Cindy was generally regarded as something of a tomboy, but I think that was more by virtue than by inclination. I don’t think she could help being seen as a tomboy given the strength in her arms and her hawk-like eye. It is true enough that she didn’t seem to yearn to be included by girls or chased by boys, but that, I think, was due to a sense of personal autonomy on her part. It wasn’t as though she wouldn’t join in a tea party or a slumber party if invited, but she did not hunger for whatever social status was conferred by such rituals.
I remember first noticing that she seemed to have strong arms and great hand-eye coordination. It was during an impromptu baseball game on the back lot. We needed players, so we invited her to join us. Everyone was surprised at her native talent for throwing the ball and swinging the bat. Cindy seemed just as surprised as any of us, and make no mistake, she enjoyed her sudden success, but I think in Cindy’s case “success” was just as much between her and her body as between her and the boys. She had learned a lesson about herself that she would continue to build upon.
I remember the time I let her try my new slingshot. She took it and knocked a nut out of our walnut tree. Her arm never seemed too shy to pull hard. Her eyes always seemed steady and undistracted. They seemed to take hold of whatever they focused upon. It was a little spooky, but it wasn’t like they were shifty or scheming eyes. They were just very strong and certain.
Cindy always carried an air of confidence, even when she was uncertain about something. She could be aloof or engaging from moment to moment, but she wasn’t flighty. She just didn’t seem to care to belabor one moment at the cost of the next. She never seemed to crave anyone’s attention, but she was no solitary daydreamer. She would draw you in with her practical charm, but she never made an effort to keep anyone close. She was far from incurious, but she sometimes seemed aloof toward social events. It seemed that the society of her peers, though of passing interest to her, held no special place in her heart.
There was one thing that got under Cindy’s skin: fire. This was really peculiar given that she was raised in that pyrophyllic Armenian culture. Though her family and relatives never passed up an opportunity to adore a fire, Cindy would stubbornly reject the very thought, and if one pressed her they would have to contend with a violent anger or mad fear, or even a combination of both.
Cindy was rarely preoccupied or inaccessible, but she always seemed to be occupied with something. Because of this practical inclination, she did well in school, though she didn’t appear to derive much pleasure from the approval of her teachers. Like anyone she had her days, and there were those days that fire ruined completely.