It began simple enough with an Instagram post.
I was in southern Oregon and snapped a picture of myself near a local landmark, a fountain. Less than an hour later I received a picture message of an old friend standing near the same foundation, you in town? I was and moments later I was seated across from a woman I had not seen in more than 15 years. Francine Day, now Francine Hughes, but to me always Frankie.
Frankie had grown up to be a beautiful woman with rosy cheeks and long dark hair now punctuated with a white stripe. She was a teacher, 10th grade English, and the lead chaperone to a group of theater kids on a school trip. It made sense, as a teenager herself Frankie was drawn to the drama club because it forced her to challenge her shy nature. Now Frankie was in charge but I could also see the sheepish girl in an oversized seater.
The other school chaperone was woman named Kate. Younger than Frankie and I, slender, in a dress that was cut in just a way that I’m sure young boys on the trip took the image of to bed at night. She was more outgoing, louder, and immediately took a liking to me. I pegged her as trouble from the start.