Polly

Polly is the narrator’s new best friend at Sarah Lawrence College and a catalyst for several tentative steps beyond Hasidic life. Her vivid style, unembarrassed confidence, and practical support give the narrator new ways to imagine herself: first as someone who can enter unfamiliar spaces, then as someone who might be seen and heard on her own terms. She does not resolve the narrator’s fear of leaving, but her easy acceptance makes another life briefly seem possible.

Identity and First Impressions

Polly enters the narrator’s account as an arresting contrast to the life of secrecy and self-denial the narrator associates with her upbringing. She has brilliant blond hair, a dimpled smile, beautiful clothes, and an animated way of talking about everything. To the narrator, she resembles a character from the books she once read wistfully. That comparison carries longing as well as admiration: the narrator envies Polly’s yellow hair, blue eyes, and white teeth, and imagines that a different nose might have meant a different life. The association between appearance and fortune belongs to the narrator’s own thinking, not to any claim Polly makes about herself.

Their first exchange also establishes how easily the narrator can be misread in Polly’s world. When the narrator says she is Hasidic, Polly initially laughs as though it were a joke. Once she understands that the narrator is serious, she covers her mouth and apologizes repeatedly. The narrator is not offended; she is flattered that Polly had not recognized her as different. Polly has mistaken the narrator’s wig for her real hair, a small misunderstanding that gives the narrator a glimpse of passing unnoticed rather than being immediately marked as an outsider.

A New World at the Restaurant

In January, Polly takes the narrator to her Manhattan neighborhood and brings her to a restaurant. Food is a particular pleasure for Polly: she previously worked as a chef, and later she and her husband opened a chocolate factory. For the narrator, dining out means confronting a boundary she has only just begun to test. She plans to avoid fish and meat because the food is not kosher, but the unfamiliar surroundings make the outing feel like more than a meal.

The narrator is fascinated and intimidated by the restaurant’s tall-ceilinged room and the people in it, whom she sees as long-legged and self-assured. She watches a handsome waiter and is puzzled when Polly silently identifies him as gay. At the table, Polly flirts openly with the host, teasing him about his unusually styled hair. The narrator averts her eyes, bashful and unsure how to read this kind of social ease. Polly then tells her that the host had been checking her out. The narrator’s bewildered question—“See what?”—shows how little experience she has of being noticed in this setting.

When the narrator retreats to the bathroom, the mirror returns her to the signs of her Hasidic identity: her wig and long-sleeved blouse. She feels small beside the glamour she has imagined in the restaurant, but deliberately straightens her back and goes back to the table. She then samples the dishes she had meant to avoid, including lamb spring rolls, beef carpaccio, and salmon ceviche. Her description of eating them as though she had returned from war turns a breach of dietary rules into a small victory. She jokes to Polly about going beyond the predictable hamburger and straight to gourmet non-kosher food.

Permission to Experiment

Polly’s response gives the narrator a language for the kind of rebellion she is trying out. “That’s how you do it, though,” she says. “Even when you break the rules, you do it with pizzazz.” The narrator likes the idea of being a glamorous rebel. On their way back, they stop at a sunglasses shop, where the narrator buys tortoiseshell frames from a designer Polly recommends. Seeing herself in them, she thinks she looks like a supermodel. The glasses do not erase her uncertainty—she still wonders whether she can become as self-assured as Polly—but they make experimentation feel tangible, something she can put on and look at in a mirror.

After they leave the shop, the narrator suddenly announces, “I don’t want to be a Hasid anymore.” Polly answers, “Well, then,” she says, “you don’t have to be.” Her reply treats the desire as legitimate rather than shocking, but it cannot remove the narrator’s practical and emotional bind. The narrator cannot yet imagine what life could replace the only one she has been allowed to live. Their exchange therefore marks both the force and the limit of Polly’s encouragement: she offers permission, while the narrator remains unable to see a route from wanting freedom to possessing it.

From Friendship to Literary Opportunity

Polly’s support later extends from personal encouragement to the narrator’s writing. As the narrator spends long hours among the library stacks, she connects the freedom of published authors to the truth she has spent years concealing. At this point, Polly is sending the narrator’s blog to people she knows in publishing. A literary agent has already contacted the narrator, who is overwhelmed by the opportunity and afraid it might disappear. Polly’s action turns her enthusiasm into a concrete connection beyond the college friendship.

She also accompanies the narrator to meet Patricia, a literary representative, on the Upper East Side. Before leaving her car, the narrator changes from her long black jersey skirt into trousers and a floral silk shirt. The shift in clothing alters her sense of movement and appearance: her heels click confidently, her stride feels wider, and she sees herself reflected in Madison Avenue windows as tall and powerful. At the café, Patricia initially fails to recognize her as the Hasidic woman seeking representation, then says, “You are nothing like I expected,” and calls her glamorous. The narrator credits Polly with having “corrupted” her and is privately delighted to blend in. Polly’s presence links this meeting to the earlier sunglasses shop: in both, the narrator tries out a public image and discovers that other people may respond to it.

Narrative Role

Polly matters not because she can decide the narrator’s future, but because she repeatedly makes experiments in self-presentation feel possible. At the restaurant she models social confidence; over the meal she celebrates breaking rules with style; after the shopping trip she accepts the narrator’s wish to leave Hasidic life without making the admission into a spectacle. Later, by circulating the blog and joining the meeting with Patricia, she helps carry the narrator’s words into a professional setting.

The narrator’s account remains centered on the narrator’s own gaze: Polly is described through her appearance, confidence, food, and connections, while her private history and inner life are not explored. Within that limited portrait, however, her role develops from admired friend to active advocate. The most consequential change is in the narrator’s sense of what might be possible. Polly cannot supply the replacement life the narrator cannot yet imagine, but she helps create encounters in which the narrator can test a different one.