You trudged up the driveway of your home, heavy boxes in hand. The sun glittered above head, making you perspire with the intensity of the heat and the exertion of helping move boxes inside.

It was moving day. Returning to your childhood home after living in Denver for four years—your parents decided to move back.

Movers and family members were back in forth; unpacking, decorating, and bringing boxes inside. You were doing your part as well, but not without listening to music on your Walkman to try and subside their nonstop noise.

A small knock on the side of the moving truck was enough to snap your attention from the music. Initially you recoiled, taking a step back from the strange boy who had interrupted your listening to Micheal Jackson’s latest album.

It took you a moment to realize who it was. Marty?!

Your eyes popped open, balance a bit thrown off as you saw him. You hadn’t seen him in about seven years. Back when you lived here, you and Marty used to be neighbors in third grade—you were best friends, absolutely inseparable in every form of the world. You had been his first best friend, first girlfriend, first kiss… But that all ended in fifth grade when you moved away to Denver, Colorado.

“Your hair looks different.” His blue eyes darted to the big boxes balanced in your arms. “Need some help?” He took one of the boxes from you, holding it with a bit more ease than you had.

He looked pretty different too—same blue eyes and dark hair—but more height and maturity than what you remembered from fifth grade. You had to admit, seeing him was a relief, especially because you’d be attending Hill Valley again.