"Rescue Me"

I’ve lost myself.

The sun is shining. People walk by oblivious, drinking frappacinos by the bay.

I’m no where to be found. I’ve looked everywhere.

It must be frightening, dark, lonely there where she is.

I feel like a fool, all this time, looking in the mirror thinking that was me, when really it was that imposter, damned ego.

Ego’s got my self locked up somewhere. Got to find her. I went so long without even noticing she was missing. But then it dawned on me—last month, at that party.

***

Surrounded by women in Dolce, men in Armani. The smell of new money in the air. I heard a conversation; within it a voice that sounded like mine, and yet not.

“That’s really beautiful, where did you get it?”

“My boyfriend bought it for me.”

“Really? What does he do?”

“He’s a banker. He drives a Porsche. What about your boyfriend?”

“Well, I don’t have one, currently. But I do have a Mercedes.”

“Really! Nice. Isn’t this a great club? They’re so good to be so selective, so exclusive about who they let in.”

I saw my reflection off the glass wall. Something wasn’t right. Wine red lips ($100 tube of Mishima). Mascara (flown from Paris). Manicured fingers (Beverly Hills).

I heard a whisper from far away. That’s not me.

I’ve been on the hunt ever since.

***

Wherever I search, ego is a few steps ahead.

Went to therapy where I asked the woman, can you help me find my self? Try the Peace Corps, she said. So I signed up and it was hot and dirty in Ghana where they sent me. I tried to look to see if I could get what I came for but ego kept knocking me off my feet: You’re too good for this. This is a waste of time.

I went to Burning Man, tripped on ecstasy and had a glimpse of myself but ego threw playa dust in my eyes and sneered: This is just a fantasy. Put your boas away.

Traveled to India, joined an ashram, meditated and did yoga every morning until one day I saw my self half-smiling, floating, shifting left and right around me. I could almost grab her and put her inside my heart where she belonged. But of course ego beat me to her—snatched her away: Your knees are getting tired. Plus you don’t even like Indian food. Go home.

Gave up meat. Sold my car. Bought a bike.

Gave away all my nice clothes. Started donating to charities.

Ego was getting tired, weaker, I could see it in her eyes.

Quit my job. Started teaching.


Yesterday, I went to tutor a little boy named Rico at his house. It was raining outside. A chilly Saturday. I was soaked after riding over. His mother offered me some of her dry clothes, a flannel shirt and some sweats. Rico and I worked on subtraction problems for hours. He was really starting to get it. I was proud of him and told him so.

“Miss Jenny, does math work for everything?”

I thought about this.

“Yes.”

“Then what’s Rico minus Miss Jenny?”

I smiled, shrugged.

“A whole lot less, Rico!” He whooped, always loving to crack himself up.

I laughed and gave him a hug. Saw something in the rain-smoothed window.

Rescued at last.