Chapter Four

Tuesday

October 29, 1985

11:04 PM

The day had not been particularly fun for Marty. He experienced intense disorientation throughout the day, to the point where he passed out at Jennifer's eighteenth birthday party. If it hadn't been a family affair, with her parents present, he was sure everyone would just think he was drunk—even though he never drank.

That would have been easier to explain, actually.

After he felt a bit better Jennifer's mother, Susan Campbell, had led him into the house. He ended up falling asleep on the couch in the living room of the home she shared with her second husband.

He was having a weird dream involving an axe-wielding Buford Tannen on a hoverboard when he realized someone was shaking him.

"Mom? Mom, is that you?"

"How are you feeling, Marty?" she asked.

Marty hesitated ever-so-briefly before opening his eyes, worried that some warped horror awaited him. But it was just his mother leaning over him. He sat up and saw his father standing behind her along with Jennifer's mother, and Jennifer was sitting in an easy chair across from him.

Marty stared at his mother for a moment.

Her eyebrows furrowed. "Marty, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said. And he was right: nothing in his brain was telling him that there was something wrong with his mother, that her face should be puffy and that she should smell of vodka.

He looked at his dad. Again, nothing was telling him that something was wrong, that he should have greasy hair and thick glasses.

"This is great." Marty sat up and ran his hand over his face. "How long have I been asleep?"

"A few hours," Susan said. "It's after eleven, now."

Marty looked around the room. "So everyone's gone? Why?"

Jennifer laughed. "Marty, the one where everyone's gonna stay up partying all night is on Friday."

"Right," Marty said. "Jennifer, I'm sorry about all this. I've been a pretty shitty boyfriend today…"

Jennifer smiled. "Don't say that, Marty. If you're not feeling okay—."

"If he's not feeling okay," Lorraine interrupted, "Maybe he should see a doctor."

"No!" Marty said with a bit more force than was necessary. "No, Mom, I'm fine."

"A perfectly healthy young man doesn't fall asleep in the middle of the day," she replied.

"She is right," Susan said. "But he told me he only got four hours of sleep last night. I figured he was just tired."

"Four hours?" Lorraine seemed confused.

"Yeah," George said. "He came into the living room around one."

Lorraine turned to look at George, annoyed. "You didn't wake him up, did you?"

"Mom," Marty said, "Dad's typing never wakes me up." He paused for a moment after saying that. He realized it wasn't something he would have said even six hours ago, but he felt no hesitation. Was his problem gone, now?

"I've just had a lot on my mind lately," he continued.

"Do you need to tell me something, Marty?"

"Dad and I handled it," he said.

"Okay," Lorraine said. She stood up. "Then I think we should go home."

"You're all up a bit late for a school night," Susan added.

"All right," Marty said. "So I'll take the truck, then?"

Lorraine frowned. "I'm not sure I'm comfortable with you driving."

"Come on, Mom!"

"Just in case," Lorraine said, "I think George should drive you home."

"Good idea," George said. He shot a knowing look towards Marty. Marty nodded.

"Then let's go," Lorraine said.

Marty got up. Lorraine and Susan left the room. George turned to look over his shoulder on the way out.

"Just give us a minute, Dad," Marty said.

George nodded and left the room.

Marty turned to Jennifer. "Look, Jen, I'm really sorry—."

Jen pulled him to her by the collar and kissed him. "Don't be," she said, wrapping her arm around his shoulder and running her fingers through his hair. "I know what you're going through right now. I mean, yeah, it blows that it's on my birthday, but it's not like you can help that."

Marty nodded. "The thing is, I think it's gone now."

"Gone?"

"Yeah," Marty said. "When I was looking at Mom and Dad, there wasn't a part of me telling me that something was wrong or weird. I think I'm okay now."

"So that was why you passed out, right?" Jennifer asked. "The…weird time thing?"

Marty nodded. He gently caressed her cheek and kissed her. "Yeah. But I think it's going to be okay now."

Jennifer smiled. "Good. I'm gonna want you back to yourself on Friday. I love you."

Marty kissed her again. "I love you too." He made his way out of the living room, Jennifer following. She stayed at the door as Marty made his way to his truck. George was standing by the door. Lorraine was standing by the driver's side of the BMW, which was parked in the street in front of the driveway.

"Here," Marty said, tossing his father the keys.

George caught them. "I've been hoping I'd get a chance to drive this thing."

Marty looked at his father quizzically. "You? I thought you were too cerebral for something like that."

George laughed and gave a little shrug.

Marty turned to look back at the house. He waved. "'Night, Jen!"

"Good night, Marty!"

"See you tomorrow!" Marty said, walking over to the passenger side of his truck. Meanwhile, Lorraine unlocked the BMW. She gave George an odd look.

"Don't go offroading, dear," she said.

George laughed. "I'll do my best."

Lorraine shook her head, chuckling, and got into the car.

George and Marty got into the truck. George stared at the steering wheel for a moment.

"It's not that different than driving a car, right?" he asked.

"No," Marty said as he put on his seatbelt. "Not really. It's gonna be a little heavier than you're used to, though."

George nodded. He put on his seatbelt and started the car. As they backed out onto the street, Marty saw that Jennifer was still in the doorway.

Marty waved. "I love you!"

"Love you, too!" Jennifer shouted as the truck drove off.

A few moments later, they came to a stop sign. Lorraine was in front of them and went first, but George stayed behind at the stop sign for a bit longer than was necessary.

"So," he said as he drove off. "I take it you passed out as a result of your double memory quandary?"

"Yeah," Marty said. "But I think I slept it off. I don't feel anything weird anymore."

George looked at him briefly. "Like what?"

"Well, take you," Marty said. "You know, I can barely even picture you the way you were before. I mean, I know on some level, but…"

"But?"

Marty thought for a moment. "It's like a dream, now. Like I've just woken up from a nightmare that's lasted my entire life."

"Were things really that bad?" George asked.

"I guess they were. You know, sometimes," Marty said. He walked through his memories. The "old" ones really did seem like dreams. They lacked a certain something; they felt unreal. He tried to recall Friday night, seeing the car wrecked, and the picture wasn't quite solid. But he remembered very clearly talking with his parents about the next night; he remembered very clearly packing things for the trip up to the lake; he remembered very clearly talking with Jennifer on the phone for nearly two hours.

He remembered dinner. They had chicken. Dave got home late; his internship had awful hours. Marty tried to remember what they had for dinner the first time, when Dave was late leaving home, working the night shift at Burger King. He remembered his father pouring something out of a box and into a bowl, and he remembered shaking his head when he offered it to him. But what was it?

Then he remembered his mother tossing the welcome home cake onto the table.

"Uncle Joey's not in prison," he whispered.

But George heard him. "What? Joey was in prison?"

"Yeah," Marty said. "He killed a guy in a bar fight. They got him for second-degree murder, I think, back in '76. That didn't happen?"

"No," George said, shocked. "I remember him having some emotional difficulties around that time, but he got through them. He drank, briefly. I was able to help him, thank God; he really looked up to me."

"There wasn't much about the original you that was worth looking up to."

George slowly brought the car to a stop. He was shaking ever so slightly.

"Jesus Christ," he whispered. "I always knew Calvin—I mean, you—made a real difference in my life. But this is huge!"

"Dad," Marty said slowly, worried, "Calm down."

"Calm down?" He turned to Marty, an manic look on his face. A look of triumph. "Marty, sometime this week you have to tell me everything. Everything that's changed. Think about it: you didn't just improve the socioeconomic situation of your family; you saved a man's life. That guy Joey killed?" He looked out the windshield and stared out it for a few moments.

"What is it?" Marty asked.

"Well, as a writer of science fiction, I've familiarized myself with fictional treatments of time travel. It seems every science fiction writer has this idea that time travel to the past inevitably makes things worse in the present. Even I haven't given Timestar much of a break in that area. The idea seems to be that there's some sort of cosmic law, that God, or the cosmos, is offended by very existence of time travel and punishes the time traveler, usually in the worst, most nightmarish way possible. If I had to guess, I'd say that something or someone has gone out of its way to reward you for traveling. in time."

He continued to stare out the window, a far-off look in his eyes.

"You said that Doctor Brown met a woman back in 1885?" He didn't wait for Marty to confirm that. "Odd place for one's soul mate to be located, thirty or so years before you're born. And the fact that she was 'destined,' if you will, to die without his intervention seems too damn convenient. I wonder if there really is a…a grand design, if you will, if someone out in the cosmos is actively intervening in our lives to make them better."

Slowly, Marty nodded. "Yeah, that's great, Dad. Can you take me home, now?"

George turned to look at Marty. For a moment, he appeared to be offended.

"Of course," he said, starting the truck again. "There'll be plenty of time to think about esoterics later. You really should be in bed, anyway. Just make sure I get to talk to the Doc next time he's in town. It's really important!"

"Right."

"Oh!" George said. "I found that article on Grandpa Seamus. Do you remember that story, now?"

Marty thought for a moment. "No, I don't. I can't remember you ever telling me he lived long enough to meet me."

"That's very strange," George said. "I'll show that to you then, after school."

"Good," Marty said. He wondered why he couldn't remember anything about Seamus living so long. That didn't seem to make any sense, especially since he remembered, now, everything that had changed.

I really wish I could ask the Doc, he thought.

TO BE CONTINUED...