Life moved swimmingly and surprisingly well prior to the coronavirus sweeping across California in early March. The final months of the academic year inched closer to the end, but then everything paused.
All of a sudden, I was no longer on cruise control. It seemed that just yesterday I packed all my belongings and moved into my dingy apartment, but now I had everything in boxes again and was headed home to Sacramento to live with my sister. California went on a mandated lockdown and I knew being with family was the best decision for me.
The comfort of being back home didn't last too long. Somehow I reversed backwards in time and hit a wall. Goals, dreams, and hopes paused. And making lasting memories with my closest friends was no longer an option.
But I didn't want to succumb to my old habits of ruminating on only the negative and pitying myself for severing off ties with hometown friends that I desperately wanted to see now. Was this karma? Will I only survive the pandemic once I make amends with past friends? Fears and feelings of loneliness crept in. I frequently had days where it felt like I lost everything. Sitting home all day and occasionally Zooming with friends, which sort of filled my need for human connection helped me cope. I spent most afternoons sitting on the couch reading, surfing the web, and abruptly turning my neck whenever a shadow crossed the window. Any time a living creature moved outside, I strained my neck to see who it was, yearning to make new acquaintances in a city I forgot was my own. Once on an average day with hardly any entertaining action besides the mailman dropping off copies of The New Yorker, which began accumulating by the door, I mindlessly touched my sister's plant named Frederick, who I caught myself saying hello to.
"This is the end," I whispered to myself. "This is how it begins."
Little did I know it would only take a few weeks before someone other than Frederick would be my new friend. I gasped when I first heard a cheery "Hi!" through the window. Who could that be? If not Frederick, or the mailman, who?!
I peered through Frederick's luscious green leaves and saw a tiny curly head, which belonged to a tiny human I'd never seen before. Next to her was a woman, who I found out was her mother. Little J, Emma, and Evan were an adorable family that lived just around the corner from us. I smiled to myself because it felt like I was again on the road moving forward. "I can do this. I can make friends here and together we'll survive this, while making the best of it," I said to myself.
In a world consumed by fear, uncertainty, and the unknown, who would have thought a little girl, not even three feet tall would provide me the reassurance and hope that this pandemic shall pass.
Ever since I met little J, the days ostensibly passed with ease.
Whether I'd sit on the couch or cook in the kitchen, I'd hear little J's voice as she announced to Emma or Evan, "Anna and Tori's house." She always sported a fun outfit, whether it'd be a yellow sundress or a rainbow tee and automatically added sunshine to my day.
Anna and I would walk out to the porch and meet her as she would then shy way and hide behind our rosemary bush. We'd chat with Emma and briefly catch up, asking what they've all been up to. One day we even had a Happy Hour together, which was the most fun I'd had during the pandemic in what seemed like months of sulking inside closed quarters.
I took in each moment, silently thanking the universe for that one day little J walked on our street and spotted our tiny abode. There's a small painting in the window of our home, which she noticed and drew towards. I knew this kid and I would have been friends in another life.
Still, this isn't to say bad days didn't happen. But on those bad days -- seeing little J mounted in the front seat of her parents' bike and look for us as she passed by, made me see the good in the not-so-good days. It gave me hope for more happy days filled with little J and her parents, who I adored.
I knew they planned on leaving California soon. Their hearts laid in the West and they spoke fondly of the amazing scenery in Montana and Idaho. Not going to lie, the first time I heard Emma speak so thoughtfully about the West's mountainous glory and how badly she'd wanted to move there, I thought to myself, "But you haven't even seen the real Sac!"
They've only been in Sacramento for a few years and were already ready to leave. Maybe it was the rush of the Negroni I sipped on, but I vowed to myself that as soon as the pandemic ended, Anna and I would show them the fun Sacramento we knew. The Sacramento that sometimes wasn't so bad, the Sacramento I used to love and sometimes still do. I dreaded returning to Sacramento's suburban ennui, but if I hadn't, I would've never heard little J walking down our street. The world works in mysterious ways.
It's sad to say my hopeful wish didn't last long. I got to know this family over a short amount of time and in the blink of an eye, they will soon be gone. When I first heard the news they were moving to Idaho, I was standing with Anna on the porch. We stood in our same old favorite spot and I assumed this was just one of our regular catch-ups. But this one was different.
Emma told us their big news and my heart sank. All the hopes of the future in my head escaped. I just recently began smoothly cruising through life again, excited about my newest acquaintances and hopeful for a time when we could hang out in close-quarters, go to a brewery, or have drinks at a local bar after one of Emma's shifts.
Tears filled my eyes, but I smiled brightly at little J. I only ugly-cried when I got back inside the house. I said to Anna through mid-way sobs, "That hurt."
I didn't expect to cry so much over people I barely knew, but truly, it didn't matter how much I knew them. It came down to how they made me feel. Especially little J. On days when I felt like giving up, hating all of life, saying "fuck it" to everything, I could always look outside and catch a glimpse of little J. Seeing her happy, curious about our plants, showing off her camera, or simply saying "hi" to our decorative bunny reminded me there was good out there.
I felt myself moving closer and closer to a wall again. The pandemic gives and strips everything away at such a fast pace that you can't seem to win. Just when I felt I could get through it, see the silver lining, and make it to the finish line, I lost once again.
I'm back on the couch next to Frederick. One could say I'm preparing for the day I will no longer spot my neighbors strolling through the street.
Recently, I noticed Frederick's leaves drooping. My guess is that he's also dreading the last day we'll see our friends.
I heard plants actually sense when we care for them. I gently touch his leaves and say, "We'll be fine."
I pull up the blinds and move the curtains for the sun to come in. I sit in its golden rays and face the window. I have a feeling something good will come out on the other side of it all.
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