BACK TO THE FUTURE (1985) is the first film in the Back to the Future trilogy—about a young man who uses time travel to amend a breach in his family’s genealogy.
12/08/09 | Film

Back to the Future

by J. A. Tyler

In his head. Going back. Past neurons. Past synapse. Synapses. Past semantics.

His mother with blue eyes. His wife with blue eyes.

His are brown.

The genes that are him recede recede recede. They float away on canoes dug from his bones. Hollowed out by the tiny teeth of disease. Carried in the hands of bacteria. Running on the blood in his veined highways.

His mother with blue eyes. The one who locked him in a closet and fed him white bread underneath the door. The one who shook him and shouted. The one who cursed his face with pawn shop rings. The one who instigated his love of blood and guts and trash.

His mother with blue eyes. The mother he pinned to his chest. The mother he scrapes from his mind in lumps and chunks. The mother he prowls for at night. The mother he reaps and sows and reaps and sows.

The sand here is his mother.

His mother with blue eyes.

In his head again. Going back again. Past neurons again. Past synapse again. Synapses again. Past semantics again.

His mother again with blue eyes. His wife again with blue eyes.

His still are brown.

And he still recedes recedes recedes. Arms crossed or folded on his chest. Back flat on a dugout canoe. The splish splash of a bloodied highway in his veins. The caves of his meat. The arches of his tubing. The spines of his wiring.

His wife with blue eyes. His wife tying his hands. His wife pushing him to knees. To calves. To thighs. His wife banging around his body. His wife with blue eyes trouncing him. Betting him against odds. Raping him. Pillaging him. Plundering him.

The heat here is his wife.

His wife with blue eyes.

Blood runs through his camouflage. Changing tan to brown and brown to black. He doesn’t care. He bends anyway and he sights anyway and he fires anyway. Because the explosion of a head will suffice. The ripping of tendons will suffice. The power of death will help him fixate. Enough to take away the feeling of blood running through camouflage.

Head. Back. Neurons. Synapse. Synapses. Semantics.

Blue eyes blue eyes.

His are brown. His are brown turning black. Black turning red. Bloodshot and blood shooting.

His wife with the blue eyes. His mother with blue eyes.

And one lays on her back. One lays with her legs spread. Opening a world for him. Opening a knife for him. Opening a cut for him. Taking it like a champion. Taking it like the universe.

His wife and his mother. His mother and his wife. Forcing him into it. Uncaring of his blood adventures. Forgiving of his damage to sinews. Of his carving through muscle. Of his fractured skull count.

The heat here and the sand.

Blue eyes blue eyes.