PREEXISTING CONDITIONS

I’m not easily offended. So when our former prison librarian stood outside my classroom ready to apologize for something she had said, I told her, “Hey, you’re entitled to your opinion. You needn’t apologize.” Whatever it was wasn’t important—if it were, I would have remembered. Then, as a peace offering that wasn’t necessary, she told me she wanted to give me her dead ex-husband’s neckties. I could see the tears welling-up; I could see she was ready to lose it, right there, right then, in the hallway, in full view of the inmates inside my classroom. After an awkward moment of nonverbal reassurance, I said, “I love ties. Just drop them off at the front desk tomorrow and I’ll pick them up.”

Afterward, some of the inmates commented about how the librarian, fifteen years my senior, had the hots for me. I dismissed such nonsense. Coming from them, a woman who talks to you is looking for one thing and one thing only. Their delusional fantasies get the better of them, get them into trouble. I told them not to speak disrespectfully about my coworker. To shut up.

From what I could gather, but I’m not exactly sure of the arrangement, or the specifics, the librarian had remarried her ex-husband so he could get healthcare benefits. Whether they were able to conceal his preexisting condition, I’ll never know. What I do know is this: She had referred to him as “the ex-husband,” even after his death. I often wondered why she took him back, why she was willing to go through all that suffering with him.

I did wear those damn neckties. Not that I had wanted to. Why would I give a prisoner an easy opportunity to strangle me? Perhaps I wore those neckties for moral support because, from my observations, the librarian seemed very lonely, very sad, and somewhat isolated from her coworkers. But I didn’t wear those neckties for long. The librarian had been placed under investigation for allegedly performing oral sex on her library clerk, an inmate doing a life sentence. I didn’t want to believe it. F**king convicts stirring up trouble, that's what I thought. I guess I was in denial. After all, inmates will prey on your loneliness, they’ll suck you into their games, they’ll try to make you feel special. She had messed up royally and now other inmates wanted a piece of the action. A denied piece of ass meant snitch kites to the inspector, which in turn created a dangerous situation for everyone involved, thus the investigation.

In the end, the librarian either quit her job or was fired. Last I heard, she married the library clerk and to this very day visits him regularly. My question is: How much suffering and loneliness can a person endure?