Back To The Future

That indeed was the case but Marty didn’t say so. Instead he murmured: “I’m sorry. I…thought the car…was wrecked. You lent it to Biff Tannen and he ran into somebody with it.”

Dad chuckled. “Well, there’s nothing wrong with the car that I can see. In fact, Biff is out there waxing it right now.” Marty got up, walked to the kitchen window and looked out. There in the driveway was a sparkling new BMW. Next to it stood Biff Tannen, polishing diligently. His expression also seemed subtly altered, devoid of the usual arrogance and belligerence. As he worked, he whistled a happy tune.

“Jeez,” Marty murmured. To himself he said: “What difference a belt in the chops can make.”

His father opened the kitchen window and called out to Biff. His tone was pleasant but firm. “Hey, Biff,” he said. “Don’t forget—two coats of wax this time. Your job last week was a little sloppy.”

“Yessir!” Biff replied in a voice that was friendly and eager to please. “You’re the boss, sir!”

“Don’t be dictatorial, George,” Lorraine cautioned, smiling at her husband. Despite the warning, it was obvious she adored him.

George shrugged. “Sorry,” he said. “I don’t mean to sound that way. It’s just that some employees will try to get away with murder if you don’t stay on ’em. I’ve had to keep Biff in line ever since high school.” Then he added with a smile: “Although if it hadn’t been for Biff, your mother and I never would have met.”

“Yeah, Dad,” Linda interrupted. “You’ve told us a million times already. You beat him up when he was bothering Mom and that’s how the two of you fell in love.”

“It was more than that,” Lorraine added. “Your father literally came to my rescue.” She sighed. “It was so romantic…”

“Cornball city,” Linda said, rolling her eyes.

“Whatever happened to the other guy?” Marty asked.

“What other guy?” his father asked.

“The guy I was named after.”

“Oh,” Lorraine murmured. “We never saw him again. He vanished into thin air.” Then, looking at Marty closely, she said: “I don’t remember ever telling you about him.”

“Well, you must have. Otherwise I wouldn’t have known, would I?”

“No…”

Biff entered a moment later and handed George a hardcover book.

“Oh, Mr. McFly,” he said. “This just came in.”

“Good,” George nodded.

He held up the book, which was entitled A Match Made in Space. The art work showed a bedroom with a space alien very reminiscent of Marty’s Darth Vader speaking to a young man cowering beneath the covers. The author’s name, in large letters, was George McFly.

“Holy cow,” Marty said. “You wrote that, Dad?”

George nodded proudly. “My first novel,” he said. “I sure hope it sells.”

“Of course it’ll sell,” Lorraine gushed. “After all, it’s not like you’re a nobody. You’ve been selling stories ever since college.”

“That’s right, Dad,” Dave added. “You’re the one who’s always telling us to have confidence and a positive attitude. Where’s yours now?”

“You’re right,” George said. “I’m sure this book is going to do just fine.”

Then, turning to Marty, he put a strong hand on his shoulder and said: “And that tape of yours is going to do just fine, too.”

“I hope you’re right,” Marty muttered, suddenly thrust back to his 1985 cares and aspirations.

“Marty,” George said, “haven’t I always told you that all it takes is a little self-confidence? If you put your mind to it, you can do anything.”

Biff, standing with a deferential smile during the previous conversation, took advantage of the silence to thrust a hand toward Marty. “Oh, Marty,” he said. “Here’s your keys. You’re all waxed and ready for tonight.”

“My keys?” Marty stammered.