn not to siren
And dash poor George’s life upon the rocks.
I bid ye, gentles, who may see me here,
Atop this bough, where I do bow to her—
Who is the paragon of my desire—
Think not that I am proud of what I do.
He who is proud eats up himself: pride is
His glass, his trumpet, his own chronicle.
No place hath pride amid necessity,
And this sweet
sight, I tell ye verily,
Is more than necessary unto me.
Enter MARTY MCFLY.
MARTY Behold, here is the bike, and there the man!
Up in a tree and gazing on a house.
The man is nothing but a Peeping Tom,
Who could not from Godiva draw his eyes.
Instead, he did behold her nakedness
As she atop her gallant steed rode on,
And was, for this offensive act, struck blind.
Nay, George, I bid thee be thou not a Tom—
Tom George should be another’s name, not thine.
Be careful, sir, lest thou wouldst share his fate
And find thyself a punish’d, blinded man.
GEORGE Alack, I slip, I fall!
GEORGE falls from the balcony. Enter SAM BAINES, driving a car toward him.
MARTY —Nay, Father, nay!
Shall my prediction happen in a trice?
Nay, not while I have life and breath to stop’t,
As sure as I have a thought or a soul.
[Marty pushes George out of the way and is struck by the car. Exit George.
SAM Another youth hath jump’d athwart my car!
What is it with these modern, foolish boys,
E’er seeking for an automotive death?
’Tis like each doth believe he is James Dean,
Who was, of late, lost in a tragic crash.
Would ev’ry young man seek a fate like his,
That they may die as rebels sans a cause?
[Calling:] Pray, Stella, quickly come, wheree’er thou art—
Come hither, we shall take him to the house!
[Aside:] O, for a swifter, more responsive spouse.
[Exeunt.
SCENE 1
At the Baines house.
Enter young LORRAINE BAINES.
Enter MARTY MCFLY aside, in bed. It is dark.
LORRAINE In all my childhood hopes and girlish dreams,
Ne’er did I think the angels would deliver
A man unto my house, my room, my bed!
Such riches almost are too much abundance.
Yet I shall manage, for this injur’d youth
Is muscular and shapely, like a Greek,
And I, like Circe, shall give him my welcome.
MARTY [waking:] O Mother, art thou there? I hear thy voice.
LORRAINE Be still, my dear, relax. Thou hit thy head,
And hast been sleeping near enow nine hours.
MARTY A nightmare horrible was mine this night,
Wherein I was a trav’ler, back in time.
Such hideous things I saw, that with the sight
I trembling wak’d, and for a season after
Could not believe but that I was in hell,
Such terrible impression made the dream.
LORRAINE Thy dream is over; thou art safe and sound