Mayor Goldie Wilson settled with a sigh into the worn park bench, listening to the cracked wood creak precariously beneath his weight. He remembered when this bench had been like new, back in the 50s, when he was young and driven and naive. But now it was 1985, and the years had taken their toll on the woodwork, and on Goldie as well. But he had always managed to hold on to his positivity and stubbornness, and he was grateful for that. Because of it, he had been mayor of their wonderful little city, and was now up for re-election. And oh, how he hoped he would win it. There was still work to be done in Hill Valley. There was always work to be done.

He was brought out of his thoughts rather abruptly as a teenager suddenly skateboarded in his direction. The teen took his eyes off the sidewalk before him as he distractedly looked at his watch, checking the time intently, and as such, Goldie saw what the teen didn't: the rock sitting innocently on the sidewalk in the direct path of the kid's skateboard. Goldie opened his mouth to give a warning, but it was too late; the wheels of the skateboard hit the rock, and sent the boy roughly to the ground with little grace.

"Are you okay, son?" Goldie asked immediately, getting up and moving toward the brown-haired boy, who was wincing, but was already getting back on his feet.

"Oh, yeah," the boy responded casually, "it's-" But then he stopped as he turned and looked into Goldie's face, something akin to shock appearing in his cerulean eyes. "…Fine," he finished finally, with a faint grin. Internally, Goldie thought this strange; he had never gotten that kind of reaction from anyone. He was used to seeing a small flash of recognition in some people's eyes when they recognized him as mayor, and maybe a subtle hint of either fondness or annoyance (depending on their views of his politics), but never had he seen such an odd and seemingly strong reaction. Some sort of recognition more powerful than just "oh, yeah, it's the mayor". But, being mayor, he knew a lot about the "rules" of polite social interaction, and showed no sign of these thoughts in his carefully-schooled expression. Instead, he looked the boy over with genuine concern (he really did have a big heart for his citizens), and said instead:

"Are you sure? It looked like a nasty fall," he commented. The boy's jeans were ripped a little, and he was pretty sure he spotted some blood on the boy's palms. But the kid seemed fine, and even seemed to be in a pretty good mood.

"Oh, I've had worse, sir," he grinned hugely, and now it was the mayor's turn to feel shocked. Because, inexplicably, he felt - no, he knew - that he had seen that grin before. And suddenly, memories from his past came rushing to the forefront, memories of an odd sort of kid, who dressed strangely and stood up to bullies and was never afraid. That kid who seemed to just sort of know things. The one he owed so much to.

Calvin Klein. He could remember the moment like it had happened just yesterday.

"And one day, I'm gonna be somebody!" Goldie had said to George McFly, with a determined smile that he seemed to wear nearly all the time. He had said this many times before. But never had he expected the response that he got.

The kid next to George McFly, just a stranger at the time, spoke up with complete confidence.

"That's right!" he said in agreement. "He's gonna be mayor!" The kid had said it with utter sureness, as if it was an obvious fact, as if he had been stating that of course the sky was blue. And for just a second, it had shocked Goldie. But then he had recovered in a heartbeat, leaping at the idea with vigorous enthusiasm.

"Mayor!" he had echoed, the proverbial lightbulb going off in his mind. "Now that's a good idea! Mayor Goldie Wilson!"

The strange Calvin "Marty" Klein had gone on to cause much ruckus in the town, and had certainly left his mark. But more than anything, his words had left a mark on Goldie. Whenever he felt discouraged or dejected, he remembered those words, and the certainty with which they had been spoken. "He's gonna be mayor!"

With a jolt, Goldie returned to the present as the teen before him cleared his throat pointedly. The mayor snapped back to attention, embarrassed, but found that the kid was looking at him with knowing eyes. Eerily familiar eyes. The mayor suppressed a shiver. The kid looked exactly like Marty Klein.

"Sorry," the mayor apologized good-naturedly. "It's just that you remind me of someone I once knew." And again, the kid surprised him. Most people his age would roll their eyes or barely manage to stifle their annoyance or boredom, expecting the mayor to launch into an old and long-winded story about his past that they could care less about. But the teenager before him, however, looked excited at the prospect.

"Really?" he asked, grinning the same familiar grin, and nonchalantly wiping the blood off his hands onto the fabric of his jeans. It looked like something Marty Klein would have done, brushing off an injury like it was nothing. The two were so similar it was unnerving.

"Yes, you do. He was a remarkable man," Goldie told him fondly, and the kid's wide grin faded smoothly into something like quiet pride. But maybe that was just Goldie interpreting things weirdly. Why would he be proud?

"Well," the teen began, putting one foot back on his skateboard and clearly getting ready to leave, "it was great meeting you, Mr. Wilson." He sounded sincere.

"Likewise, Mr…?" the mayor of Hill Valley trailed off, waiting for a name. And for a second, the teen said nothing, and Goldie could tell that he was doing some quick thinking. Making a decision. And in the next second his eyes lit up with a mischievous glint.

"Klein," he supplied politely. "Calvin Klein."

And with one last glance at his watch, he placed his headphones over his ears and skated away expertly, leaving behind a shocked Goldie Wilson staring after him. And if anyone had asked about Goldie's odd behavior the rest of the day, well, he could always say it was the stress of re-election.