YOU KNOW YOU'RE RIGHT // Kurt Cobain

Chapter 7

San Francisco, CA

June 22, 1989

I caught up with Kurt, who met me with a silent glare, quickening his pace and forcing me to run to keep up on the way back to the tour bus. We finally made it there, and Kurt pushed past Greg before taking a cigarette and lighting it. Greg spun around, Kurt's eyes meeting his.

"What the hell was that for, man?" he exclaimed, and Kurt shrugged. "Just felt like it." Greg turned to face me, putting his arms around me. He leaned down because of his height and whispered into my ear, "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

I shook my head, pulling away from the tight grip he had on me. All I could feel was Kurt's hands roving my body until that dreaded phone rang. Greg had ruined our moment.

"What's wrong?" Greg pressed, and I kept my mouth shut in a firm line as I shook my head again. "Everything's fine, Kurt just drank too much last night," I covered. I regretted saying that immediately as I heard Kurt's hand slap the wall.

"I did not! May I remind you that I was the one holding your hair up when you were throwing up the White Russian that I happened to get for you!" he yelled from across the bus, and I felt myself tense up.

"Hey hey hey, don't worry about it, Erin, I overreacted, I thought he might have taken advantage of you," Greg said, and I felt myself sigh in relief. If Greg had pressed me further, I'd be up shit's creek without a paddle.

"Anyway, I think you've forgotten what day it is," Greg changed the subject, scratching the back of his neck as he looked down at me. I skimmed my memories in my mind, but had trouble due to it still being fuzzy. I guess the alcohol was still wearing off.

"What day is it? Thursday?" I questioned, and Greg chuckled. "Yes, it's Thursday, but it's also another really important day!" I was stumped. I walked to the kitchen area of the bus and poured myself a cup of coffee. Greg hugged me from behind, and he knew that was my weakness.

"Happy birthday, Erin," I heard him say through a smile, and I turned in my place to hug him. "I honestly forgot that it was my birthday. I guess being on tour does that to you, right?" Greg nodded understandingly, guiding me to the compact table that was set against one of the darkened bus windows. There was an old battered card, hand written, and a small cupcake with a candle in it. I picked up the card, which was scrawled in Greg's messy high school writing.

Dear Erin,

Happy birthday. It will have been seven years since we became friends, and I'm writing this card now because seven is the number of completion, or so a lot of mythology and religion says. But I'm writing this to tell you how grateful I am for you and how far you've come. You've grown so much and it's an honor to know you now, and I bet it will be even better as time goes on. I appreciate all you do, and I hope that by now we're on tour with some band we made up. I don't know where we'll be at that exact moment on June 22, 1989, but I hope I'm with you. If I'm not, have a great day, and I wish you all the best.

Love, Gregory Hernandez

Freshman year, 1982

I turned to see Greg standing there, grinning from ear to ear. "You wrote this for me in freshman year, Greg? Oh my God," I felt myself get choked up as I hugged him tightly, his hands meeting my head and stroking my hair. "Of course I did! You had told me when we first met that you hoped at least one of your friendships was able to withstand five or more years, so I wanted this to be a form of evidence, I guess," Greg explained, pulling away from our long embrace. I nodded in understanding. What he told me was true. I had told him in my freshman year that I had only so much faith in humanity that I doubted that any of my friendships would last more than five years. Greg had proven me wrong.

I took a sip of my coffee as Greg pulled the candle out of the cupcake. I heard a loud thump and saw Kurt stumble out with a joint lit in his hand, smoke surrounding us and entering our noses within mere seconds.

"I know I might... sound like a hypocrite, but... I don't think you should light anything on fire on this tour bus, it was fuckin' expensive. I'm gonna go somewhere now, I guess," Kurt's words blended into one another, obvious intoxication laced into his mannerisms. He pushed a piece of hair behind his ear, and I found myself wanting to be his hand doing that action, but I snapped out of my fantasies immediately as the door slammed behind him. Yet, I found myself becoming concerned for him, so I went to the door, opened it, and called after him, "Where are you going? I don't want you to get lost!" I literally wanted to bash my head into the wall. I sounded like an overprotective mom. Not to mention a complete lovesick dumbass who didn't remember a single thing about the night before.

"Oh, fuck off, Erin, not like you care." Kurt yelled back, as his feet shuffled in the gravel, as his body failed to even turn to face me. What had even happened within the past few hours that changed?

I felt Greg's hand grasp my shoulder, and I turned around to face him. "Let's get ready, the band and I want to celebrate your birthday sooner than later. Also, quite honestly, I'm starving, and splitting a cupcake doesn't seem like the healthiest thing ever," he laughed, and I let a light smile escape my lips before going to get my hairbrush.

***

The band and I walked into Athens Diner, a small place in the town of Westwood, on the way San Francisco. We took our seats, got our menus and, in typical diner fashion, looked at said menus for a good fifteen minutes. I swear to God, diner menus are the equivalent of reading a fucking dictionary; they're incredibly long and have too many choices.

"What're you thinking about getting?" Kevin nudged my side, and my eyebrows furrowed. I'm an incredibly indecisive person. I suddenly felt a thump in the seat that was back to back with mine. Either that person was morbidly obese, or did not watch where they were going when they sat down. I ignored it. "I'm gonna get the mac and cheese. Plain and simple."

"I'm really craving a badass burger," I heard a voice behind me, and then it clicked that Kurt Cobain was sitting back to back with me. Of course he was. Out of all people on this planet, it was the Creepy Eye Guy. I was cursed.

"Can I take your order?" our waitress came up to our booth, and everyone put their menus down. "Can I get the--"

"Erin? Yeah, she's so damn beautiful, man. I just... she's beautiful, but she's also a fucking bitch. I never should have signed her. She's incredibly hard to work with, and she, like... she sort of throws off our vibe a bit."

Wow. Okay. I felt my body go rigid, and I had to regain my composure quickly. I swallowed my pain and bits of guilt that were lying in the back of my brain here and there. I had to, or else I wouldn't hear the end of it from anyone.

But was I that much of a bitch? Last time I knew, Kurt was the one who kissed me, then got pissed off as soon as Greg called the motel room. It was Kurt who cursed me out as he left the trailer. So how was I to blame? Was I being dumb, or was I just unaware?