Terrible things happened to a friend of mine on July 27th for three years running. It was many years ago when we were both teens. But I still think of her every year on that day. No matter where we are. She’s always in my thoughts on that day.

This year she is in the south of France, one of her favorite places to be. You can bet that she’s taking it easy. After the third incident all those years ago, she vowed never to even move on July 27th; I’m sure she doesn’t take it that far any more. But I’ll bet she doesn’t fly on airplanes or do anything risky. I just have a feeling. The day has that kind of power over her. And me, too.

The first incident occurred on a hosteling trip in Camden, Maine. The group was hiking when the group-leader fell off a mountain to his death. That’s all I know. The teenagers had to find their way out of the park to get help. I remember she told me about it a few weeks after it happened and I was stunned that something so dramatic, so real could have happened to her. And it seemed unspeakably sad.

The second incident came a year later. She was also on a hosteling trip. A friend of hers fell into a glacier lake in Rocky Mountain National Park. He couldn’t get out for more than an hour and nearly died. Fortunately, he was saved and lived to tell the tale.

The third incident occurred in a national park in Washington State. Again she was on a hosteling trip. This time the group was poncho sliding down an icy pass. My friend went flying into a tree and broke both of her legs. She had to be helicoptered out of the park (strapped to the outside of the helicopter) to a hospital in Port Angeles where she was wrapped in body cast; she couldn’t leave the hospital for three months. Eventually, she was able to fly back to New York having missed three months of eleventh grade.

The year after that, we were together on July 27th, which felt sort of exciting and scary, too. We didn’t do anything on that day and joked that we were just going to sit very still. Afterall, the day was cursed. We were in a summer arts program in North Carolina feeling far away from home and family and spent the day in a local park having a picnic, swimming, taking it very easy.

When I was a teenager, I really looked up to this friend (and still do) for her sense of adventure, her fearlessness, her drive. Some people might say that going on hosteling trips three years in a row was pushing it a bit. Strange to say, I think I actually envied her these disasters: they seemed so dramatic even if they were tragic. Isn’t that what teenagers live for: drama, the real stuff.

I imagined losing someone I’d only known for a few weeks but had grown quite attached to and even called by a cute nickname. I pictured her trying to save her friend who nearly died in that icy Colorado lake. And her stories about the park ranger who visited her at the Port Angeles hospital…It was all so…grown up and, dare I say it, exciting. My life paled in comparison.

Ah, the strange logic of a teenage girl. But that’s how I thought about things then. And I still take it easy on July 27th, try to anyway. I wouldn’t want my life to take a dramatic turn. Not now anyway.