The Loneliest Year: Part Seven

September 2020

On my birthday, I celebrated by re-watching Scotland, P.A. as I ate Pizza Hut pizza, cake, and ice cream. I also enjoyed a large mug of Dr. Pepper Cream Soda.

In the morning, I talked to my parents on the phone and opened the gifts they sent me. And throughout the day, several sweet friends had flowers, sweets, and gifts delivered to my door. And thanks to my friend, Tina, I was able to blow out candles on a cake when I made my wish.

On my social media platforms, I kindly asked my friends to send light and love to my birthday wish so that it might come true and to do something kind that might brighten someone’s day or make the world a better place.

I didn’t hear from Jesse, but it was okay. I trusted that my wish would come true, and when the time was right for us, I would get to spend many birthdays with him.

The next day, I dropped off a birthday package for my friend, Lindsey Mallard (who shares a birthday with Beyoncé), and a week later, we had a distanced lunch at a park.

Later that evening, I drove to Burbank and watched the live-action Mulan with the former roommates I considered to be my L.A. family. We’d all been quarantining, but even though I trusted them, I stayed six feet away from them at all times.

I continued my therapy sessions with Kandace via Pride Counseling, and she encouraged me to find my joy.

I finished re-reading Men on Men 3 from one of my favorite gay fiction series, but I couldn’t fully enjoy the short stories, because each one reminded me of Jesse in a different way.

I couldn’t lift weights, because I strained my right arm, and I couldn’t run outside, because wildfires had erupted in L.A. and the air quality had reached hazardous levels.

My friend, Ryan, posted on Instagram about how he wanted to go on a date. I let him know that I was interested—that I had a crush on him when we first met, and he wrote back “Really??” I verified my claim, and then he didn’t respond again.

I video-chatted with a guy named Shane from Hinge who immediately rubbed me the wrong way. I got a splinter from the dining room chair while sitting at my computer. I performed in Groundlings’ online Crazy Uncle Joe Show, and I was sad the entire time. Joy eluded me at every turn.

I physically left my apartment to coach two actors for an experimental film project. We all wore masks and kept our distance.

I said “no” to pretty much everything but auditions. I shot self-tapes for Let’s Be Real, American Housewife, Beginner’s Guide to Gardening, American Crime Story, and Good Trouble.

I stopped working out and dieting, and I felt guilty about it.

I watched The Peanut Butter Falcon, while eating Chinese food and two slices of cake.

On the night that Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsberg passed away, there was an earthquake around 11 PM. It was a big one, and I heard it coming before I felt it. I wanted to text Jesse, but I didn’t.

At my therapist’s encouragement, I started recording videos of song covers that expressed what I felt about Jesse, and I posted them online.

When I posted “Dream of Me” to Instagram, the composer, Marc Shaiman, watched it and commented on my video, and the next day he emailed me the full orchestral score. A rare and magical moment in a truly bleak year. A boost from the universe that I desperately needed.

I composed one of the most beautiful songs I’ve ever written. A song about Jesse entitled “He Came on an August Night.”

Several of the tarot and psychic accounts I followed on Instagram and Twitter predicted that communication between me and Jesse would occur this month or the next.

I also read a CIA report that highlighted the fact that we’re living in an energy simulation and that we have the power to create our own reality, and I focused my thoughts on creating the reality where I ended up with Jesse.

I called my mom and wished her “Happy Birthday.”

I taught a three-hour improv Zoom class for UCLA business students, where one of the students recognized me from 2 Broke Girls.

John Halbach asked me to be a part of a Voting PSA for Queerty. I was officially gay-mous.

While working on my pilot with Darren, I had to end our Zoom session early, because I laughed and got a horrible ab cramp. On the same day, my mom fell off her bike and got two stitches in her arm.

My laptop battery kept over-heating, and when I called Apple Support to inquire about getting my battery replaced, the customer support agent was named Jesse, and I almost cried.

I started to wake up at 4 AM, and I would cry instantly over how much I missed Jesse. I really wanted to reach out to him, but I wasn’t sure if I should. While sitting on the floor, crying, I asked God, once again, to give me guidance. That same day, two different friends, Brian Jordan Alvarez and Tameka Cruel, reached out to me, and they both said a prayer for me—that Jesse or someone better would come into my life.

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Part Eight:

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Note from the Writer

This is part seven 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.