by George Gipe
“Good idea. But what do you mean, if?”
“Things happen. I might mess up the time machine so that the lightning doesn’t work. You might not be able to get your parents together before the end of the week. By that time, maybe your head will be missing from the family portrait…”
“Oh, God…” Marty moaned.
He sat down heavily on the lumpy old sofa Doc kept in his garage. It was half-filled now with old magazines, mail, and circulars. On the top of the pile was a newspaper, dated November 7, 1955. An article on the back page leaped out at Marty. It read: LOCAL FARMER CLAIMS ‘SPACE ZOMBIE’ WRECKED HIS BARN, and below that, in smaller type: “Otis Peabody Under Observation at County Asylum.”
“Eureka!” Marty suddenly shouted, snapping his fingers.
Doc Brown’s head popped out of the DeLorean.
“You thought of something?”
“You said it! I know how to get my old man to ask Mom to that dance.”
“How?”
“I’m gonna scare the shit out of him.”
● Chapter Ten ●
George McFly went to bed early, yielding to an overall mood of depression generated by events in school and his father’s lack of enthusiasm for a college career. Although the phrase “positive thinking” was not popular as such in 1955, he had read books that promoted a variation of the same philosophy. A year earlier, he had pinned his hopes on the prewar best-seller, How to Win Friends and Influence People, had memorized whole sections of it and tried to carve out a new life based on this sunny-side-up attitude. The first time he encountered Biff Tannen had negated all his efforts. According to Dale Carnegie, the book’s author, a man cannot remain hostile to you if you show him you’re sincerely interested in him. Biff Tannen had not only remained hostile, he had rubbed a hero sandwich in George’s face after George spent nearly a quarter hour testing his new philosophy on him.
Girls proved no more malleable. Approaching them with a new positive attitude caused them to regard George McFly not only as a creep, but also as an insincere creep. Even his parents avoided George during the time he was under the sway of Mr. Carnegie, instinctively distrusting his strangely outgoing disposition.
And so George had retreated into himself again. “The hell with it,” he said. “Let those who like me like me for what I am.” It sounded good to say this, except that he couldn’t say for sure who it was that liked him.
Retiring to his room at nine o’clock, he had written several more pages of his earth invasion story, fooled with his homework for an hour or so and then turned out the light. He did not fall asleep easily, but by one o’clock had drifted into a semiconscious state that led, a half hour later, to deep slumber.
He did not see the large form move to the side of his bed, nor did he feel the featherweight headphones being placed on his ears by the gloved hands. The same hands inserted a cassette tape into the Walkman tape player, a cassette labeled VAN HALEN. The dial of the Walkman was moved to “10” and the “play” button pushed.
George passed from peaceful sleep to a state of pulse-pounding agitation in less than a second. What was that sound? It was the worst noise he had ever heard—the torturing of humans, perhaps, mixed with background sounds from hell. Yet it had a terrifying throb that elevated it from the realm of noise to semi-intelligent creation. But it was the creation of mad people, the synchronized babble of idiots screaming, lemming-like, at the top of their lungs. What was going on? Had he died and was now approaching the gates of hell?
Then, suddenly, the sound was gone.
“Silence, earthling!” a voice intoned.
George, who was sufficiently frightened to be incapable of any sound, could only stare at the creature near the foot of his bed. It was yellow, featureless, with only a square mouth through which it spoke to him in an eerie filtered voice.
He had no doubt it was a creature from another planet.
“Who…” George managed to squeak.
“My name is Darth Vader,” the being intoned. “I am an extraterrestrial from the planet Vulcan.”
George shook his head. “I must…be…dreaming…” he stammered.
“This is no dream!” the alien shot back. “You are having a close encounter of the third kind. You have taken one step beyond into the outer limits of the twilight zone.”
“No…”
“Silence! I have instructions for you.”
“I…don’t want…instructions…” George moaned. “Mom…Dad…”
The creature reached into his belt and withdrew something that looked extremely lethal. It was made of one solid piece of hard shiny material with a round hole, about two inches in diameter at the end. From a distance of six feet, George could plainly hear its low hum and feel heat radiating from its nozzle.
“Don’t speak or get out of bed!” the alien ordered. “My heat ray will vaporize you if you do not obey me!” George raised his hands above his head.
“All right,” he whined. “I surrender.”
A strange beeping sound came from the alien. Lowering the heat ray, the creature lifted its right arm to listen to the sounds.
“What’s—” George began.
“Silence! I am receiving a transmission from the Battlestar Galactica!”
After emitting several more beeps, the object on the alien’s arm lapsed into silence.
“You, George McFly, have created a rift in the spacetime continuum—” the creature said.
“I’m sorry,” George whispered. “I’ll repair any damage I did—”
“I said, silence! The Supreme Klingon hereby commands you to take the female earth person called ‘Baines, Lorraine’ to the—”
“You mean Lorraine Baines?”
“Of course, earthling! You are hereby ordered to take this Baines female person to the location known as Hill Valley High School exactly four earth cycles from now—”
“Earth cycles?”
“Days, stupid!”
“That’s Saturday. School’s closed on Saturday.”
“There is an event at school Saturday!”
“Oh, you mean the dance?”
“Exactly!”
“I’m ordered to take Lorraine to the dance?”
“Affirmative!”
“Does she know about this?”
“No. It is not necessary.”
“But I don’t know if I’ll be able to—”
The creature made a movement with his hands, causing the avalanche of sound to start again in George’s ears. He screamed.
“Stop! Please stop it!” The noise was stopped.
“You must not protest our decisions or you will be made to hear the brain-paralyzing sound all the time,” the alien threatened. “It will melt your brain.”
“No,” George moaned. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I don’t know how to approach Lorraine.”
“You will know at the time. We will give you the necessary confidence.”
“You will?”
“Yes.”
“You mean I’ll be able to do magic?” George asked, brightening.
“No. Our power will be behind you, to guide you. That is all, but it will make a difference.”
“Thanks. I’m sure I can do it with your help.”
“Very good, earthling,” the creature said. “You will close your eyes now and sleep. When you awaken, you will tell no one of this visit.”
“O.K.,” George murmured.
He closed his eyes, lay back against the pillow. The creature moved closer to him, reached out to hold something under his nose. In less than a minute, young George McFly was snoring like a truck driver. Gently removing the featherweight earphones from his head, the alien figure walked to the window, paused to take a long look back at the sleeping figure, then disappeared into the night.
Doc Brown, waiting in his Packard convertible near the McFly house, opened the door as Marty approached and helped him into the car. The hood of the radiation suit was down and Marty was smiling.
/>
“I guess it went all right,” Doc Brown said, starting the engine and pulling away.
“Yeah. It was great. He swallowed everything like a ton of bricks.”
“You mix metaphors beautifully, my friend. How did the chloroform work?”
“Fine. He’s out like a light.”
“Good. I’ve had it a while. I don’t know whether chloroform gets weaker or stronger the longer it’s kept.”
“Well, it did the job,” Marty smiled. “Let’s hope he remembers everything when he wakes up.”
“That’s our only danger,” Doc Brown nodded. “Sometimes things which are vivid and frightening at night lose their strength when the sun comes up. Your father-to-be, I’m afraid, is the perfect candidate for doing a mental flip-flop.”
“God,” Marty said. “You mean after all that trouble he’s liable to chicken out?”
“Even with supernatural or extraterrestrial help, some people screw up. My knowledge of human psychology tells me that with George McFly it will be touch-and-go all the way.”
Marty sighed.
Nearly twelve hours later, he was still sighing—and alternately cursing George. Marty got to school bright and early, despite his loss of sleep from the night before, but George McFly was nowhere to be seen. Unfortunately, Marty had no copy of his schedule, so he was forced to waste a great deal of time looking into classrooms before he found out that George hadn’t shown up at all. By that time, it was midday and Marty hoped he would show up for afternoon classes. Part of him—the more sanguine part—reasoned that George had spent the morning planning strategy for his meeting with Lorraine; another part of him knew that George had just plain chickened out. He was presently surprised to discover that both parts of him had been mistaken.
School was over and Marty was loitering around the town square when he suddenly spotted George running toward him. He looked even more disheveled than usual and his eyes were wild and a little glassy.
“George!” Marty cried. “Are you all right?”
George stopped, nodded.
“You weren’t at school. Where’ve you been all day?”
“I just woke up. I overslept.”
Marty’s jaw dropped. Had the chloroform been that powerful? If so, was there a possibility he could have killed George? The thought sent a shiver of terror racing through his system.
“What time did you go to bed last night?” he asked, forcing his voice to sound calm.
“About ten or eleven o’clock,” George said. “I don’t know what happened. My folks slept a little late, so when they got up, they assumed I’d already left. I had some strange dreams. Maybe that did it.”
“What kind of dreams?”
“Never mind. Just fantastic stuff.”
It would not do to have George dismiss the careful scenario he had executed as “fantastic stuff,” of course. The wimp’s talking himself out of it already, Marty thought, but even as he began to despair, a new plan of action crossed his mind.
“By the way,” he said, “did you happen to see the flying saucer last night?”
“What?” George cried, his eyes wide.
“It was about one o’clock,” Marty continued. “After everybody was in bed. I guess that’s why there wasn’t much talk about it at school. Although a dozen kids did see it. They all agreed it was in your neighborhood.”
“Really?”
Marty nodded. “Nothing much happened. The saucer just hovered in the air over one house for about ten minutes and then took off like a shot. I guess maybe a space man had to go to the bathroom.”
“Holy cow…” George whispered.
“Too bad you weren’t awake,” Marty said. “You could have gotten some great material for those science fiction stories you write.”
George nodded. A glint of energy seemed to come into his eyes.
“Look, you’ve gotta help me,” he said suddenly. “I want to ask Lorraine out, but I don’t know how to do it.”
“All right,” Marty nodded. “She’s over there in the soda shop.”
As they turned and headed toward the local teen hangout, two kids on homemade scooters—roller skates nailed to a two-by-four with an orange crate on top—rattled past them. Marty smiled at the crude prototypes of the sleeker and speedier skateboards that would come later.
“There she is…” he said a moment later.
Lorraine, seated with girlfriends Betty and Babs, was seated in a booth sipping an ice cream soda and talking.
The moment of truth at hand, George felt his resolve beginning to slip away. Where was the help the alien had promised him? He thought it would be a lot easier than this. In fact, he was every bit as tongue-tied and nervous as before last night’s apparition assured him everything would be all right. Was it possible space people were even more sophisticated bullshitters than his fellow earthlings? If not, where was the magic phrase or surge of power that would carry him through this ordeal?
Marty sensed George’s indecisiveness. “It’s simple,” he said. “You just go in there and invite her. I promise you, she won’t throw anything at you. The worst that can happen is she’ll say no.”
“No. The worst than can happen is she throws up or laughs when I ask for the date.”
“She won’t. Believe me.”
“Maybe I’d better wait until she’s alone. You know how girls are when they’re together.”
“George,” Marty said softly. “There are only a few days until the dance. Lorraine will probably be snapped up by tomorrow morning. This may be your last chance.”
The threat had its effect. George swallowed, nodded slowly, and took several steps toward the entrance of the store. “What should I say to her?” he asked.
“Say whatever feels natural, whatever comes to your mind.”
George took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Nothing’s coming to my mind,” he said.
“Christ, it’s a miracle I was even born,” Marty muttered acidly.
“Huh?”
“Nothing.”
“If I had just one clever thing to say, it would help a lot.”
“All right,” Marty replied. “Just tell her destiny has brought you to her and you think she’s the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen. Girls like to hear that—What the hell are you doing, putting me on?”
George had taken a pencil and pad from his pocket and was meticulously writing down Marty’s words.
“Yeah,” he nodded. “I’m putting it down. I mean, this is good stuff.”
“Well, don’t recite it like a speech, for God’s sake,” Marty cautioned. “At least memorize it.”
George nodded briskly, looked the words over, his lips moving softly. “O.K.,” he said finally.
“Good. Relax. Just go and ask her. It’ll all be over in a minute. Unless she invites you to spend tonight at her house.”
George blushed. “No chance of that,” he smiled.
A moment later, he was in the store. He took nearly a dozen steps directly toward Lorraine, then suddenly veered off to the counter. The counterman appeared, waiting for his order.
“Gimme a milk,” George said. “Chocolate.”
He hoped it would take a long time, but the milk arrived with disappointing speed. He took a slurp to fortify himself, then literally hurled himself toward the booth where the three girls sat.
“Uh, Lorraine,” he began in a rapid, strident voice. “My density has brought me to you.”
Lorraine looked up, heard the words almost before she realized who had delivered them. She recognized the young man whom she’d been introduced to yesterday by Marty.
He looked approximately the same, except that now he was wearing a brown mustache of chocolate milk. She did her best not to giggle.
“I beg your pardon?” she managed to say with feminine dignity.
“Oh,” George muttered. “What I mean to say id—”
“Id?”
“Is…”
His mind a blank, George reached in
to his pocket for the notepad.
Lorraine filled the conversational void. “Haven’t I seen you somewhere?” she asked.
George smiled broadly. So far, she had neither thrown up nor laughed and he was optimistic. If he could just remember those words!
“Yes,” he replied. “I’m George. George McFly. I’m your density. I mean, destiny.”
Now Lorraine did giggle. Babs and Betty joined her. But to George, the sound wasn’t as demoralizing as he thought it would be. The errant notion even crossed his mind that they might think his goofing up was part of his normal routine, that he actually intended to amuse them. Their laughter was, after all, relatively noncommittal. Those seated in nearby booths probably thought he had said something quite amusing to the girls and admired him for it. For the first time since he had awakened in a cold sweat an hour earlier, George actually believed he had the help promised by the creature who had appeared to him last night either in a dream or in the extraterrestrial flesh. A surge of confidence took hold of him. Say it, his mind urged. Just tell her you want to take her to the dance and it’ll all be over in a second.
“Lorraine,” he began, the word emerging with a tonal strength that surprised even George. “I want—”
“McFly, I thought I told you never to come in here!” a familiar voice bellowed, interrupting George’s speech as effectively as someone yelling “Fire.”
Biff Tannen and his henchmen were at the door, leering at George, their hands on their hips. Slowly, deliberately, like gunfighters taking over a small Western town, they strode into the store toward George McFly.
Marty had seen them arrive just at the worst possible time—when George actually seemed on the verge of popping the question to Lorraine. “Damn!” he muttered.
He then did the only thing he could—walked in behind them so that he could help if necessary.
George, his resolute and happy expression melting into his usual mask of misery, stared slack-jawed at the approaching Biff.
“Well, your showing up here after I told you to stay out is gonna cost you, McFly,” Biff grated, making no attempt to keep his voice down. “How much money you got on you?”
It was blatant bullying and outright extortion but no one in the soda shop made a move to come to George’s assistance. After a long moment, he reached into his pocket and withdrew his wallet.