The Loneliest Year: Part Five

July 2020

On July 4th, I walked for seven hours and surpassed 40,000 steps.

I’d hoped to hear from Jesse on the 4th, and while I was at the grocery store, I heard his voice—from my earphones when my iTunes shuffle played a song from a musical he performed in years ago.

I was following a lot of psychic and tarot accounts on Twitter, and I was certain that Jesse was my twin flame and that we shared a telepathic connection. In the week that followed, whenever I enjoyed something, I’d take a moment to share it with Jesse mentally. I’d imagine he was eating the same cold, sweet plums. That he could feel the same breeze.

One morning, while swiping left on Tinder, disappointed by all my potential matches, I thought, None of them come close to Jesse. When I swiped again, my heart skipped a beat and then sunk into my chest. It was Jesse. I swiped right, and then I wished him love, light, and happiness.

I continued to have psychic moments.

Two days after I thought, I’d love to do a photo shoot with Jeff Lorch, Jeff texted me out of the blue and asked me to pose for his socially-distanced portrait series, and two weeks later we shot at Staircase Beach.

L.A.’s improved air quality worsened again under a daily barrage of fireworks. One evening, while walking home from Ralphs, an enormous firework exploded in the sky over my head, dangerously close to the rooftop of a nearby apartment complex and low enough that I could feel the heat.

I watched three movies this month. I really liked Eurovision Song Contest, and I loved Palm Springs. I also re-watched Not Another Teen Movie, and I vividly remembered how I thought Chris Evans was so dreamy when I first watched it as an awkward, skinny teenager. Later in the day, I found some notes from my acting class that was canceled in March, and one of my classmates listed Chris Evans as one of my prototypes. It made me smile.

I did a virtual Zoom reading of Patrick Hurley’s new pilot script, Just Woke, and I submitted a self-tape for new pilot called The Big Bad Wolfes. I auditioned for and was offered the role of ‘Quinn’ in an independent short film. The writer told me that there was no competition once they saw my tape. Later, I asked if he would be okay with me changing a few of the lines (with his approval) to make them more natural (as I’d done during my audition), and he wrote back that he wanted the script to be word perfect, so he would go with someone else. I didn’t lose any sleep over it.

I applied for artist grants. I cold-read for two casting director workshops. I gave my acting teacher notes on her short film. I accepted an invitation to join The Groundlings Steering Committee. I stayed involved.

I dropped off a gift to my L.A. aunt, Mindy Sterling, on her birthday, and I got to see my dear friend, Annie Sertich, as well. A huge gift.

I ordered masks with graphic designs on them, and having paired a Captain Planet mask with a Saved by the Bell shirt, I knew I’d grown up to be everything I ever wanted to be.

L.A. shut back down, and I honestly was unaware it had ever reopened.

I matched with an author named Adam on Hinge who shared my love of X-men comics, and my friend, Jeff Galante, came over, and we played the Marvel OverPower card game, six feet apart in masks.

The director of a short film I acted in—that was written by and co-starred Jesse—emailed me to let me know that the film was up on Vimeo. The night we filmed was the night that ended my friendship with Jesse, and I wrote him back that I couldn’t watch it, because it was too painful, but I wished him, the project, and everyone involved the best.

I wrote in my journal: I still love Jesse and miss him terribly. I wish this pain would go away.

I got a pull-up bar, and I banged my head on it for four days until I adapted. I continued to run and lift weights, and I started intermittent fasting. Although I was thrilled to get my abs back, my one-hour workouts began to take two hours, because I was so sad it was hard for me to get through them.

I saw a post about freezer pops on Twitter, and I impulse-purchased five different brands from Amazon.

The next day, I stayed in bed all day. I cried though the first four episodes of Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist, and after that, I read History is All You Left Me in its entirety while crying some more.

I discovered that low-sugar prebiotic cola pairs nicely with cheese crackers.

I started taking photos with a digital camera—like Jesse. All of my initial shots turned out blurry, so I watched YouTube tutorials and read about photography, and my photos slowly improved.

One of Jesse’s friends sent me a Facebook friend request out of the blue.

I went to the DMV to get my Real ID, and I rued all the people who weren’t wearing their mask properly.

I delivered care packages to different friends on a weekly basis. It didn’t make me feel any better about life. I just wanted to do something to maybe help others who were also having a hard time.

I finished the first drafts of both my pilots with my writing partners, and we submitted them to two different contests: Final Draft’s Big Break and ScreenCraft.

On the same day that Spencer and I finished the first draft of our single-cam pilot, my friend, Victor Torres, texted me that there was a loose gunman close to my tower. Quarantine thrills abounded.

* * *

Part Six:

* * *

Note from the Writer

This is part five in a thirteen-part essay series that details my year in quarantine from March 15, 2020 to March 15, 2021. If you enjoyed this essay, I hope you'll add a heart and continue reading the other essays in the series.

Tips are not mandatory, but greatly appreciated.

Thank you for reading.