The Second Hand Man
October 30th, 1980

I saw Linda Burgess in a book shop today. She’s the type of person who prefers to buy and keep the books she reads. So, although she was an avid reader of all sorts of literature, she was seldom found gracing the halls of any library. In fact, her father had turned one of the enormous spare rooms in their house into a library in order to accommodate her vast book collection. I had been extremely impressed with it the first time she had invited me round to her folks place.

Although tall and buxom, she still gave the impression of being mousy.

She had appeared today, as I had originally known her, bespectacled and with her auburn hair curling up on either side of her cheeks like a chicken wishbone.

She had a slight resemblance to Nana Mouskouri. Only she was shy and walked with a slight slouch, always carrying a bundle of books crushed against her large chest.

She was often derided and humiliated for her nerdiness by her fellow students, but I had seen Aphrodite beneath her disguise; I had seen the possibility of her becoming my Wonder Woman!

In my first life I had met her in ‘81 when she had decided to join the college chess team of which I had been captain. Two years later we were married.

We had quickly fallen in love, but then slowly, with much time, had fallen out of it again.

The fact that there were no children by the end of our five year marriage was evidence to the fact that our love making had dwindled to an unimpressive monthly romp that, more often than not, required the assistance of a medically approved lubricant.

Linda, although a shy academic, had a great body. She carried a few extra pounds where it mattered, and I used to affectionately call her my big bookish wench. She had loved the term of endearment at first, but towards the end, had decided that it was insulting and derogatory.

Shortly after she started wearing contact lenses and changing her hairstyle to something more audaciously evident, she had become involved with the boss of the small publishing company for whom she worked.

By the time she had gained confidence that her new physical appearance was alluring to the male population, evident by a new and proud sexy swagger in her strut, our marriage was over.

He was eighteen years her senior, but he was financially comfortable and represented the security I was not able to afford her at that time.

She had come from a wealthy family and was used to a certain standard of living.

I know this was the reason she left me because she had told me so; she was not one to mince her words.

I had felt devastated like Heathcliff in Wuthering Heights or Jay Gatsby in The Great Gatsby. And like them, I had vowed to one day amass myself a great fortune – but not in order to regain her favor – uh-uh!

I would do it in order to rub her snooty little nose it!!!

As is the case with many wealthy men who think they can use their affluence to influence the young and naïve, making love to a much younger woman is their hope and belief that it is the same as partaking of the fountain of youth.

Linda was to him what the Consciousness Projector was to me; a link to a happier, younger lifetime.

He had divorced his 1st wife after twenty five years of marriage in order to take mine. And he and Linda had exchanged vows barely two months after our divorce.

Shortly after that, he suffered a serious financial setback due to some tax evasion schemes he had been employing over the past ten years that had suddenly come to light.

Apparently his ex had decided to spill the beans!

Yep, Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned! – Or in this case, rejected!

I can’t say that I didn’t smile just a little after hearing about their awful predicament.

Still, it was after my first divorce that I had become highly disillusioned regarding the fairer sex (I choose to use the word fairer as opposed to weaker as I have met many determined and strong-willed women in both my lifetimes.).

I had been young, naïve and gullible, but I vowed that no woman would ever sink her poisonous claws into me again.

But I was mistaken!

And although it was many years before a woman was able to change my opinion, it was to be very briefly.

It would take only six months for my beautiful, scheming wife to prove that my original deliberations about womankind had been exceedingly accurate.

Dejected, I had spiraled into a self destructive world of alcohol, loose women and finally death!

Yep, if not for the saving grace, literally, of the Consciousness Projector, Cornelius Crane would be no more.

And yet, ironically, it was that second divorce that was to be the catalyst leading to the construction of the greatest invention that the world would never know!!!

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