is waif
BACK TO MY FUTURE
Some families watch a lot of movies; other families watch some movies a lot.
Such was the case for this Kippy’s famiglia orbiting about in the outer reaches of a sea of progressives in the People’s Republic of Planet Secular.
Despite the family’s religiousness
more nominal than dogmatic—
and thank heavens!—
we did enjoy contemporary films, though, due to Aristotelian tendencies
just a few really and though we were not opposed to visits to
Blockbuster or Beacon Video we owned but a few.
And so on a Tuesday morning in February sick with a sinus infection
deviated septum and
antibiotics on the horizon
of my life
this Kippy would settle onto the Cranberry Couch
placed perpendicular to the television
in the little den and would select—
for maximum viewing pleasure—
a VHS cassette tape.
The cassettes were housed like books on a bookshelf close to the window
and above the VHS player.
And while the den had many books
and even some encyclopedias and tomes that sat in a fine layer of dust
it was the video section of the bookshelf
to which I was most drawn.
SIDEBAR:
Little known fact: Back to the Future is in fact a horror movie.
It’s a fact. Just watch the scene when Marty McFly is trying to play guitar, and quite badly, and he looks in horror at the photo of his siblings and they have vanished and then he
sees his hand disappear!
This always sent shivers up my young spine.
Some videos where hidden in an ersatz book sleeve
to appear as though they were matching books with little numbers
the case didn’t fool me!
I knew just what lay inside—four recordings of Anne of Green Gables the prime viewing pleasure of my youth
recorded haphazardly from a PBS marathon.
Other videos bore labels with the handwriting of
my father’s nostalgic slant
or
my mother’s teacherly exactitude
or
my sister’s artistic bent.
A few even had this Kippy’s chicken scratch
the youngest member of the foursome
mine was an innocence of mess
My videos were representative of my filmmaking efforts.
Whatever happened to the video wherein I played a troll with a blanket for troll hair??
I know it was a master piece.
I just know it.
And yet I’ll never know.
Lost to the ages.
But most of the tapes on the shelf weren’t original films
but films that had been recorded on TV
with maybe a commercial or two to fast forward through
or a PBS money drive to skip over
and a few hard edits if someone was late to press
record
for they were simply
using the bathroom
or getting a cookie or two during the commercial break
or perhaps procuring a bowl of ice cream for another member of the family
and so
it was with equal parts horror and delight that—
as an adult—
I discovered the beginnings to many films
were not in fact the ones I remembered
and in fact made more narrative sense on second thought
for punctual recording wasn’t a priority to my clan.
does this explain my tendency for surrealist story structures that start in the middle and go absolutely no where??
A few videos baldly sat displayed in their own official sleeves:
A Town Like Alice
Cinema Paradiso
Back to the Future
And so a on a Tuesday home from school with some ailment
a light fever
a sinus infection
a touch of strep
a wisp of conjunctivitis
I would select the 1985 class.
Marty McFly was always a draw—
especially if I was merely sick in the nose but jaunty in spirits
Anne of Green Gables was reserved for more existential crises, and I have returned to her over and over again throughout the years for comfort and solace in the most troubling of times when I have found that even I am not immune to falling into the depths of despair
And so in I’d pop the Back to the Future cassette tape
and wonder who the Libyans were
and what exactly a flux capacitator was!
And I would imagine—with great feeling, mind you— the moment in my life that I would travel to another time.
For surely, eventually, with technology
A time machine would exist!
I wonder if perhaps writing is the medium for my temporary time travels?
O! For what I wouldn’t give
to zip back to the den at 30 Powell Street
And find the oriental rug in tact
the mushroom chair squatting cheerfully
the cranberry couch sprawling and stately
the plant by the window my mother would sometimes have me water
the tall trash can with the flotsam and jetsam of life
me aiming from the Cranberry Couch
a used tissue as my basket ball
crying out “Score!” if the snot laden bundle landed in the bin
These quiet victories of youth.
Oh to know this whipper-snapper before the mess of life!
Mine was a pre-scoliosis spine
A spine that did ballet and soccer
A spine that carried books in backpacks
And binders and erasers and rulers with all the presidents on them
A spine that did jumping jacks in gym class and won presidential fitness awards
A spine that didn’t yet know shavasana or the feeling of an aching heart
A spine that believed in Santa and always slept facing the door to the hallway
where my dad left the light on
a spine afraid of the dark but not afraid to hug a bear named Tiger
or play a stuffed Bee the a smile the size of a rainbow.
A spine so exuberant that masking darker melancholies was hardly any trouble.
Things I learned in Back to the Future
Skateboarding is cool.
Riding a skateboard and hitching onto a moving car is even more cool.
Plutonium.
Lybia.
Parking lots outside of malls at night are terrifying places.
Clock towers are dope.
Time traveling is dope.
Red puffy vests also dope.
Diners in the 1950s are spooky.
The sing song slight lisp of Marty McFly’s mom is alluring
Biff is a bully and bullies are the worst.
Having your parent fall in love with in the past would be really weird and unsettling.
Saving your family is cool.
Huey Lewis and the News.
Earth Angel.
You don’t need money.
Don’t need fame.
Don’t need no credit card to ride in this lane.