I didn’t worry about happy-go-lucky Jorge. With the exception of my liver taking a hit from Zoom happy hours. So uplifting to get a message from you, confirmation of my actual existence! You? Still in denial about the trauma that was transpiring in real time, we both confessed to drinking more than before. In May, we exchanged texts about pandemic isolation. We said good night and promised to reconvene.īut then we were in lockdown. He lyricized about my husband’s Manhattan-making skills. COVID-19 was sidling up to California, but as Jorge put it to me later, there was “a little foreshadowing but not enough to scare one.” He danced up to me and squeezed my shoulders, covering my face with kisses. The Friday preceding California’s first shelter-in-place order, Jorge and a mutual friend visited the rental house where my husband and I lived with our two toddlers. When I moved to Oakland from New York City 10 years later, he seemed just the same, inviting me to everything, even hosting a small gathering in his apartment to welcome me to town.įast forward to the pandemic. At 28, Jorge’s black hair was already receding from his forehead, but that Jorge, spry and light, would greet me by jumping into my arms so I’d have to catch him or let him drop. But pretty soon I realized everyone felt that way about him.Įven as the college-student sister of a friend, I was showered with familial affection. Within hours of meeting him, I felt he was my soulmate. His smiling eyes sparkled with secrets he wanted to share. Jorge Sanchez was giddy about meeting new people.
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