Categories: all aviation Building a Biplane bicycle gadgets misc motorcycle theater
Saying goodbye to someone I hardly knew
(I've updated this entry a bit as memories clarify themselves to me.)
I found out today, as described in this article, that my old friend Kjersten Oquist died yesterday.
I first met Kjersten when I was in 7th grade. She was in 9th grade, and played the violin, although even at that age, she was starting to tend towards viola. We played together for a year in the school orchestra. She was one of the better players in the orchestra, and I think held first chair of the second violins. We got to know each other a little bit over the year, although the difference between a 7th grader and a 9th grader was sufficiently huge that I perceived a huge gap between us, even though there wasn't really one. The year ended, and she went on to the high school (I was in junior high, which goes from 7th to 9th grade, and the high school covered 10th through 12th).
Despite being in different schools, we still saw each other on occasion. I know we met at the odd orchestra festival, and we may have attended each others' performances. She had apparently marked me out as someone to watch, as I recall meeting up with her specifically at festivals, where other people from the orchestra passed by with a nod.
A couple years passed in this fashion, as we met occasionally, and we maintained a sort of loose friendship. I always admired her, for her musical abilities, her intelligence, and increasingly for her sheer attractiveness. (As I've previously mentioned, I seem to have had something of a scattershot approach to crushes in my early "love" life, since they seemed to be confined solely to my own mind. Kjersten was, in retrospect, a very worthy subject of my admiration.)
We met up again in high school. I was now in 10th grade, and she in 12th. We interacted through the orchestra, as well as through mutual friends in the drama department, and through the school paper.
She was the editor of the school paper, and I quickly signed on to be Photographer General. Actually, I was just one of the photographers, the other was a young woman whose name I've momentarily forgotten, who was also a senior. I credit her with teaching me a great deal about how to develop black and white film (yes children, back in the day when a camera used an arcane chemical process, rather than an arcane electronic one!). In any case, I wanted to be on the paper because they needed a photographer, and I was deeply into photography. It was a pleasant bonus that Kjersten was the editor.
I could describe all sorts of things about being on the paper, but all of the memories of Kjersten are pleasant ones. She was a very forgiving boss (if boss is the right term). We would commonly stay late (I think we had a staff of about 5 people, and getting the paper laid out and together would commonly take until 9 pm with all of us working hard from the end-of-school bell at 3-something), getting the paper ready for the printers. This involved these obnoxious and universally-reviled wax applicators, which were supposed to roll sticky wax onto the back of copy, so it would stick to the layout sheets. Instead, they seemed to apply wax to anything which came within a few feet of them: clothing, hair, hands, shoes, all over the table, all over the layout paper, etc. Finally, we resorted to using the wax roller as a heating pot, and were just applying the wax with brushes. It was easier, cleaner and neater.
Throughout it all, Kjersten maintained a wry sense of humor that kept everyone going. There were tense moments, to be sure, but we were all having fun. It didn't take long for me to develop a full-blown Deep Crush<tm> on her, although I never did anything about it (since it was all inside my head).
Late one night, we were alone in the newspaper room, everyone else having finished their jobs and gone home. Kjersten and I were finishing up the layout, and she would drive the assembled sheets over to the printer in the morning. Something had just happened which put me in a bad mood, probably a mis-placed 1 pt line (imagine nearly hair-width black tape used to outline stories). Utilizing my new Adult Vocabulary, I exclamed "Fuck!" about whatever had just gone wrong. She looked up from the table, smiled sweetly, and said, "Maybe later." Stunned at the potential implications of this (having taken a minute to work out what the implications were), I must have smiled shyly at her, and continued about my job, the tension having vanished. (This may have been the moment when the mere Crush turned into a Deep Crush<tm>.)
I have, etched permanently in my memory, an image of her leaning over a layout table, with a grey felt fedora perched incongruously on her head, smiling back at me. Her smile is sweet, her eyes twinkling despite the dull flourescent lights glowing from the ceiling.
Between late nights working on the newspaper (copies of which were usually found littering the halls of Woodinville High School mere minutes after it came out) and orchestra, we saw a fair amount of each other. Looking back on it, we were actually pretty good friends, although the age gap was enough at the time to prevent me from thinking of her as one of my social circle. She was, but I wasn't experienced or mature enough yet to figure that out.
Kjersten had a face like those excessively cute Campbells cherubs from a contemporary ad campagin, cute dimples and all. Except, she looked more grown-up, as if one of the rosy-cheeked cherubs had gained about 12 years but kept the innocence. She had blond hair which fell straight down to her shoulders. I don't specifically recall her height, but it strikes me that she wasn't tall. Mostly, I was perpetually aware of the simple presence of her.
I don't recall, now, if I attended her graduation or not. It seems likely I did, although it was probably in my capacity as a cellist playing Pomp and Circumstance with the orchestra, and I certainly don't have any reliable memories of the event. I had a surprising number of friends who were 2 years ahead of me, and it was within that circle that I found myself most comfortable. My own classmates were never very interesting, although that may have been a case of the grass looking greener over there.
Fast forward many years, to 1997. I'd just graduated from college, and was living in Seattle. I got an invitation to Kjersten's wedding. I was pleased she still thought of me, and gladly attended. I was late for the majority of the service, probably because of traffic. She got married in Bellevue, which can be quite a trip from Seattle if it's a high-traffic time. But I was there for the recessional, and the reception afterwards. Of course, it was nearly impossible to get near her or the groom (who I didn't know), but I got a moment to say congratulations and give her a hug.
Practically speaking, that's the last time I saw Kjersten Oquist. About 4 years ago, I got a note from her, passed by my mom, that she'd like to hear from me, accompanied by a phone number. Perhaps a year later, I finally tried calling the number, but it rang with no answer, and I put it in the back of my mind to try later.
Of course, now it's too late. I don't feel too bad about that, we chose our separate paths, and I don't think she felt neglected by my lack of contact (I didn't feel neglected by hers). I was pleased to know that she was working with my mom, and I'd hear of occasional sightings as they passed at rehearsals. As has happened with many people in my life, she drifted out of it, but I was still happy to know that she was around. Now, that happiness has drained away.
When I read the article I mentioned at the top of this entry, it had been forwarded to me by my mom, with the simple title "Bad news multiplies." I read through the headline, thinking one of her orchestra companions (largely unknown to me) had passed away -- some of the players in orchestras can be quite elderly, and indeed that's sometimes how new players get openings to join orchestras.
When I started the first paragraph, a little chill came over me, and my eye skipped down. When I saw Kjersten's name, I felt a physical shock, like I imagine it would feel if a ghost flew through you (see the Harry Potter movies). It was this enormous, unreal moment. The conference call I was on became so much buzzing in the background as I read through the details of the article, and realized the enormity of the sudden change in my life.
It's a little bit too late, but, thank you Kjersten, for helping me get through the morass which was secondary education. I am very happy to have had you as a friend. I hope that, whatever happens after this life, it's pleasant for you; you deserve it. Fare well.
Posted at 17:54 permanent link category: /misc
Categories: all aviation Building a Biplane bicycle gadgets misc motorcycle theater