Kurt R.A. Giambastiani

I once knew a girl.

She was beautiful, with happy eyes and apple cheeks and long, black hair. She was quick to smile, her eyes turning into crescents, her laugh quiet and shy, like a secret. She was quiet, like me, and thoughtful, unafraid of deeper questions. She played the violin, not very well, but well enough to enjoy the challenge, the process, and the camaraderie of the shared anguish of second violins. From my seat in the viola section, we would share a glance, a wink.

She was kind. When I told her of my growing affections, she suggested we take a different course. I decided my life was better with her in it, and agreed. We remained friends, wrote letters, flirted without romance, talked of life, of dreams, of the future.

In time, though, our paths diverged. Other loves and other dreams led us both away from our hometown. Our letters grew infrequent, then stopped.

Decades passed.

Then, a note. An email. Is that you? Do you remember me?

We reconnected, but weakly. She was half a world away, she traveled, she shared little, but now and then, a note, a message, a quick hello. The one photo of herself she shared showed the same dark, happy eyes, the same shy reserve. Even though I rarely heard from her, she was there and, as before, my life was better with her in it. I was happier just knowing that she was out there, living her life, happy.

Her last note spoke of a trip to China, treatment for an ailment. She made it sound like she was going to a spa. I know differently now.

Today is her birthday, and though I hadn’t heard from her for more than a year, I went to post a greeting. You see, my life is better with her in it. I am happier just knowing that she is alive. I wanted her to know that, so I went to post a birthday message, to wish her well, and wish her happy.

Today, I learned of her death. Friends and family had left photos, memorials, notes of grief. Today, I learned that she had been ill. Very ill.

On the stone that marks her grave is carved a single symbol. The kanji character “gaku” represents a drum on a platform, the joyful sound radiating outward. It has many meanings, but chief among them are happiness, music, and joy.

It was her favorite.

It was chosen well.

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