She dressed up for the Ren Fair.
Sandra was just Sandy. She was someone who had been in the fencing club longer than I. She had a very lithe figure and was allergic to cameras. Her attitude was overall positive about most things, though her eyes always seemed to be hiding some manner of secret tribulation. I was never quite privy to the exact nature of her ills.
She had a wide, comforting grin and smile. She exaggerated her responses to some things, making a fake sniffle and sob if something was disappointing, or cheering if something was good. The club took a trip to a cabin owned by a relative of hers out in the hill country, and while I was cooking dinner for everyone she shooed people away by shouting “get outta my kishen!” and attacking them with a roll of paper towels. She also mastered the use of puppy dog eyes to inflict grievous guilt on the offending parties.
She worked at a bead store for a while and had stories about terrible old ladies. She attended the Renaissance Festival frequently, sometimes going elaborately dressed. I was invited a few times but never went. After the bead store thing she ended up at a job that she really didn’t like. She helped me bake cookies for a party Nic threw. The one with the glog. I only saw her a couple of times following that, though I know she’s still out there somewhere.