When teen spirit died

April 8, 1994, I sat down in my second period geometry class. Coach Wood had just taken attendance. I was fiddling with my backpack and still getting out my notebook when my friend, Emily, burst through the door in tears. She sobbed her way to her seat beside me. Her hair was slung in front of her face to hide her eyes, but the uncontrollable shaking of her shoulders bore the clear image of a person mourning.

I risked the verbal reprimand, leaning into the aisle-way and whispered, “What’s wrong?” She looked up at me, eyes vacant. She sniffled softly.

Then, she mouthed, almost silently, “Kurt Cobain is dead.” It took me a moment to realize what she had said. The pieces of information didn’t want to fit together into that puzzle. Processing and turning the information pieces, I realized that I wasn’t putting pieces into the same puzzle as just moments before. The puzzle changed dramatically. Kurt Cobain was the lead singer, songwriter, and guitarist for the rock band Nirvana. More than that, however, he had reluctantly become a voice for many young people.

I sat in a stunned silence. As the lesson progressed, I was unfocused and the geometric proofs that we were learning that day escaped me. The word was spreading through the classroom and around school. Some people were shaken, some didn’t care. Others had no idea who we were talking about. But for a few of us, Cobain’s death altered the projection of our lives.

That is not a hyperbolic statement. Very few, if any, celebrity deaths have had the impact of that of Cobain. His unique approach to lyricism and quasi-punk “grunge” style had immediately shifted American culture in 1991. He reintroduced a level of authenticity and disillusionment into mainstream culture that had not been there since the “outlaw” country movement of the mid70s. For me personally, his oddly sarcastic humor, love of slapstick comedy, and unwillingness to take himself too seriously projected into my worldview.

I zombie walked my way through classes. No more tears were shed. Very little was said at all. Instead, those of us who cared sat in silence. Cobain represented a valuable thing that we could not get back. That thing was different for each of us, but still very tangible. As odd as it sounds, as an adult, he was, in some way, our voice.

Thirty years have passed since that day. Thirty years since the appalling news. Thirty years since Emily whispered those words. Thirty years and I still listen to his music. Thirty years of unfulfilled void. Thirty years and I wish I lived in a world where he still lived.