I Never Told You This

Peter Mladinic

 

but one of my closest friends is someone 

I once hated. I don’t know if he hated me,

but he demonstratively disliked me. Part

of a junior college’s English Department,

he was a twenty-seven year old  PhD, 

when he arrived. I’d been there ten years. 

Everything I said was either dumb or boring, 

he knew everything, I couldn’t tell him 

anything. Eventually he became 

our department head. He said things 

so derogatory I documented a few, 

thinking to bring them to our dean.

I never did. Still, it was bad. He kept his

personal life to himself, but I learned 

he was dating a young woman.

They married, she gave birth to a daughter. 

She had a son from a previous marriage. 

I recall more than once saying 

to my partner, at the dinner table, 

“I hope he has a painful heart attack 

and dies right in front of me,” an awful wish. 

I had wanted him to like me, when he

first came, but by then I was spiteful.

Eventually I learned his young wife 

was unstable. What I learned was vague.

I’d met her, and she was always pleasant 

to me. Then I got the impression 

she was going out nights and partying.

I never heard talk of infidelity but I knew

he was having trouble with her, 

even to the point where she went away 

to a facility for behavioral counseling.

She was an artist, and the last time 

I saw her, she was grumbling about

people not appreciating her work.

I told her to keep painting, to disregard 

the criticism of her peers, something 

like that. Then, shortly after, she took

her own life, leaving him with a stepson 

and a very young daughter. His mother

came. She was with him the day I

and one other colleague walked up

and hugged him. Our colleague

and one or two others 

attended his wife’s 

funeral service, some of her art

was on display. The odd thing was 

as his personal life got chaotic 

he developed compassion, he actually 

listened to me and cared about my life 

both in and out of the classroom.

I won’t show him what I’ve written here,

but if the past came up in conversation 

I would tell him, in a tactful way, any 

of what I’ve said; at least, I’d like 

to think I would. But you never know.