Come on, Doc. I mean, think about it. What are you gonna say to her? I gotta go back to the future? I mean, she’s not gonna understand that, Doc. Hell, I’m in it with you, and even I don’t understand it. –Marty McFly
Doritos Ketchup and a bottle of Schweppes Ginger. I’m wearing Nickelodeon pajamas with a 4Kids t-shirt. I wish I could say that being Childish was no longer my inspiration, but I’ll forever love Bino, because she’s my only favorite niece or, is it niche, Mr. Feeny? I haven’t had anything to drink yet. Glug glug hand gesture towards a life that’s not invested. Is that love you feel, or is it smothered? I can’t say I’ve got answers to all of my twenty questions. I was honestly hoping that you did, but I know now where I stand. I think I’d rather keep quiet, and my distance on the pullout. It’s not your fault. You’re a singer in the shower type, and I bust out in traffic jams, only without my windows down, but no one can see us through frosted glass, where we become like silhouettes. Maybe where I’m going is of no concern, sometimes I think. Maybe comfort lies past rail lines, and the constant need to drink. Sobriety is your eyes wide deep, and my mouth closed shut. Ellipses. If only that were enough.
Flashforward, and can this be considered a prequel to a once future’s introduction? Six years prior seems vastly different given retrospection, to the point that it renders six years from now almost irrelevant, and thirty-one sounds a hell of a lot better than being thirty-seven. I think it’s fair to say that I lived up to all of the naysayers, or should that be soothsaying, because most of what I said came true, in that I refused to change until my fear literally became you. Screen shines brighter, I’m currently writing you a letter, but I will send it never, because 6 AM showers don’t wash away 2 AM’s Axe spray. Is it still called the walk of shame if I rolled out of bed today? Do I blame the words I didn’t say, or blame my inability to stay, or do I blame the deafening silence that’s coming from the other end? Mind echoes say I can’t do better, and I believe them; that all I have to do is speak up, and it will all change, but no matter which direction I face, it’s getting harder to see the horizon. All I know is that when I’m with you–on second thought, maybe I shouldn’t complete that sentence–there’s no place I’d rather be.
Flashback, and present day seems perfect. I’ve come to the realization that so much time has been wasted. We weren’t darkest timeline creating. We were darkest timeline enslavement. We weren’t preventing it from happening, because we were actively caged in; that is, until I changed paths, and made ’26 useless. I haven’t felt this good since Obama first took office, but in both of his victories, there was an unforeseen sense of defeat lingering; from the economic collapse to when I finally stopped chasing Amy. I hope this new timeline can sustain Prime Me. He’s been through a lot, and those memories still pain him, but there’s light at the end of this tunnel if you’ll contain us. I understand that that’s a lot of responsibility on someone else’s shoulders, but he’s loyal, slightly lovelorn, and an all around great guy. He often talks too much to his detriment, but excuse him. He’s not used to his words producing anything other than lightning. You have to teach him that not everything has to be so striking. Clever meets creative but you’re always his secret weapon. You’re always who he’s impressing.
Flashsideways, and consider that my blessing. I went to temple for the first time since I can’t even remember. I couldn’t keep my eyes off these two little girls who were running. They didn’t say a word to each other, and only spoke in cute gestures. The words She’s your daughter too enter my brain at random, like, this was part of an argument I’m still meant to have at some point, just maybe in another space-time-place. I’m still not sure where my son fits into all of this. That’s a name I’ve come to love from an alternate anecdote, where Jack got to have one, despite being divorced from Juliet. I mean, that Christmas party could still happen. It could actually coincide with next year’s The Red Door reunion. It’s funny how who you are meshes with who you were so instantly to create who you will now be indefinitely. The time has come to officially reject while simultaneously accepting me. The paradox I am to others is not lost on you, but it’s not what I want for you, and it’s not what I want to do.
As you reminded me, Marty, I’m a scientist, so I must be scientific about this. I cautioned you about disrupting the continuum for your own personal benefit. Therefore, I must do no less. We shall proceed as planned, and as soon as we return to 1985, we’ll destroy this infernal machine. –Doctor Emmett Brown