by Ian Doescher
Thou shalt be bound unto this present time,
Canst never leave as long as thou shalt live.
MARTY Canst never leave—O, speak thou not these words!
I must return, and not be here confin’d.
A life I have in nineteen eighty-five.
Moreover, there’s my lass, my Jennifer,
Who, like the loyal, true Penelope,
Will be there waiting for me.
DOC —Is she fair?
MARTY Her beauty is beyond compare to me
And, whether ’tis by luck or miracle,
She loveth me with whole and eager heart.
Look thou upon this note that she hath writ,
Wherein she doth proclaim her love for me.
This simple paper verifies my claims.
DOC Incomprehensible this matter is.
MARTY Pray, say not so: thou art mine only hope.
DOC I’m sorry, Marty, but the only source
That can such massive electricity
Produce—to reach the pow’rful magnitude,
E’en one point twenty-one in gigawatts—
Of which I know—is from a lightning bolt.
MARTY What hast thou said? Again?
DOC —A lightning bolt.
Unfortunately, ’tis impossible,
Unless thou can communicate with Zeus,
Ask him to lend to thee his flaming rods,
And have the gods look kindly on thy quest.
The matter hopeless is! For none do know
The when or where a lightning bolt shall strike.
MARTY None save one who hath from the future come!
We knoweth well, behold this pamphlet here,
Which ’pon the back my Jennifer did write.
[Marty hands the pamphlet to Doc.
DOC Our town’s clock tower, struck by lightning, eh?
And ’twill be soon—the time doth come apace.
Thou hast the answer, Marty, this is it!
This pamphlet doth report a lightning bolt
Shall strike the large clock tower on the stroke
Of ten oh four at night on Saturday—
This coming Saturday, by happenstance!
If we, mayhap, can harness all the pow’r
That cometh from the lightning’s mighty bolt,
Direct it to the flux capacitor,
And do so at the perfect instant, too,
Belike the plan shall work, and send thee home.
Upon the night of Saturday the next,
We’ll send thee back to the future, forsooth!
MARTY A-ha! ’Tis well, and Saturday sufficeth!
A fortnight’s half in nineteen fifty-five
Shall be like a vacation for my soul.
Thou canst show me Hill Valley of the past,
I’ll hang about and lunch at Lou’s Café.
DOC Nay, Marty, nay, this must not—cannot—be.
There is no question of thy living life
An ’twere a holiday that thou enjoy’st.
Thou must remain herein, within this house,
And neither see nor talk with anyone.
Aught thou shalt do—the smallest action ta’en—
May lead to repercussions serious.
’Tis like the fable thou hast surely heard:
Recall the one who travell’d back in time,
And did no more than crush a butterfly—
Yet when he did return unto his time,
All had been chang’d by his most careless act,
His future was unwittingly transform’d.
Time builds on time as if ’twere dominos—
When one doth fall, the others fall thereafter,
The sequence vital. When ’tis modified,
The future is unrecognizable.
Say, dost thou comprehend these crucial words?
MARTY [aside:] Alas, methinks Doc’s warning is too late.
[To Doc:] Indeed, ’tis plain. My thanks for thy concern.
DOC O Marty, hast thou interaction had
With anybody else, besides myself?
MARTY ’Tis possible my parents I have seen,
Perhaps some unexpected scenes withal.
DOC Great Scott! I prithee, let me see again
The photograph of thou and siblings two.
[Marty hands Doc the photograph.
’Tis as I fear’d—my theory hath been prov’n.
Behold thy brother, headless like the horseman.
MARTY Completely gone, like it had been eras’d.
DOC Not simply from the photograph gone hence—
Deleted utterly, from all existence.
Young Marty, in thy brief encounters here
Thou hast fall’n in a situation grave.
Whate’er hath happen’d shall we two negate—
Thine actions we’ll undo or be undone.
Thou, somehow, hast unspun the knit of Fate,
And sewn new patterns that shall work thee woe.
Already dost the thread work on thy brother;
More like a noose unto his missing head.
Upon the morrow, let our work begin;
Ne’er hath a challenge made Doc Brown afeard.
We shall unto the school, where we two shall
Retie this knot betwixt thy mom and dad.
Thy future time, therefore, thou mayst still claim—
Familiar, unaffected, still the same.
[Exeunt.
SCENE 3
At Hill Valley High School.
Enter MARTY MCFLY and DOC BROWN.
MARTY The school doth look so tidy, fresh, and new,
As though a dignitary were expected.
DOC Remember, if my theory is correct,
Thou hast, by chance, in some way interfer’d
At the first meeting of thy parents two.
If they meet not, they shall not fall in love,
If they fall not in love, they shall not marry,
If they do marry not, they’ll have no offspring,
And if they have no offspring, Marty, then
I fear for thee—what may on thee befall.
Methinks ’tis why thine older brother Dave
Is disappearing from the photograph.
Thine older sister follows him in time;
Unless thou canst repair the damage done,
’Twill be thy fate as well, to disappear.
MARTY So heavy is this matter, by my troth.
DOC Nay, Marty, weight hath naught to do withal.
Enter GEORGE MCFLY and other HIGH SCHOOL STUDENTS. Enter LORRAINE BAINES aside, with her FRIENDS.
The students come! Which pupil is thy father?
MARTY Just there, assaulted by a band of boys.
[Some boys kick George as he walks down the hall with a KICK ME sign upon his back.
GEORGE Enow, enow, ha ha, your jests are o’er.
Ye are so funny and mature as well.
MARTY [aside:] How it doth pain me, seeing Father thus.
Some brute hath written “kick me” on a sign,
Affix’d it to my father’s waiting back,
And now the cowards render him his due.
O Father, was it ever thus for thee?
DOC Mayhap thou wert adopted, possibly?
GEORGE [to the boys:] A jest indeed, and full of wit and mirth.
Your nasty kicks hath made me drop my books.
Which one of ye shall pick them up?
[Exeunt boys.
Enter SIR STRICKLAND.
STRICK. —McFly!
MARTY By Jove, Sir Strickland! Thirty years unchang’d—
Hath this mean man ne’er had a wisp of hair?
Belike his constant baldness turn’d him sour!
STRICK. Take care, McFly, and shipshape make thyself—
Thou art a slacker and a laggard, too.
Wouldst thou be thus abus’d thy life entire?
GEORGE Nay.
[Exit Sir Strickland
in disgust.
DOC —Wherefore did thy mother give him notice?
How lookèd she with favor on this imp?
MARTY I know not, Doc. She says she pitied him
Because her father struck him with their car.
Aye, there’s the rub—he struck not George, but me.
DOC ’Tis known in scientific circles as
The Florence Nightingale effect, indeed:
To fall in love with one for whom one helps.
It happens also in our hospitals,
When nurses with their patients are enamor’d.
Now to thy work, good lad, undoing that
Which thou mistakenly hast done before.
[Marty approaches George and helps him pick up his books.
MARTY George, friend and comrade mine, how hast thou been?
I nearly ev’rywhere have search’d for thee.
Dost thou remember me, the person who
Hath rescued thee from harm not long ago?
GEORGE Indeed.
MARTY —Good! There is someone thou shouldst meet.
[Marty guides George over to Lorraine and her friends.
Lorraine, hello!
LORRAINE —O, Calvin! Thou art here.
Thou whom I fear’d I’d never see again.
MARTY Pray, let me introduce thee to my friend—
A lad of some renown, and handsome, too,
A lord to a lord, a man to a man,
Stuff’d with all honorable virtues, yea,
A person excellent—’tis George McFly.
GEORGE The pleasure of the meeting is mine own.
LORRAINE [to Marty, ignoring George:] How is thy precious, pitiable pate?
[Exit George in dismay.
MARTY ’Tis fine, ’tis well.
LORRAINE —So worried have I been,
Since thou did wander hence the other night.
Pray tell me, art thou well? For if thou’rt not,
I shall be sadder than the day is long.
MARTY Be not afraid, for I am well, indeed.
[The school bell rings.
LORRAINE Alas, I’m bound to fly to my next class.
I must see thee again. [To her friends:] See what I said?
Is he not captain of a mighty ship?
The pilot of a dreamboat in th’extreme!
[Exeunt all but Marty and Doc.
MARTY How shall I play these cards, Doc, for the girl
Hath hardly look’d in his direction. See?
DOC The situation’s worse than I had thought—
The odds are stack’d against our weaker hand.
Apparently, this queen would take the jack,
Instead of the true king who suits her best.
Thy mother is infatuated with
Her son—e’en thee!—as if we were the Greeks,
And you an Oedipus to her Jocasta.
MARTY What? Wait one moment, Doc. What didst thou say?
Dost say my mother burneth hot for me?
DOC Precisely thus.
MARTY —’Tis heavy, by my troth.
DOC There is the word, which thou dost use again:
’Tis heavy, all is heavy unto thee.
Why hath the future so much heaviness?
Hath aught disrupted something in the Earth,
Affecting its own pull of gravity?
MARTY What? Is it ever only science with thee?
DOC The only way those Homo sapiens
Shall be convinc’d to mate with one another,
Is to get them together, by themselves.
Thy mother and thy father, therefore, must
Have interaction in a social space—
MARTY A date, in layman’s terms? Such dost thou mean?
DOC Forsooth!
MARTY —Yet I have no idea, for what
Do children of the nineteen fifties do?
DOC They are thy parents—or shall one day be—
Thou must know aught about their pref’rences.
What are their common interests and likes?
How do they pass their many hours together?
MARTYˋ Naught that doth come to mind.
[Doc notices a sign on the wall.
DOC —Behold this sign!
A rhythmic ceremon’al ritual
Approacheth, on our vital Saturday.
MARTY Th’Enchantment ’Neath the Sea dance, Doc, of course!
The memory comes swiftly to my mind—
It is their fate together to attend,
Wherein the lovers shall their first kiss share.
DOC The plan is seal’d, the wheels are set in motion.
Stick to thy father an ’twere glue to wood.
No more shall we be led by happenstance—
Make certain that he takes her to the dance!
[Exeunt.
SCENE 4
In the Hill Valley High School cafeteria.
Enter GEORGE MCFLY, seated alone at a table. Enter other STUDENTS including LORRAINE BAINES aside, with her FRIENDS.
GEORGE Alone, as usual—another lunch
With only pen and paper at my side,
Mine only friends with which to spend my time.
I shall immerse myself in other worlds,
Attempt to be like those who go before—
Ray Bradbury, the author of my heart,
Whose books do burn like fire within my hands.
Or Isaac Asimov, who pictures what
A future most robotic shall be like.
There’s Robert Heinlein, taking us away
To other worlds where aliens await.
I follow in their footsteps carefully,
My footprints paling by comparison.
Yet I must write. If I say I shall not,
The words are in my heart an ’twere a fire,
A vast inferno shut up in my bones.
I weary of the holding it inside;
Indeed, I cannot—I am doom’d to write.
Enter MARTY MCFLY.
MARTY George, friend. Dost thou recall the lass Lorraine,
Whom I did introduce to thee of late?
GEORGE [aside:] The lady is not soon forgotten, nay.
MARTY What dost thou write?
GEORGE —’Tis stories, fables, myths.
A science-fiction tale of visitors
Who come to Earth from other brave new worlds.
MARTY [aside:] My father, he the author? History
Containeth more surprises than methought.
[To George:] ’Tis true? Thou speakest verily, my friend?
I did not know thou wert a writer, George,
Or had a shred of creativity.
Wouldst let me read?
GEORGE —Nay, ne’er. Apologies,
It is my wont to never share my tales.
MARTY Yet wherefore not? Why shouldst thou hide thy gift?
GEORGE If I should let a reader see my tale—
My secret visions and my fantasies—
Pretending it is worthy of their time
Or that they might enjoy the world I build,
Such venture would be dangerous, indeed.
To write or to create is to be brave,
Each work of art an act of courage, too;
Releasing it to critics is too far.
Say that, on reading it, they said, “A-ha!
You are no writer, nay, you are a fraud!
No publisher will ever look on this,
Declare it finely writ, and print the drivel.
Relinquish all thy dreams, you worthless rogue,
Or you shall surely be a laughingstock!”
Methinks the harsh rejection would destroy me,
Eviscerated by opinion’s blade.
MARTY [aside:] His writing and my music are the same—
The art for which we suffer, fear, and doubt.
[To George:] Yet George, what of Lorraine? She liketh thee,
And told me I should tell thee to ask her
To take her to th’Enchantment ’Neath the Sea.
GEORGE Yea, verily?
MARTY —I would not lie to thee.
’Tis simple—thither go and ask the lass.
GEORGE E’en here? Within the cafeteria?
What if she answer’d nay? What then befalls?
I could not take such sharp humiliation.
Enter BIFF TANNEN, with SKINHEAD, 3-D, and MATCH, crossing to LORRAINE.
Besides, another reason fills mine eyes;
Belike she’d gladly go with someone else.
MARTY Whom dost thou mean?
GEORGE —E’en Biff, ’tis plain. Behold.
BIFF [to Lorraine:] Be not so timid, lass. Thou likest me,
And wantest Biff to give himself to thee.
LORRAINE Thy mouth be shut! I am not thus inclin’d.
[She slaps him.
BIFF Belike thou art, but dost not know it yet.
LORRAINE Thy filthy hands, like claws, remove from me!
[Marty approaches then and grabs Biff.
MARTY An thou hast ears—as thou most plainly dost—
Thou must have heard the lass. Take heed, or else—
She said thy filthy hands remove from her!
[Aside:] Now that he stands, how large he looms o’er me!
BIFF What is it unto thee, thou arse-like pate?
Thou hast been begging for some fisticuffs
Since first we met. Now shalt thou get thy wish.
They nearly fight. Enter SIR STRICKLAND.
STRICK. I have no need to raise my voice to make
My presence heard. ’Tis good to be the king.
BIFF [aside, to Marty:] I shall—because thou to our school art new—
Grant thee, this once, a merciful reprieve.
Now make thou like a tree, and thither flee.
[Exeunt all save Marty and George.
MARTY George, hear me, please.
GEORGE —Why dost thou follow me?
MARTY Pray, listen, George, and hear my truth again:
If thou ask’st not Lorraine unto the dance,
I shall regret thy failure all my days.
GEORGE Nay, all occasions do inform against me
And tell me I may not this dance attend.
For if I do, I’ll miss my fav’rite show,
E’en Science Fiction Theatre. Dost hear?
MARTY Yet, George, Lorraine desires to go with thee.
Show her some pity, else thou break’st her heart.
GEORGE Thou dost not heed my words in anywise:
I’m not prepar’d to ask Lorraine to go
To the Enchantment ’Neath the Sea dance, nay,
And neither thou nor any on this planet
Could change my mind. ’Tis fix’d. ’Tis settl’d. Nay.
[Exit George.
MARTY This conversation hath not gone my way,