Marty sat with Doc at the dinner table. Neither one of them spoke much as they ate meatloaf. Marty was never crazy about meatloaf, but he had to admit, Doc Brown had a secret talent, he could actually cook. Who knew? The only sound was the clanking of forks against plates. It had been almost 2 weeks since Marty started going to Hill Valley High School and he was still trying to figure out how to get his mother interested in his father again.
Finally, Doc broke the awkward silence.
“Marty, whatever it is your doing down at that school is just not working!” He told his young friend.
“I know, I know,” Marty admitted. “Doc, I'm pulling my hair out here. She won't even look at my old man anymore, she just follows me around and the more I ignore her the more she seems to be interested in me! I've never seen anything like it!
“Never?” Doc Brown asked?
“No, why?” Asked Marty. “Should I have?”
“Marty, Marty,” said Doc, this is typical female behavior. “It is?” Marty was stunned. This was really news.
“Yes, Marty! No wonder you only ever had one girlfriend. It drives women crazy when you make yourself unavailable! They will hunt you! It's in their nature.”
“Get outa town, Doc!” Marty couldn't believe his ears. “Are you telling me you know about women too?
Doc put down his fork in disgust. “Marty, I'm not a eunuch. I have had a few romances in my life.”
Marty truly was surprised, this was a side of Doc Brown Marty had never seen. “What kind of women have you dated, Doc?”
Doc just got angry. “Never mind that, we need to talk about your failure to get your mother to lose interest in you and your failure to figure out how to make your father more appealing to her.
“I just can't figure this out Doc,” replied Marty, “I suck at matchmaking.”
“They're your parents,” Doc exclaimed in frustration, “and you barely know them!”
“Doc,” Marty said, “these two are nothing like my parents, they look like my parents, they sound like my parents, and now they both dress like my parents, but trust me, they are NOT my parents.”
Doc stopped mid bite. “What did you just say?”
Marty shrugged. “I said trust me, they are not my parents.”
“No before that,” Doc said urgently, “what was that you said before?”
Confused Marty thought back. “I said they look like my parents, they sound like my parents, and now they both dress like my parents...”
“That's it!” Doc said, excitedly. “Why do you say NOW they both dress like your parents?” “Because,” explained Marty, “before George was dressing like some kind of revenge of the nerds, until I took him to the store. He walked out of there looking like my father....” Marty stopped, his eyes lighting up when he saw where Doc was going.
“So, you are the one who taught your father how...”
“How to dress!” Marty finished his sentence, straightening in his chair. My dad got his style from me? Doc, that's crazy! How is that even possible? As far back as I can remember my father liked the same style clothes, a bit outdated but he wore them well!”
“From all that I understand about the universe,” said Doc ominously, “it shouldn't be possible!”
Marty swallowed hard.
“Ya, Doc, but what does it mean?”
“I don't know,” the Doc told him, “I need time to think about this.”
Marty looked up at the calendar on the wall behind Doc. “Well, you've got about 13 more days to figure it out Doc. I'm dying here. I'm out of ideas.
There was another 30 minutes of silence and more clanking on plates with forks as they finished their dinner, both of them trying to figure out the significance of this new revelation. They cleaned up together, still not saying much.
As Marty was drying the dishes and handing them to the Doc, who then put them away, Doc brown suddenly stopped in his tracks and smiled at Marty.
“What?” Asked Marty.
“I think I have it,” the Doc replied, “but I need to know more about your father to be sure.” “Well, I'll tell you what I can,” pledged Marty.
“My dad got me started in boxing,” Marty blurted out. “He said he “dabbled' a little in High School. A friend got him interested in it!”
Doc Brown pointed at Marty, an intense look of satisfaction all over his face. Marty smiled. “I get it Doc. I got this!”
* * * * * * * * * *
George Mcfly's garage was small and dark. It didn't look like a car had parked in there in years. It was extremely cluttered. Marty and George were both dressed in athletic wear. Marty finished hanging a boxing speed bag from a low hanging rafter near the far wall. George was taking halfhearted pokes at a nearby punching bag. Marty let the speed bag hang and began to hit it in a perfect rhythm. George watched him intently.
When he was done George took a hard poke at the 60 pounder.
“You expect me to do that sort of stuff?” George protested. “I'm not very athletic.”
“No, George, I know for a FACT that you ARE.” Said Marty. He walked over to him while taking of his boxing gloves, then steered him to the speed bag . “You can accomplish
anything if you put your mind to it.”
George half heartedly banged on the speed bag with his closed fists and quickly lost rhythm as it swung around wildly in a circle.
“No,” Marty instructed him gently, “you have to open your hands, don't make a fist.” He demonstrated, starting slowly. “Hit in small circles and count to yourself like your marching, left, left, left, right, left.”
George stepped up and tried it again. He got a bit of a rhythm going for a few seconds, not very fast then it went wildly in a circle again.
George, frustrated, glared at Marty. “You're getting it,” Marty assured him. George frowned, skeptically.
“Here put your gloves back on,” Marty said, handing them to him. He complied.
“Let's try the punching bag.”
Marty moved to the 60 pounder and hugged it. “Okay, George, now come over here and hit this thing as hard as you can hit it.”
George was now quite irritated and he took it out on the punching bag. Marty was actually knocked back a bit.
“Woah!” Marty exclaimed, impressed. “You have a helluva left! I can see how you decked Biff in one punch.”
“No, George, don't apologize, dammit!” Marty went over to him and grabed his arms. “Don't ever apologize for sticking up for yourself, or the woman you love.” George blushed and looked down again.
“I hardly know her,” said George sheepishly.
“Okay, the woman you WANT to love.” Marty corrected himself. George blushed even harder.
“Listen, George, I don't know how much time I have here so we have got to really
concentrate on this stuff.” Marty put on his own gloves. “Okay, George show me the fighting stance I taught you.”
George lifted up his arms and and slightly spread his legs apart awkwardly. Attempting to balance himself the way Marty showed him earlier.
Marty stopeds, put his arms down and moved toward George, looking down. He took his left foot and guidds George's feet into a better stance. Then he baceds up, rubbed his glove against the side of his nose, and got back into boxing stance.
“Okay, George,” Marty said, “moment of truth. I want you to come at me.” “What,” George sounded nervous, “you want me to just punch you?”
“George, I want you to try to knock my block off!” Replied Marty emphatically. “You know you want to. Hit me George! Hit me Mcfly!”
George hesitated.
“Hey Mcfly,” Marty does his best Biff impression, “I thought I told you never to come in here!”
George rolled his eyes.
Marty put his gloves down. “George, you gotta take this seriously if you're going to learn to fight.”
“That's just it,” says George, “maybe I don't want to learn to fight. Maybe I don't have to fight to be a man! MAYBE, it takes a bigger man to WALK AWAY!”
“Ya, but George, you gotta be able to defend yourself. Your life just might depend on it some day. Heck, maybe someday Lorraine's life might depend on it. Or even...” he hesitated to say it, “even mine!”
George picked up his gloves again, reluctantly, and the two young men circled each other. George took a few stabs at him.
Marty blocked and dodged them easily. But he smiled. “Good,” Marty encouraged him, “real good George, you're a natural, it probably runs in the blood! Go ahead, try to breach my defenses.”
George was hesitating again as Marty danced around him, poking at him with half jabs. “Mfly!” Marty did Biff again.
George suddenly looked determined. He took a few halfhearted swings and Marty blocked again.
“C'mon George,” Marty egged him on, ““Hello, Mcfly! Think Mcfly.. think, I gotta have time to recopy...”
A look resignation came over George. Marty was almost taken aback by it.
Suddenly like greased lightning George reached out and knocked Marty right on his ass before he could react!
George looked mortified.
Blood was gushing from Marty's nose.
“I'm sorry!” George comes over. “Are you okay?”
Marty sat there on the ground wiping his nose, looking real pleased. “George, I'm more than okay, buddy, that was GREAT!”
He sprung to his feet. “That's what I'm talking about, George, you could be a great fighter!”
“Ya, but I'm a lover not a fighter,” said George.
Marty puts his arm on his shoulder. “Women dig both.” Marty said matter of factly. “Or at least one woman I know does. Lorraine!”
George moved away toward the exit at this. “You're always trying to push her on me, why is that?”
“Because, I guess I'm a hopeless romantic, George,” said Marty, “and I think you two kids belong together. I think you two have a real future together!”
“Well, that's not really your decision is it?” Objected George as he turned and stomped out of the garage toward the house.
“George, where ya going?” Marty called after him, then he followed, “we've got a lot of work to do.”
“I'm going to watch my favorite show, Science Fiction Theater!” Said George. Then he turned around. “No one is in charge of my destiny, except me,” George pointed , “Not you, nor anyone else on this planet can decide my future.” George stormed off into the house.
Marty stared after him, thinking. “No one on this planet?” He muttered. Then he smiled.