I just learned that someone who was an important part of my life back in the late ’90s died last January. Even though it’s been close to 19 years since I last saw him, he always made me smile and I considered him a friend.
When I first me Stephen Bertrand Kittrell (1956-2018) he lived in a one-bedroom apartment a block off Alki in Seattle. We met at a coffee shop called “My Friends” back in 1995 and became fast friends. What I remember most about Steve was his rapier (and often vicious) wit and humor. When I came to his small apartment for the first time it was decked out in antiques and artwork hinting at a privileged upbringing, which he said he had. Steve said his family had fallen on hard times after the oil crash hit Texas hardest in the ’80s and these were all the possessions he had from his past life. One thing I remember in particular was a large pastel drawing that hung in his dining room/living room; it was a portrait of Marie Antoinette dressed as the goddess Athena…or Diana, I can’t remember. Steve claimed this picture once hung in Versailles.
Steve died in hospice care on January 31, 2018. I Googled his name and what I found was his last years were that of a troubled man. I don’t know what happened to Steve. I don’t know if he hurt those he loved. I knew Steve struggled with addiction back in the ’90s and that was one of the reasons we grew apart.
What I remember most about Steve was his charm, his self-depracting humor, and a marrow-deep sadness he hid well most of the time. We were friends for many years and as I got to know Steve I also was privileged to see his vulnerable side and he was a man that battled a lot of demons and who had endured a lot of grief.
Steve loved the over-the-top love tragedies of operas like La Traviatta and La Bohème and there was a book that he loved to quote ALL the time, so much so, that I can almost recite verbatim one passage in particular over 20 years later:
“It’s a bright, sunny day in Dallas and I’m happy to be wearing my pink Channel suit and matching pill box hat. I pause for a moment to put on my kid skin gloves to protect my hands from the thorns on these beautiful red roses. But we better hurry, we don’t want to be late, we have a date with destiny.”
Steve, my friend, whereever you are, thank you for your friendship and I hope you and the man you loved are together again and the difficulties you endured in this life have been washed away. You were always the consummate gentleman with me.
