The Second Hand Man
August 17th, 1994

It is theanniversary of the day that I was sent back into the past. It seems strange tobe talking about the anniversary of something that must still take place, butas I’ve mentioned before, ‘Time Travel can be very confusing.’

Each day Imove closer to the actual date of August 17th, 2014, when my consciousness wasprojected back through time. It is now exactly 20 years before that incidentwould have happened.

I say, ‘Wouldhave happened’, due to the fact that I now intend to get much further down thetimestream this time round; much more further than 2014 before I again utilizethe services of the Consciousness Projector.

My physicalbody was already close to death when the literal Brain Drain occurred, and wouldprobably not have survived much longer in any case.

So, in orderto achieve my goal, I have chosen to live a healthier lifestyle – but only to acertain degree of course. After all, it is as Woody Allen once said, ‘You can live to be a hundred if you give upall the things that make you want to live to be a hundred.’

Therefore, Iam taking steps to cut down on wine, woman and song. I’ve decided to do it instages so that the shock to my system won’t be too great. I’ve made very goodprogress so far – I’ve completely stopped my singing in the shower!

Getting pastAugust 17th, 2014 is actually the easy part of this new journey of mine. Thedifficult part is going to be completing a new and, hopefully, improvedConsciousness Projector.

The mostimportant component needed towards that successful outcome is none other thanone - Steven Matthew Ferran!

To this end,I will be phoning him in December to set up a meeting between us for theevening of the 16th. It was what he asked me to do – it is what I promised todo!

This willalso be the first time that we actually speak to each other in this timeline. Ilook forward with much excitement and anticipation to meeting my oldest anddearest friend - for the very first time.

Yep, TimeTravel is definitely confusing!

During myfirst life, we didn’t want either of us to have any alcohol passing through ourbrains during the evening of the transference, so Steve and I had decided thatit would be best to say our goodbyes (I was almost about to say celebrate, but theevening had eventually turned out too somber to be regarded as a happy event.Let’s say it was more a bittersweet farewell.). On that second last evening ofmy first life, we were on our third or fourth round of drinks when Stevesuddenly slid a piece of paper across the bar counter.

“What’sthis?” I had asked studying the number written on the small note.”

“My phonenumber.”

I smiledwryly. “You choose a strange time to come out of the closet, Steve.”

“Up yours,Prof.”

“That…isexactly what I’m talking about.”

“Fuck you!”

“This isn’tgetting any better.” We both laughed loudly. “I gotta admit though, this isdefinitely a first for me. I had quite a few women slip me their phone numbersback in my bad old days at Navigators. They mostly used the paper napkins, butthere was this one time…”

“The schoolteacher from Lincoln Elementary?”

“Youremembered? Yeah, the slightly inebriated history teacher.”

“Pissed!” Hecorrected. “You had definitely said, ‘This pissed former prissy from LincolnElementary, after using a permanent marker pen, had slipped her panties intoyour pocket.’” He thought for a moment. “Cicely Adams, I believe.”

“Your memoryis impeccable.”

“How could Iforget? Especially when you mentioned that the evening had culminated with thebest history lesson that you have ever had. I believe it involved the Invasionof Sicily.”

“Yep, Cicelyhad insisted on us performing a very in-depth reenactment of the event.”

“Must havebeen very educational?”

“You have noidea. She was a great believer in rote learning; woke me up another three timesto repeat the lesson. By the fourth time my ships were firing duds, but Imanaged to complete an oral examination to her satisfaction. I’m happy to say Imanaged an F plus.”

“Your countryis proud of you!”

“I still havethat little keepsake of hers filed away somewhere.”

He pointed tothe piece of paper. “You’ll have to file that one in your noggin.”

“Oh?”

“That is anold phone number of mine. I couldn’t remember it myself. I had to scratch itout of an old box in the attic. I have no idea who would answer it now, if atall.”

“Ah, you wantme to phone you once I’ve gone back?”

“Exactly! Wehave no idea how far back your consciousness will be projected, but we bothagree that it will probably not be much further than twenty or twenty fiveyears at most.”

“Shit!”

“What?”

“I justthought of something.”

“Yeah?”

“What if it’sonly capable of sending me back a month or two at the most?”

“That wouldbe tragic. But with the juice we’ve hooked up to her now, I seriously doubt it.”

“What aboutthat spike.”

“Thatinexplicable surge we keep getting?” I nodded. “No need to concern yourself. Ifanything it will only improve the quality of the transference.”

“Quality?That sounds like I could lose some of my mind in the process.”

“There’s nodanger of that. I meant it would help in pushing…or punching a deeper hole intothe timestream. Stop fretting! Trust me! You’ll end up much further back than acouple of months. I’m hoping at least to before 1995.”

“The year wemet?”

“Yes, but itwas also earlier, at the end of ‘94 that I met Nicolette at my works party.”

“Your firstwife?”

“Yes, thatNicolette. Nicolette Kurtzman! And we both know how that turned out in the end.You’re the only one that I ever told the truth.”

Steve hadcome home early from a business trip and found his wife in bed with, not one,but two men. She had often told him that she fantasized about having a DP, andwondered what it would be like. I guess she had decided it was time to replace out– sans Steve’s help or blessing!

It was onlyabout three years later, on a night of drinking much similar to the one we werehaving the night he had handed me his old phone number, that he had gotten thecourage to tell me the truth behind his divorce.

With thepassing of even more time the incident had become less traumatic and more of ajoke.

In fact, itbecame a habit of mine to niggle him quite often about it.

“I still sayyou should have been more open-minded about the matter. After all, Mondays wereyour nights out with the boys, and Wednesdays was her nights in with the boys.”

“Fuck you,Corn. I knew it was a bad mistake ever telling you about it!” We both laughed.Then he said seriously. “If you help me this time round, I never will have totell you about it.”

“What do wantme to do?”

“Nicolette worked as an assistant to FrankMyer in our satellite R&D department. If I hadn’t gone to Futronics’year-end function on December 16th, 1994, I wouldn’t have met her.

“I wasalready considering contacting you to discuss the possibility of starting up anew company. I knew back then already that we would make a dynamic combination.If you hadn’t contacted me first, sooner or later I would have gotten the gutsto call you.”

“You nevertold me this before?”

“I didn’twant your head getting any bigger than it already is. That would certainlycause some problems with the transference of your consciousness. Then we’d haveto build our own power station in order to send you back!”

“Ho, ho!That’s very witty. Very amusing indeed.”

“Touché!”

“Go on.”

“I need foryou to arrange our initial meeting six months earlier.”

“On the nightof the work’s function?”

“Right!”

“You realizeof course that changing the past could have serious consequences on thefuture.”

“To nevermeet Nikki will be more than worth the risk.”

“Yeah, womenhave no idea of the damage they can cause to a man’s mental well-being.”

“Ah, yes! I’msure you will also make a point of steering well-clear of the Balmoral Hotel?”

I raised myglass. “You said it! Let’s drink to new beginnings.”

“Here’s tosecond chances!”

“To secondchances!”

Our glassesclinked together.