OCR Text |
Show house/ 441 My mother smiled brilliantly. She had seen my ring. "Beautiful!" she mouthed. I nodded, my eyes shining as they dropped to the gem. Then, involuntarily, my eyes traveled to her plain gold wedding band. Again I felt extravagant, prodigal, and I hid my hand beneath the table. The feeling, like all others during this time, was twofold. First, there was the obvious source of discomfort - the shame of needing so much than the other children, or under some solipsistic spell, thinking I needed more, or - dark root of pride - deserved more. But it was the other half of this awareness that was most divisive, growing as it did from a lingering and expansive need for my father that bordered on worship - perhaps because it had never been fulfilled. Long ago, I had sensed the enigma, long before I could bear to think about it. It was the paradox of wanting to be at once dependent and necessary - to be special and indespensible in the way that self-knowing people are essential to the smooth coursing of the universe, and at the same time, wishing to be |