Do you remember?
He remembers when a thin, silver needle that's sharpened but has a hideously smooth prick is placed between his thumb and index finger. A thread of any color is in his other hand, and he expertly sweeps it through the miniscule hole of the needle and goes on to his work.
Can you remember?
An underdeveloped mind is too young to hold on to the memory of her face, of her voice. It's now a blur. Her voice, static. It's her hands. Callous builds up in her palms due to years of domestic work, but the surface, the tender surface where the blue blush of veins and brownish spots of freckles rise free, is decorated with many-slim transparent scars that torch on the tips of her fingers, beneath the cut short nails. Ignorance prevents the knowledge of misuses of a sewing machine, a slip of the needle and thread, the anger of a long-dead grandmother, but he's too interested in the feel of her scars to be intimidated by disfigurements.
This, he remembers.
All done and finished, he finds himself alone in a sewing room. The air is thick and stale, and the dim curtains at the windows obscure the sunlight. Again and again he tries to misplace himself back to that place at the old house, back to that room covered in fabrics and natural aromas, back to where she waits for him in the only a mother can, and he can't. Unless he's holding a thread and a needle, he can't return. And now, he's empty and weakened. Memories drain him and force him out into the world.
A/N: The appearance of Katagiri prompted this. She's the maid of the Ishida family, and I thought, if she is Uryuu's mother, she probably taught him some sewing tips when he was young.