Day 4: Presents; Tsuru
Gifts are a way to say I love you.
The room was small and presented the feeling of being cramped with the walls filled with old photos, shelves of oddities, snow globes and sea shells and books. A ceramic dinosaur, macaroni art, and knick knacks. An old sweater sat over the back of the small chair in front of the squat table shoved into the corner. A sewing machine sat on it, red thread from her just finished project still loaded up and ready for use.
Tsuru leaned back in the chair, the old wood creaking. She supposed that this was supposed to be a closet, the room. But what good would that do? Her subordinates would be surprised by this place inside her home.
After all, her kitchen was sparkling clean, her living room sparse and stately. More like a hotel than a home. Except for here, in this little space. Here was where she stored the things one accumulates over a lifetime. Books of poetry from Sengoku, rocks and shells and that silly carved coconut in the corner from Garp.
An ornate comb from Zephyr. Ties from her subordinates, earrings from Gion. An ancient statue of a woman with a weighing scale in her hands that had washed up on the beach of some island in the South Blue. Kuzan had given it to her after Ohara, after Saul.
She had always hated it, and yet, there it sat, near the door. The scarf with the frayed edges hanging on the back of the door, Rosinante had spent so long on it, and smiled so nicely when she'd opened the package. It was why she had learned to knit, so she could repair it again and again.
The clock on the wall from Borsalino, an absurd thing with palm trees and tiny umbrellas chimed, a banana being chased by a monkey popping out. So very silly. It was late in the night, a time she used to sleep, but her old bones chose odd hours these days.
Tsuru looked down at table, her latest project sprawled across it. A deep red turtleneck sweater, broad in the shoulders. She hoped he hadn't grown more. It would go in the little box of things under the table that bumped against her knees. More sweaters and gloves and hats sat inside. He'd get them someday, his face would turn as red as his hair, and he'd stutter a thank you.
A gentle smile turned up the wrinkles at the corner of her mouth. Yes, someday, Drake would come home and that would be the best gift of all.
Notes:
I lost my mom today after a long battle with a terrible illness. As I sit here in my home, I see all the little things she has given me over the years. I think she would like that I wrote a short piece of fanfiction with her in mind. Hold your loved ones close.