Busybody

I don't know what brought it on, she just suddenly suggested it. We were watching tv, our favourite tv show. We were following the life of our favourite character, a secretary at day, a cold, hard thief by night. It was the latest season, the first episode of many to come. The previous season had ended with the character being placed under house arrest after being caught by her love interest who turned out to be a detective working on her case. 

This season began with her being bored out of her mind, she decided she needed something to do, so she picked up painting. The episode soon came to a close as the character finds satisfaction in her new found hobby whilst helping her love interest solve a heist proving her worth to the police force, getting her placed on probation and off of house arrest. 

“I want to do that” Cindy said as the closing credits rolled by, “What?” I asked, looking at her curiously, “Painting” she said as if I was stupid not to have known, and maybe I was. I looked at her, really looked and then I laughed, she blushed, pouting, “What, you don't think I can do it?” she asked, with fire in her eyes, daring me to say otherwise, I looked at her in amusement, I felt a slight smile come onto lips as I composed myself.“I haven't known for long ”I started, making sure I didn't sound snarky,“but for as long as I've been your friend, I have never; ever, seen you pick up a paint brush,” I said making sure to emphasize my point, she was stubborn though, she held her ground with,“So” she pushed back glaring as I looked over at her, “I can learn,” she said cutting me off before I even opened my mouth, I could tell she wasn't going to back down on this one, so I did the only thing I could do at the moment,I relented,

“Ok.” 

 Our first painting class was a blast, and the instructors were patient and helped know what to expect through our learning, and pretty soon, a week had past, I really liked the class and I thought Cindy did too, but the announcement of our favorite shows cancellation was hard on her and not another day passed, she decided dropped class, I couldn't talk her out of it.

“Why?” I asked she was at my place tonight, I was washing the dishes as she helped me dry them, she never took her eyes of the glass she was drying to a shine, “Why what?” she asked innocently, “Why did you stop coming to painting class?” I pushed, she shrugged “It wasn't really my thing,” I couldn't believe this, but I didn't push any further.

It was her family reunion and Cindy said I was family enough so she brought me along with her. “I'm so glad you came with me” she babbled, jumping with excitement, as she pulled me in yo her car.  

Her parents house was fairly large, a two story Victorian style home, painted alabaster, with a pristine lawn and a flower bed for all to see. I felt under dressed, in my plain t-shirt and washed out skinny jeans but we were already at the the door when I decided turn back, it was too late. Cindy had rung the door bell, “Hello…” a woman answered, she could have passed for Cindy's twin if it weren't for age lines she bears on her face, her hair a honey brown, though peppered with grey, her eyes a golden amber, though you could see it shining with motherly warmth. She was clearly happy to see Cindy as ushered us inside, “How could I forget my manners?” the woman asked as if chastising herself, “I'm Mary, Cindy's mother,” she greeted when she noticed me, holding out her hand, “I'm Jane,” I introduced taking her offered hand, shaking it. “Oh,”she said except “your the Cindy met in college? She always talk about when we talk over phone” I nodded not having a clue what she was talking about, I could now see where Cindy got her cheerfulness from, Mary smiled gently “Well it's nice to finally meet you.”

“Mom, where's dad?” asked Cindy “He's gone collect your grandma from the airport,” her mom answered,I tuned out the rest of the conversation, mindlessly looking around the living room seeing family portraits hanging on the walls and trophies in display cases in the corner along with bookshelves decorated bookends and books of sizes and genres. I wondered , what was Cindy like as a child or what was her high school years like?

It was noon when Cindy's relatives arrived, an hour later and so did her father with her grandmother. The reunion was like any other, the grill was running the moms and dads dividing into their own little pack the kids played games or listened to grandma's story while the teenagers rolled their eyes dramatically as story was told. As Cindy helped her mother in the kitchen, I helped by bringing out the food to the spread that was set outside. 

I had the pleasure of meeting Cindy's cousins, Judy, Mark, Benjamin and Linda, they were our age or in Mark's case just a year older. While talked with her grandma, I was left in their company, “So your telling me you and Cindy took painting class a week and she dropped it the very next week?” Linda asked, Mark snorted “sounds like something she'd do,” I looked at him confused “What do you mean?” they all looked at me, sharing looks as if deciding whether are not to answer my question. “Cindy was never one to stick to anything,” Mark sighed,“in preschool she wanted to be a ballerina,”

“Yeah,” Judy chimed, “I remembered it was she could talk about, until her mom signed her up for lessons, she went one day and decided she didn't want to be a ballerina anymore,” “then their was middle school, she joined the community theatre group” “and in freshman high school she joined the school paper, that didn't last long at all,” “then summer before college she got into photography that lasted longer than the rest,” and it went on and on.

“Hey, what's that?” I asked, Cindy and I were making our way to her car, she had a towel in her hand, wrapped around something wrong. She smiled softly “it's my grandmother's fencing sword,” she placed the sword gently on the backseat, and as we drove off, I couldn't help but think ‘oh boy, there she goes again. ’