The Child by Sarah Schulman Page B

not want to become the kind of person she now resented. But then again she did. It was the only way to not get hurt by them, again.
    She had a girlfriend to cry to and cheer her on. When she tried again, Eva would say “I believe in you.” Mary appreciated this, but she also knew that the words were offered somewhat in innocence. Eva, after all, was a lifelong New Yorker, and a lawyer, and although she was accomplished, she was not ambitious. Eva didn’t realize what it was like to need help to realize your natural calling, how humiliating that was. Eva had been handed everything. She was born in New York, after all, and knew how to act.
    Telling Mary “You can do it” and other cheers was in some ways a contrivance for Eva to feel more sympathetic, i.e., the person she wanted to be. Ever since the legal clinic had been defunded, Eva had been depressed. Mary knew she felt disappointed in herself. Eva was embarrassed by her own failure, and by the suffering it had caused her clients. Mary felt bad for Eva, but she was also sick of it.
It was time for Eva to move on to something better. After all, what was happening to Mary was worse. Eva at least had a law degree; she should be able to solve her problems. Thank God that Hockey had gotten her a new gig. It was good for everyone and would keep the focus where it needed to be.
    Eva had loved the clinic, and Mary had been filled with hope. Now Mary felt deep inside that there was a secret connection between Eva not being happy and no one opening the door for Mary. In a vague and unarticulated way, she felt that Eva’s disappointments were exactly the thing keeping that door from opening. Now Eva had to be very, very happy so that Mary could finally make it.
    After eight years with Eva, Mary had learned a lot about Jews. No matter what they got, it wasn’t enough. They always wanted more. Regular white people were too satisfied. Like Mary’s family. They thought that wanting anything was asking for trouble. That’s why her own family didn’t get her. She wished for something great, and they found that uncomfortable. Maybe that was the very attitude that kept her from knowing how to get the thing she needed. It was the hidden injury of class.
    Mary’s father had been afraid to want, and it didn’t serve him, either. She loved him so much and wanted him to be on her side. For the last ten years of his life, she called him with every detail of hope or expectation, but he never got excited. He couldn’t. He loved her, but her ambition was just a blur. He worried that she was setting herself up for defeat. It smelled to him like covetousness and being too big for her britches. It made him uneasy and it was painful to pay attention. But if he was the example of what happens when you give up on your dreams, it was a fate she wanted to avoid. Mary couldn’t call him after two in the afternoon, because
he would be drunk. Her mother would also be drunk. Her mother just disappeared into vague rambles about nothing.
    It was so childish. Not having dreams. They were like kids. But she didn’t want them to be. They were her parents, and she loved them no matter what. Couldn’t they put down the bottle and reciprocate? If she called too late in the day, her dad was really out of it. But before two he was usually okay. Sometimes even gruffly funny, like when she was a kid. If Mary went to visit them in Del Sol, they would drive drunk. The few times Eva came along, she had a shit fit. She couldn’t stand all the drinking and the accompanying silence. She would complain about it, call it “morose.” But she would also use her credit card to rent a car so that they didn’t have to ride with the drinkers. Mary’s credit card was maxed out. Eva tried to help, but after two days of straight vodka and silence, she would go in the next room and watch TV until the holiday was over. She met them halfway. But Mary wanted it all.
    Eva was nice when Mary’s dad got sick. She did talk about