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© 2001-2022
GrandmasterA

 

MARTY

Radiation level, 10 rads.

Marty said looking at the meter, holding the microphone in the recorder up to his mouth as he spoke.

MARTY

Stabilization coefficient, .43. 16 rads coefficient .44. 37 rads, .46.

N.R.C. AGENT REESE

Everybody freeze! N.R.C.!

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

Get back!

Professor Brown cried, waving his left hand. The other one was still holding onto the rope.

N.R.C. AGENT FOLEY

Jesus Christ! (seeing the machine the Professor was standing beside) It's a Goddamn reactor!

Reese pointed his gun at Professor Brown.

N.R.C. AGENT REESE

You! Shut it down! Now!

 Marty stared at the whole scene, mouth hanging open. He felt strangely detached from it, almost as if it was a play or a scene in a movie he was watching. The microphone fell from his hand, dangling on it's cord around his feet.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

No! . Get out! I'm in the middle of an experiment!

He moved closer to the reactor, pulling the rope tighter as he did so. Foley didn't hesitate. He swung his gun at the Professor and squeezed the trigger. The loud bang echoed in the room. Shemp screeched and leaped off the stool. Marty watched, horrified, as the bullet hit his friend right in the chest. The Professor staggered back, hand still clenched around the rope. He fell backwards to the floor, the rope pulling taut as he landed.

MARTY

Professor!

Marty yelled, finally finding his voice. He whipped his head to check the meter.

MARTY

Oh my God! Release the rope! It's 4200 rads!

Reese stared at him, shaking his head. It was too noisy in the room for Marty to be heard.

N.R.C. AGENT REESE

What?!

MARTY

Pro! Release the rope!

It was so noisy he could hardly hear his own voice! Reese shook his head again. Marty started for the Professor himself. Foley turned the gun on him.

N.R.C. AGENT FOLEY

Freeze!

Marty stopped, standing right before the stool where Shemp had once been. He raised his hands, showing he didn't have anything on him. The recorder and microphone was now in his jacket pocket. He couldn't remember putting it there with all the excitement.

Marty's eyes darted over to the Professor. As he watched, the Professor's grip suddenly relaxed and the rope swung loosely in the air. Marty suddenly realized he was right in the line of the focusing lense. A bright white light shot out from it and hit him square in the chest. Marty looked down at it for a moment, a little curiously, then looked up at the people in the room. Reese and Foley stared at him, startled looks on there faces. Suddenly the whole room turned bright, blinding white, like a million cameras flashing at once. Then, less then a second later, everything was plunged into a deep, black silence.

INT. DARK STOREROOM

Professor? Marty asked, straining his eyes in the darkness, trying to see something, anything. But everything was completely and utterly black.

MARTY

Hello? (listening hard for any sound)

After a moment, Marty reached into his pocket and pulled out a matchbook. He ripped a match free and struck it against the sandpaper. Marty held it up as it lit, looking around the room. It looked like he was in some kind of storeroom. Marty took a step forward, almost running into an old broken chair. He dodged it last minute and strolled slowly around the room, trying to figure out where the hell he was. Dusty furniture and crates littered the room.

The match was starting to burn Marty's fingers and he dropped it, fumbling to light another. He walked towards the door, having the nagging feeling that something was strangely out of place. Where the hell am I? he wondered. Marty reached for the doorknob and tried turning it. Locked.

MARTY

Damn!

He looked around for a way out. Marty spotted a window and went over to it, holding his breath as he tried to slide it open. It slid and he carefully climbed outside on to a fire escape. He scrambled down the unstable structure and dropped to the alley below.

EXT. STREET

Just as his feet scraped the pavement, Marty noticed a pair of headlights approaching him, fast. He stood there for a minute, frozen in the beams, then jumped back and pressed himself against the wall of the building. The truck sped by, missing him by inches!

Marty let out a loud sigh of relief as he watched the truck drive off, then noticed the sign on the door that he was right next to. Wilson's Cafe, Rear Entrance, it said. Marty tried the door, expecting it to be locked. But the knob turned freely in his hand. Strange. For as long as he could remember the back door had been locked.

Marty stepped inside.

MARTY

Hey, since when are you open at...

He started to say, then stopped when he got a good look around. It couldn't be Wilson's Cafe!

Everything in the room looked brand new...but at the same time, old. Dick wasn't behind the counter a woman of maybe thirty was. Marty looked up at the menu and gasped.

MARTY

Since when were roast beef sandwiches 30 cents, and an ice cream sunday 15 cents?

He tore his eyes off the prices long enough to notice the people. Boy, did he notice them! All the men were in double-breasted suits, with hats. And not baseball caps, either! Marty noticed all the women were in skirts -- long skirts. Not one was in any type of pants, like jeans. And the way people had their hair done.... Those styles went out  ages ago!

A chubby five-year-old boy, dressed in pajamas, was playing on the floor with some trucks. Marty almost tripped over him as he walked slowly around, his mouth open with amazement, gazing at everything. After a moment he realized the woman behind the counter was staring at him, a suspicious look on her face. You want something, kid? she asked, leaning forward across the counter.

Marty hesitated for a moment, then sat down. He decided he needed to blend in as much as he could. The silver Porsche jacket alone that he had on was causing way too many stares.

MARTY

Uh, yeah... Gimme a Tab.

WAITRESS

What? (frowning)

MARTY

A Tab.

The waitress rolled her eyes.

WAITRESS

Kid, I can't give you the tab until you order something.

Marty tried to ignore the stares everyone was giving him and looked down at the counter. He saw the man beside him had a cup of coffee.

MARTY

Uh, coffee.

She reached over and poured him a cup.

WAITRESS

Did something happen to you, kid? I mean, you been lost in the woods or something?

Marty looked at her blankly.

MARTY

Huh? (noticing a bowl of sugar cubes on the counter) Say, have you got any Sweet 'N Low?

The waitress stared at him.

WAITRESS

Sweet and what? (suddenly lifting the coffee away from him) Maybe you'd better pay for this first.

MARTY

Sure,.

Marty said with a shrug. He reached for his wallet and took out a twenty dollar bill, holding it out to the waitress. Her eyes bugged out and her mouth dropped open.

WAITRESS

A twenty? What do you think this is, a bank? I can't break a twenty! (eyes narrowing suspiciously) Say, what's a kid your age doing with all this money?

Marty quickly stuffed the bill back in his wallet. Now everyone in the cafe was staring at him.

MARTY

Look, maybe I'd better talk to Dick. Is he around?

WAITRESS

Dick? Dick who?

MARTY

Now who's being stupid? The guy who runs this place.

WAITRESS

I run this place! (eyes once again narrow)

MARTY

What happened to Dick Wilson?

WAITRESS

Dick Wilson? Dickie Wilson? Dickie Wilson runs this place? That's a laugh!

Marty felt his face redden as everyone in the room started to laugh with the waitress.

MARTY

What are you trying to do? Freak me out, or something?

MAN WITH COFFEE

Freak?

The man beside him with the coffee asked.

MAN WITH COFFEE

Are you from some circus? Is that what all that writing on your clothes means?

MARTY

Haven't you ever heard of designer labels? (glaring at him)

He heard soft footsteps from behind the counter and saw the little five-year-old run up to the woman.

DICKIE

Mommy, I'm hungry, he whined.

The waitress smiled.

WAITRESS

Just take a candy bar, then go to bed, Dickie.

Marty did a double take.

MARTY

Dickie? That's Dick Wilson?

The waitress nodded.

WAITRESS

That's Dick Wilson.

Marty watched the kid grab a Babe Ruth off the candy counter and scamper off. He was about to turn away from the sight when he noticed a calendar behind the cash register. A calendar that had the number 1952 in big black letters.

MARTY

1952? (voice rising) This is 1952?! Holy shit! You know what this means? I've gone back in time thirty years! Thirty Goddamn years! I haven't even been born yet!

The waitress took one look at him and reached for a phone.

WAITRESS

I'm calling the cops.

Marty jumped off the stool and ran out the front door, stopping dead in the middle of the street. Everything had changed!

EXT. MONROE AVENUE

Monroe Avenue, once full of old, rotting buildings, was now a bustling, thriving business district! Cars from the '40's and '50's ran up and down the streets. People were everywhere, walking along the streets, stopping in the shops. Marty was so shocked to see what he was seeing he didn't notice the strange, suspicious looks the towspeople were flashing at him, or the drivers honking at him as they swerved to avoid hitting him.

He turned and noticed the Orpheum Theater. It, too, had changed! Boy, had it! The marquee was lit up with the words: John Wayne, Maureen O'Hara -- The Quiet Man. In Full Color! People streamed into it and from the looks of the place, it was a first class movie theater.

MARTY

Dammit!

He noticed a man walking by with a newspaper in hand. Marty ran over to him and snatched the paper away, ignoring the owner's protest as he scanned the front page for the date. March 11, 1952.

MARTY

1952! God dammit!

Marty threw the paper down on the sidewalk and ran down the street. He stopped beside an old car and checked out the license plate. Besides the fact it looked nothing like the plates he was used to, it also said --

MARTY

1952! Dammit!

Marty ran off again, noticing a phone booth. It was empty, so he stopped.

INT. PHONE BOOTH

Marty went inside and grabbed the phone book. He frantically riffled through the pages, to the listings of Browns. After a minute, he located it and ran his finger down the column to: Brown, Emmett L., 788 W. Spruce. Madison 3489. Marty pulled the Bic pen out from his pocket and circled the line. Then he reached into his pocket again and pulled out all the change he had. One nickel and three pennies.

MARTY

Dammit!

Marty picked up the receiver anyway and dialed zero.

OPERATOR

Operator...

MARTY

Operator! Listen, this is an emergency! I have to make this call, but I don't have a dime -- all I got is a nickel -- but you gotta connect me --

OPERATOR

Sir, it only costs a nickel.

MARTY

What?

OPERATOR

Local calls cost five cents. What number do you want?

Marty looked up and saw the words, Local Calls 5 Cents written in plain sight on the telephone.

MARTY

Oh -- right! Uh, Madison 3489.

OPERATOR

Five cents, please.

Marty placed the nickel inside the coin slot and listened as the number ran several times.

OPERATOR

I'm sorry, there's no answer.

MARTY

Operator, what's today's date?

OPERATOR

March 11th.

MARTY

What year?

OPERATOR

Nineteen fifty --

Marty shook his head.

MARTY

Dammit!

He slammed the receiver down and ripped the page out of the phone book, stuffing it in his pocket. Then he got out of the phone booth and ran down the street.

EXT. McFLY/BAINES HOUSE

Marty didn't know how long he had been running before he found himself on a residential street. It looked vaguely familiar, but he was too exhausted by the recent events to figure out why. He leaned against a mailbox, trying to catch his breath, when he happened to look down at the numbers on it. 777. Marty spun around and stared at the house.

MARTY

My house!

It looked like his house. It was! But there were some weird things, like the trees not being as tall, different curtains, and a old Chevy in the driveway. Marty watched as the front door opened and a woman pushed the screen door open to let out a dog. Marty gasped. The woman was his mother!

MARTY

Mom!

Marty raced to the front door. She didn't notice him and shut the door. Marty ran up the steps and pounded on the front door.

MARTY

Mom! Open up! It's me!

After a few seconds the door opened and his mom stood in the doorway. She stared at Marty without a shred of recognition.

MARTY

Mom, thank God! Thank God you're here!

His mother stared at him blankly.

MOM

I bed your pardon, young man?

MARTY

Mom! It's me! Marty! Don't you know your own son!

Mom started to close the door, her expression uneasy.

MOM

I think you have the wrong house.

Marty shook his head frantically.

MARTY

No -- no -- it's not! (panting) It's not!

 A man smoking a pipe approached Marty's mother from behind.

MR. BAINES

Who's there, Stella?

MARTY

Stella!? No! Don't tell me you're Stella! Tell me you're Eileen! Please tell me you're Eileen!

In the background, Marty saw a teenage girl come down the staircase. She heard the last part of the conversation and went over to the door, pushing her way past the woman.

EILEEN

I'm Eileen.

He stared into her hazel eyes.

MARTY

How old are you?

EILEEN

(smiles) Seventeen.

Marty stared at her for a moment more, breathing hard, before his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped to the ground in a dead faint!

INT. BAINES HOUSE

Marty smelled something funny. He made a face and turned his head, but the smell followed him. He slowly opened his eyes and looked up into the face of someone he knew. It looked a lot like him, only he didn't look as old. Then Marty remembered -- he was in 1952!

MARTY

Professor? Professor Brown? 

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

(whispers covertly) You know me?

The Professor removed the smelling salts from under Marty's nose now that he was awake. It was only then Marty realized he was stretched out on a couch in a living room that looked an awful lot like his own.

MARTY

Professor, you time machine works! It works! It sent me back in time! I'm from 1982!

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

Ssshhhhh!

Professor Brown said, holding up his hand. His expression was both thoughtful and suspicious. Marty heard footsteps and turned his head to see his grandfather, grandmother, and mother, all looking thirty years younger, edging closer to the couch to get a look at him.

MR. BAINES

Is he all right?

The Professor straightened up.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

He will be. Simple inebriation, is all. The young man must have a rather low tolerance for alcohol... something that runs in the family. You see, he's a second cousin of mine on my mother's side. Came quite a distance to visit me, he added. His name's Lewis.

MARTY

Marty.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

Uh, Marty Lewis! I almost didn't recognize him -- haven't seen him in years.

Eileen stared at Marty and he looked back at her, fascinated that this young teenager was -- would be -- his mother! She looked so different... attractive, even!

STELLA

It's a good thing he had your name circled in the phone book. I would have called the police.

Professor Brown leaned over and helped Marty sit up.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

Well, Mrs. Baines, Mr. Baines, thank you for your trouble. Both Marty and I apologize for the inconvenience. We'll get him home and as good as new.

Mr. Baines looked sharply at Marty and shook his finger at him.

MR. BAINES

Son, you watch yourself!

MARTY

Yes, sir.

EILEEN

Oh!

Eileen began, going over to a chair a few feet away and picking up the silver jacket of Marty's.

EILEEN

Here's your jacket!

MARTY

Uh, thanks...

Eileen held up the jacket and gave it a quizzical look.

EILEEN

What kind of material is this? I've never seen anything like it.

He took it from her hand.

MARTY

It's polyester.

EILEEN

Poly-what?

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

It's an experimental invention of mine. Sort of a rubberized silver-foil. I just made up a name for it. Come on, Marty. We've got a lot to talk about.

Marty followed the Professor. He was just about to step out the door when Eileen stopped him.

EILEEN

Marty?

He turned.

MARTY

Huh?

EILEEN

Have we ever met before?

She asked with a puzzled look on her face. Marty's eyes met hers, but before he could open his mouth, the Professor grabbed his arm and pulled him out the door.

INT. CAR

Fifteen minutes later, the Professor's 1937 Packard was pulling into the driveway of a huge Victorian mansion on the outskirts of town.

MARTY

...and the flux capacitor is hooked into this thing that looks like a condenser with a lense on it...

Marty was saying as Professor Brown stopped the car. He looked at the house for the first time and let out a low whistle as they both got out of the car. Even in the dark, Marty was able to see how fancy it was.

EXT. BROWN MANSION

MARTY

Jeez -- this is where you used to live, huh? You must have been rich!

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

Must have been? Used to live? I do live here.

MARTY

Oh, yeah.

They started to walk up the drive to the front door.

MARTY

Well, there's a mall here now -- I mean, there will be.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

A mall?

MARTY

Yeah, a shopping mall. You know, a shopping mall?

Professor Brown held his hands up and shook his head.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

Ssshhhhh -- don't tell me these things, Marty. I don't want to know about the future.

INT. BROWN MANSION

He opened the front door and stepped inside the living room. Marty looked around as the Professor switched on the lights. Professor Brown held his hands up and shook his head.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

Do you see it here?

The living room was filled with antique furniture, pieces of different mechanical devices lying everywhere. It was easy to see that the Professor's love of inventing was just beginning, since everything was still relatively neat. But there was no sign of the time machine. Marty shook his head.

MARTY

No.

Professor Brown walked across the room and into another one. This one appeared to be a study. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with old volumes. On the desk in the center of the room, Marty recognized little models of that one robot and flying car he had seen plans of in the future. The Professor watched Marty as he glanced about the room, but he had to shake his head again. No time machine.

The Professor crossed the room, over to a door at the far end of the study. He pulled out a key and unlocked it, pushing it open. He switched a light on inside and gestured for Marty to come over. Marty only had to glance at the room for a second before recognizing the time machine. It looked a little less run down, cleaner and shinier, but it was the time machine nonetheless. This is it!

Professor Brown placed the key back in his pocket and looked hard at Marty.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

You've convinced me that you must be who you say you are. No living human has ever seen this machine. (frowns) But why? Why even in my twilight years would I remotely consider sending someone back in time?

MARTY

You didn't, Professor. It was an accident! You see, what happened --

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

No! Don't tell me!  I don't want to know the future! My knowledge of future events... your mere presence here... could have devastating effects on the course of history. And altering history is a responsibility that I do not wish to bear. My immediate response is to send you back to your own time.

Marty had heard the Professor say almost those exact same words when he had wanted to send Shemp back in time with the sports scores. It seemed like a million years ago even though, technically, it was thirty years in the future. But this time he agreed with the Professor. He wanted to go home.

MARTY

I can dig that.

Professor Brown gave him a strange, puzzled look.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

Pardon me?

MARTY

Oh. That expression probably hasn't been invented yet... I can get behind -- I agree with you.

The phone rang in the study. The Professor left the room with the time machine to answer it. Marty followed him and checked out the models on the desk while the Professor picked up the phone on the third ring. He didn't mean to listen on the conversation, but it was kind of hard not to.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

Hello? (pause) Yes Charles, yes, I looked over the offer. (pause) It's very generous that they want to make me a major stockholder. But I'm just not interested in a position with this little X-rox corporation... If it's pronounced 'Zerox', why don't they spell it with a Z?... Look, I'm on the verge of a breakthrough on my power converter.

Marty dropped the little car he had been looking at when the Professor said that. The power converter! How could he have forgotten! It needed nuclear power and he didn't think there was any now, at least none that they could get there hands on. Did that mean he was... stuck here?

Professor Brown continued to talk on the phone, not noticing the sick expression on Marty's face.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

...Well, any day now. And then I'll need people to work for Emmett Brown Industries! I've got a lot of ideas that are going to create a lot of jobs. Very well, good night, Charles.

The Professor shook his head as he hung up the phone.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

The X-rox Corporation. How are they going to sell a product if you can't even pronounce the name?

He turned back to Marty.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

Now... the time machine works, that's obvious. As I've always known, it's a question of power. Where did I -- will I get enough power to send a man thirty years through time?

Marty opened his mouth to tell him, but Professor Brown quickly held up his hands.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

No -- wait -- don't tell me!

He didn't say anything for a long moment, then shook his head.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

On second thought, there may be some things you'll have to tell me.

MARTY

The power converter...

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

Of course! The power converter! It works! Of course, it works... (looking to Marty) What chemicals do we use?

Marty hesitated, slowly taking a deep breath before starting.

MARTY

Well, Professor, are you sure you want me to tell you? You know, changing the course of history and all....

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

Blast it -- no, I suppose you're right.... You do know the proper chemical formula?

Marty nodded.

MARTY

Sure, and there won't be any problem getting some -- Getting it...

He stopped. He had almost blurted it out.

The Professor walked over to a bar and pulled a glass bottle of brandy out of the cabinet.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

Coke?

He started to pour the alcohol in a glass.

MARTY

(stunned) How did you know?

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

Just a guess. I figured kids would still be drinking Coke in 1982.

Marty let out all the breath he had been holding. So he didn't know that was the secret formula after all.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

All right, then it's very simple, (tossing Marty a bottle of Coke as he spoke) Tomorrow, weather permitting, you'll get the chemicals, and we'll wire the power converter to the time machine, point it at the sun, and send you home.

Marty hesitated again. He had a feeling that what he was about to say would not really please the

MARTY

Professor. Well, not exactly, Professor. You see, we don't point it at the sun.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

We don't....

The Professor lifted up his drink to his lips.

MARTY

No...

Marty took a deep breath. He had gone this far. He might as well go all the way.

MARTY

We need a nuclear reactor.

Professor Brown choked on his drink.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

A nuclear reactor! How much energy do we need?

Marty shrugged -- then remembered the Micro-Cassette Recorder! He still had it with him, in his pocket. He took it out and rewound it, then hit play and set it on the Professor's desk. Professor Brown looked at it strangely, but didn't ask any questions. He sat down at his desk and the two of them listened as it played back. After a couple minutes, it got to the important part.

MARTY (on tape)

Release the rope! It's 4200 rads!

The tape grew silent. It had reached the end. Professor Brown reached out and picked up the recorder, staring at the buttons for a minute before pressing the one to stop it. He didn't say anything for a moment, then:

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

4200 rads? Good God!

Marty was trying to twist the top of the Coke bottle, but for some reason it wouldn't turn.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

There's something I still don't understand.

The Professor picked the recorder up again and rewound it.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

Fascinating device, he commented as it spun back.

Professor Brown stopped it and played back the gunshot sounds.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

These loud bangs... could those be some sort of malfunction in the time machine? Do you know what they are?

Marty gripped the Coke bottle so hard his knuckles turned white. He couldn't tell Professor Brown that those sounds were him being shot!

MARTY

I wouldn't worry about 'em, Professor.

A minute passed while the tape replayed.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

4200 rads...  That certainly can't be generated under controlled conditions in this day and age.

MARTY

That's just great!

Marty still tried to get that Coke bottle open. It was like the cap was welded on there!

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

However...there's a lot I don't know about nuclear physics. So first think in the morning, I'll go to the University and see what I can find out. I want you  to stay in the house, (pointing a finger at Marty) It's very important that you don't interfere in any way with the outside world. I've got plenty of food, there's the radio, books, magazines... I've even got one of those new television sets. There's plenty to do.

Professor Brown stared at Marty as he twisted and turned that cap in every imaginable way possible.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

What are you doing?

Marty gave up and held the bottle out.

MARTY

How do you open these?

The Professor took the bottle from his hand and picked up a bottle opener lying nearby. A second later he handed it back, now without the top. Marty looked down at the Coke in his hand, then up at the Professor.

MARTY

It doesn't look good, does it, Professor?

Professor Brown shook his head.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

At the moment, it looks like you're stuck here.

INT. BROWN MANSION - NEXT MORNING

Early the next morning, Professor Brown walked down the hall to the room he had given Marty McFly late the night before. He stopped and listened carefully, hearing no sound from the other side. After a minute he reached for the doorknob and turned it. The Professor pushed the door open a couple of inches, sticking his head around the side of the door to peer inside.

The shades were wide open, the first rays of sunlight slanting across the room over to the bed. Marty was lying on top of the queen bed on his back, one arm hanging over the side of the bed, still fully dressed in his 1982 clothes. His eyes were closed and he appeared to be asleep. The Professor studied him for a moment, then slowly stepped inside the room and crept across to the table next to the bed, where the Cathedral Radio rested and the small cassette recorder. He had come in to get a closer look at the future object.

Professor Brown carefully picked the recorder up and examined it. His finger accidentally hit the play button and a loud burst of conversation came out. The Professor swore under his breath as he fumbled for the stop button. His eyes flew to Marty as he quickly set the recorder on the table again. Marty let out a deep sigh, eyes still closed, and rolled over.

Professor Brown waited a moment, to make sure Marty wasn't going to awaken. He listened to his slow, deep breathing for a second, then quickly crossed the room to the door. The Professor eased it shut and continued down the hall. He had to get to the University and look up the information about nuclear physics. Hopefully, there would be a answer to send Marty back to the future.

Marty felt warm sunlight on his face. He threw an arm across his still-closed eyes to block it out, along with the memories. Pieces of the night before came back to him, being in 1952. Maybe, Marty thought,  it was just a dream. All I have to do is open my eyes and I will see that it was all part of some bizarre dream....

He sighed as his eyes focused on his surroundings. It wasn't a dream. He was lying on the bed in the room that Professor Brown had given him the night before. He was still in 1952.

Marty reached over and clicked on the old radio by the bed, mostly out of habit. He waited a few seconds, expecting to hear some old song, but nothing came on. He hit it a few times, wondering if it was broken. Only a minute later did sound slowly come on, and it was horrible! Marty made a face as he rolled over and twisted the tuning dial, skimming the different stations for something better.  Nothing that even remotely resembled any type of rock 'n roll came on. Marty flipped the radio off, shaking his head in disgust.

He got off the bed and left his room, wandering downstairs to the kitchen. He opened a cabinet and found a coffee pot. As he was taking it out of the cabinet, it slipped from his hands and crashed onto the hardwood floor, separating into different pieces. Marty swore and knelt down, trying to get it back together. After a minute, he gave up and set it aside.

Marty turned to the refrigerator and pulled it open. He fished out a bottle of milk and took off the little piece of foil at the top. Taking a glass off the counter, he set it on the kitchen table and lifted up the bottle to pour some milk in the glass. Nothing came out. Marty held it up and looked down the neck, noticing a cardboard plug keeping the milk in. He stuck a couple fingers down there, trying to pull it out - but he couldn't get ahold of it! With a sigh of annoyance, Marty finally just pushed his fingers through the cardboard and poured the milk in the glass.

After pulling the bottle back in the refrigerator, Marty sat down at the kitchen table to drink his milk. He noticed some magazines and newspapers spread out and lifted a couple of them up for a closer look. The issue of Time had a cover story titled, The Republicans: Who Will Win in '52? Photos of the men involved were splashed on the cover. Marty stared at it for a moment.

MARTY

Eisenhower...

He picked up a  Newsweek. Will We Have War With Russia This Year? the cover asked in big bold letters.

MARTY

No...

He took a look at the local newspaper. Crime Rate Continues to Rise! the headline screamed. Marty shook his head and noticed a Saturday Evening Post lying nearby. A picture of some high school students were on the cover with the words, What's Wrong With the Younger Generation? He laughed and flipped the magazine over. An ad for Van Heusen Shirts had Ronald Regan in it.

Jesus, Marty muttered when he saw it, shaking his head again. The doorbell rang. Marty looked up from the periodicals, uneasy. He stayed seated, remembering the Professor's instructions from the night before. The bell rang again and Marty got up from the table and walked slowly through the dining room and living room to the front door. He stopped a few feet away from it, staring hard at the wood and feeling torn.

The doorbell rang for a third time. What if it was someone in trouble? What if someone was hurt and needed to use the phone? Would it be such a bad thing, then, if he answered the door?

Aw, what the hell, he thought. Marty stepped forward and opened the door.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

Aha!

Professor Brown exclaimed, shoving a finger at Marty's chest from the porch.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

You answered the door!

MARTY

You were ringing the doorbell!

Marty took a step back as the Professor walked inside.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

I told you not to interfere with any of the events of this time! Nobody's supposed to see you here! What if I was a mailman? Or a salesman?

MARTY

What if you lost your keys?

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

Then I would have figured out to get back in through the events in the natural course of history! Don't you understand? The fabric of history is very delicate. Anything you do could have serious consequences!

MARTY

 Hey, look, gimme a break! All I did was answer the door! How's that gonna change history?

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

I don't know, but I don't want to take any chances! Now you stay here and don't do anything. Don't answer the door, don't answer the phone, don't go outside. Understand?

Marty rolled his eyes, having it up to here with the lecturing!

MARTY

Hey, get off my case, would you? I didn't want to come here, and the only reason I'm here in the first place is because I was a nice guy, helping you out. So don't tell me I gotta stay cooped up in here and vege out, because none of this is my fault!

Professor Brown appeared unaffected by the speech.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

Let me put it on a level you can understand. You don't belong here. You don't know anything about this world. You don't know the customs, you don't know how to talk, how to act -- you don't even look like you belong here. And if you walked out on the street, you wouldn't get 100 yards without being arrested. Then there would be questions, and where would we come up with the answers?

MARTY

(sighs) Okay, Professor, I get where you're coming from. The way I look, the way I'm dressed... (looking down at his silver Porsche jacket) I'd stick out like a sore thumb.

Professor Brown nodded, looking relieved.

PROFESSOR EMMETT BROWN

I'm glad we finally got that straightened out. I'll see you tonight.

He left the house, slamming the door behind him. Marty stared at the door for a moment with his eyes narrowed, then he returned to the kitchen.

INT. BROWN MANSION - LATER

Half an hour later, Marty was ready. He'd finished his breakfast and then had a shower, changing into some of the Professor's clothes instead of his own from 1982. He had slicked his hair back like he had seen the men doing so in some of those magazines and was now ready to explore the town. After all, Professor Brown had said the reason he couldn't go out was because of the way he looked, more or less. And now that he looked like a resident of 1952, Marty saw no problem in leaving the house.

EXT. BROWN MANSION

He opened a window at the front of the house and climbed outside, then ran off in the direction of town.

EXT. STREET

Less then twenty minutes later, Marty was strolling down the sidewalk with the other townspeople, trying to look nonchalant, like he had always lived there. He thought he was doing a pretty good job of it, too, since no one was looking at him twice.

A cop that had been walking on the other side of the street glanced at Marty and stopped, pointing a finger at him. Hey, you! he shouted. Where do you think you're going?

Marty's eyes widened and fought the urge to run. How did he know? he wondered in horror. The cop walked right for him, then, just as Marty was ready to accept defeat, he passed him and grabbed the arm of a tramp several yards behind Marty. He relaxed, letting out a sigh of relief, and continued to walk down the street. After a minute he started to get excited again as he looked around at the shops and businesses up and down the main street.

There was an appliance store that advertised Giant 8 Inch Televisions! with A screen as big as life itself! Across from it was an old gas station with the price advertised at 18.9 cents a gallon. A travel agency had a poster on how to get from L.A. to New York in a mere 12 hours! in it's window.

There was a dance studio with a sign, Everybody's doing the Mambo! on the outside. Through the window, Marty could see a class in session. A clothing store with a display of the latest fashions was beside the studio. They looked a lot more like the kind of stuff in old movies. A Studebaker showroom had a sign that said it was, the most modern car ever developed in the entire history of man. Marty chuckled, then stopped when he saw the next store.

It was a music store. In the display window were posters showing America's top recording artists. Marty frowned as he studied them. Frank Sinatra, Guy Combardo, Dinah Shore, Perry Como.

MARTY

Are they kidding?

He decided to go inside and find out.

INT. MUSIC STORE

On the counter was the current number one single, Papa Loves Mambo by Perry Como. Marty made a face as he examined it. He suddenly noticed the clerk was standing beside him.

CLERK

Can I help you, sir?

Marty held up the single. He had to ask.

MARTY

This... is the number one single?

CLERK

Yes, sir!

MARTY

I don't get it. How come there's no rock 'n roll?

CLERK

(frowning) I beg your pardon?

MARTY

This is 1952....?

CLERK

Uh, yes, sir...

MARTY

And you never heard of rock 'n roll?

CLERK

 No....

Marty grinned as he set the single back on the counter, suddenly having a great idea.

MARTY

Well, maybe it's time you did.

EXT. STREET

He quickly left the store and headed for a pawnshop he had noticed on the outskirts of town. There was a guitar in the window, for five dollars. After studying it for a moment, Marty went inside and told the Pawnbroker what he wanted. The man took the guitar down and brought it to the cash register and Marty trailed after him.

That'll be five bucks, he said, setting the guitar on the counter. Marty reached for his wallet and pulled out the same twenty dollar bill he had tried using at the cafe the night before. The Pawnbroker started to ring the purchase up, then took a closer look at the money.

PAWNBROKER

Hey, what kinda funny money is this?

MARTY

Huh?

The Pawnbroker held the money out and pointed to something.

MARTY

It says '1977' on it. What do you take me for, an idiot?

He handed the bill back to Marty. Marty looked at it and only then realized his mistake. He had used money that hadn't even been printed yet!

MARTY

Oh -- yeah.

His mind was racing for a explanation to give the guy that didn't sound too illegal. It wouldn't do for him to get arrested as a counterfeiter.

MARTY

I can't believe I did that. That's a joke. My friend had these printed up -- see that's his name there... Blumenthal.

The Pawnbroker continued to watch him suspiciously. It didn't look like he was buying it. Marty dug around in his wallet, but of course he didn't have any thirty-year-old bills with him.

MARTY

Gee - I don't seem to have anything on me.

He put his wallet away and as he did so, the watch Professor Brown was lending him caught his eye.

MARTY

Hey, how about this watch? (holding up his left wrist) It's a genuine antique!

He slipped the watch off and handed it to the Pawnbroker. He carefully examined it.

PAWNBROKER

Antique? They just came out with this watch last month. But this one looks like it's been through a war.

MARTY

Yeah, I've been doing a lotta travelling.

PAWNBROKER

Okay kid. You got a deal. The watch for the guitar.

Inside the office of the Midwest Talent Agency, Marty was concentrating hard on performing Blue Suede Shoes the way Elvis had -- or would. Dancing around, singing, playing the instrument -- he was really into it, hardly noticing the forty five-year-old agent that sat behind the desk and smoking a cigar, his face expressionless as he listened to the music. Covering the walls of the small office were black and white pictures of some clients that the agency sponsored.

Marty finished the song and looked at the agent with a smile, waiting for the praise that was sure to follow. Who couldn't love music like that? The agent, however, must have been one of those people.


YanCruise

YanCruise (32)
zuletzt online: 01.02.2006



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