About a Girl

1.8K 40 5
                                    

April 9, 1994- Los Angeles, CA

"This can't be true..." I stammered. The newspaper felt heavy in my hands. Kurt Cobain Dead, said the headline. Usually I wouldn't have been so upset about the death of a musician. But this time it hurt. Because I knew the man that died.

"What's wrong, Stefanie?" asked my husband from his armchair. I didn't even look at him.

"Kurt died. Shot himself, apparently." I didn't say anything else, just thought. He'd been so young, just 27; my age. We went to high school together back in Aberdeen, Washington, though now I was living in LA as an interior designer. But Kurt was actually my friend.

Ten years had passed since we first really met. And in those years, the shy boy named Kurt Donald Cobain went from that kid in high school to one of music's brightest stars. His band, Nirvana, had brought Seattle to the forefront of the music industry. But he was gone now.

I froze right where I was, let the paper fall to the floor, and closed my eyes. I was almost crying, and I heard Kurt's voice in my head. I didn't try to remember, it just came naturally.

About a GirlWhere stories live. Discover now