Chrono Trigger’s Lucca was the first video game character I could really connect with. She had big glasses, for starters, and she was smart and bookish, plus she wore sweeeeeeet boots. And Crono’s ignoring of all of these great qualities in favor of busty blonde bimbo princess Marle was a good lesson for my late teens/early 20s: some basic bitch with a high ponytail and a tube top will always get the man you want*. (Eponine was a great tutor for this lesson as well). My happiest snow days were spent playing that game on the TV in my mom’s bedroom, where I could surround myself with pillows and play in (relative) solitude.
I got on a Chrono Trigger kick awhile back; buying up old issues of Nintendo Power and reading the Boss Fight Books entry on the game. I even played the unofficial sequel, Crimson Echoes, which was good until the stupid ending left Lucca behind to clean up idiot Marle’s mess because she’s a shit-for-brains queen. (and also I had a weird Marle glitch; serves the hussy right). Time travel is my favorite sci-fi concept, as evidenced by my great affection for Back to the Future, and I have always loved the look of skeleton keys and old clocks, of maps and worn paper.
The Back to the Future soundtrack is the sound of happiness. If you don’t love “The Power of Love” than you are an inhuman monster and we have nothing to talk about.
But on a weirder, darker note, I can’t listen to Eric Clapton’s “Heaven is One Step Away,” on the A-side. It’s a halfway decent song (I’m not a huge Clapton fan anyways) but it’s linked in my brain, the way that music gets, with two tragedies. The first, knowing about Clapton’s son Conor, who died in a fall from a window and was the inspiration for “Tears in Heaven,” a song that I feel bad for deeply hating. The second is an incident that had a fundamental impact on my life, one that has stayed with me well into adulthood.
About a year ago, I had to admit to myself what I always secretly knew was true — that for as much as I loved Star Wars as a kid, Back to the Future was my pick for the Greatest Trilogy of All Time. It wasn’t an easy thing to confess; much of my teens had been devoted to obsessive Star Wars fandom. I fell in love with my first boyfriend because he too loved Star Wars, back before Force Day, back when you had to special order Star Wars Insider and hope to find old figures at a garage sale.
But that relationship ended and he got Star Wars in the breakup. It seemed too childish to me, too goofy when I watched it and remembered the endless scenarios my sister Hilary & I would create in our backyard. It was a part of my life I could remember fondly, but I just don’t care to continue fawning over the same way I don’t collect Pokemon toys or dress in goth clothes. If I do see the new one, it’ll be because friends wanted to go, and it certainly won’t be opening night. I’m just not that fan anymore.