Your Friend In Time

Sometimes I feel like Marty McFly.

Just an average guy (girl.)  Average family.  A couple good friends.  A good doctor.  A nice girl (guy.)  Perpetually late.  A student of life.  Just trying to get my darn loud band together. 

Everything is moving along normally.  I’m not sad.  I’m not angry.  I’m just there.  And then unexpectedly one night I end up running from some Libyan terrorists and find myself in the past.

Trespassing on the past, as one of those good friends would say.

It’s all familiar because it’s where I came from.  But everything is different now and I’m in this parked car with my mother.

And because I’ve trespassed on the past the future has changed.  A whole fucking lot. 

But I have a window to the world that Marty didn’t have.  Instead of standing on a stage with a fading picture of my siblings slipped in between Marvin Berry’s guitar strings while my hand starts to disappear, I watch helplessly from my desktop as images spring up from the good friends in front of me and I am slowly erased from existence.  They’re the same people.  The same places.  But they’ve all changed.  I’m not there. I’m not with them.  I’ve hit the Rolls Royce.  I’m fired.  Thanks Needles.

I reach out for Doc.  I find him.  Doc is the same in the past and the future.  We’re the present.  He’s with me.  Him and the LeBaron.  DeLorean.  Whatever.

But around me everything has shifted.  We’re more fit and better looking.  The book has hit the shelves.  We have the 4 x 4 we always wanted.  He’s working for us now.  I beat him in tennis today.

Is it better?  It’s good.  Damn good.  But those pictures.  They were good, too. 

I have no moral here.  It is what it is.  I guess I’m just saying.  I guess it’s just something I noticed. 

Sometimes I feel like Marty McFly. 

Or maybe it was Scott Howard. 

What were we talking about again?