I’m sorry - who are you looking for?

When the rain is blowing in your face
And the whole world is on your case
I would offer you a warm embrace
To make you feel my love.

-To make you feel my love
-Garth Brooks

For so long I’ve been wanting to be someone else…hating the thing that looks back at me in the mirror each day.  Hating the hair or the skin or the teeth or the weight.  And today I realized that it’s not really an option….this is me. This is who I am.

This is my thinning hair and my fucked-up smile.  It’s my big belly and freckles.  And from some recent feedback, I’m starting to learn that all of those things may very well actually be okay.  Because they all combine and add up to something.  They are the tiny little pieces of me that lend themselves to something larger.

This realization all came from a most-unlikely source.  A wrong number.  I picked up the phone tonight, and there was a voice I didn’t recognize, and she was looking for Jason.  I’m not Jason - I’ve never been Jason.  I said “It’s not Jason - but anyone watching “Hope Floats” is a friend of mine.”  She freaked out - but it was the Garth Brooks in the background that gave it all away.

Her name is Ellen. She lives in Baton Rouge.  She was looking for Jason.  She got me.  We talked for 2 hours.  Her name is Ellen and she is a 41 year-old artist. She sent me pictures of her paintings and her vessels that she made from clay that she bought in an artist’s market that’s within walking distance from her house.  I read her my fiction and used the parts of my voice that win people over.  I and told her what to add to her eggs to make them perfect.  Her name is Ellen and she asked for my picture.  I said, “I don’t look like Jason, so I’d rather not send it to you.”  She said, “I’m not on the phone with Jason, I’m on with you.  And anyone who watches Hope Floats has to know it’s ok to send a stranger a photo…even if they will never meet.”

Soon after getting off the phone - I  got this email from her….

Hi! Thank you. You’re so funny and generous. I love that you knew how to spell Guernica. More than that - my eggs were fucking perfect. And you, sir, are perfect, too. The beautiful parts of the pictures you sent me are the parts you’ll never see. So there’s no use in me stroking your ego until you’re ready to accept it. You’re not broken or lost. Perhaps you’re just waiting for all things to flow into one. Next time you’re in Baton Rouge, the eggs are on me.  And when you meet someone who deserves to land you - she’ll wonder how she lived this long without you in her life.  I’m starting to already. Much Love - Ellen.

Her name is Ellen - and I will never forget this email.