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SPECIAL NOTE: Ladies and Gentlemen of DA and kind-hearted, devoted fans of Tracey Whitaker, the Posh Princess of Judo, what I'm about to present will be a slight narrative departure from the norm. The following little story won't be lollipops and rainbows and pixie dust; this will be about the nitty-gritty of human beings, about human frailty, and ultimately about the kindness of strangers. The following might not be totally heart-warming in the strictest sense but in the end, I think everyone will be able to take away something positive from this little story.

The idea for this tale sprang from this drawing:

With that being said, let's begin...

****

It had been about half-an-hour after lunchtime, and there came a polite but firm knock on Tracey's apartment door. She raised a curious eyebrow, making her way from the kitchen after finishing cleaning up after her light lunch; she hadn't expected anybody to drop by her place today, especially on her day-off from work.

Still, however, she could always welcome the company, whomever it might be.

Opening the door, Tracey found nobody in the hallway but someone obviously had left a large box at her door. Hmm, must've been a delivery guy, Tracey thought, as she brought the unexpected package into her apartment.

Curiouser and curiouser. Tracey stopped before heading back into the kitchen with the box. She wasn't expecting anything to arrive by post, and she hadn't ordered anything from the 'Net. She looked at the address on the delivery address sticker and sure enough, it was addressed to her, from someone named Tomlinson.

Hmm, that name looked familiar.

It took a few more moments before the name rang bells in her memory. Yes, there was a old guy she had helped in recovery from cancer treatments months ago named Tomlinson. Frank Tomlinson, to be more specific.

A warm smile slowly crossed her face as she remembered all the scheduled days where she would play a captive audience in that hospital room to that charming military combat veteran and police officer.

He was quite the character, always cracking wise and making sarcastic jokes about the nurses and staff while he and Tracey chatted and laughed. She even found out he was a judoka and had competed in state and national competitions during the early 1990s. It was another thing they bonded over.

Yeah, Frank was a good bloke, a lovely old guy.

In the back of her mind, however, the dimmest thoughts about the worst possible news stirred.

By now, in her fourth year of being a registered nurse, she had already been a veteran of receiving bad news about patients, especially where cancer was concerned.

Tracye hoped and prayed that the package she just received wasn't a prelude to that.

Okay, everybody, that was part one of this story concerning Tracey being gifted that vintage judo uniform. Part two to follow soon. See you all later, folks. Cheers.

Description
SPECIAL NOTE: Ladies and Gentlemen of DA and kind-hearted, devoted fans of Tracey Whitaker, the Posh Princess of Judo, what I'm about to present will be a slight narrative departure from the norm. The following little story won't be lollipops and rainbows and pixie dust; this will be about the nitty-gritty of human beings, about human frailty, and ultimately about the kindness of strangers. The following might not be totally heart-warming in the strictest sense but in the end, I think everyone will be able to take away something positive from this little story.

The idea for this tale sprang from this drawing:

With that being said, let's begin...

****

It had been about half-an-hour after lunchtime, and there came a polite but firm knock on Tracey's apartment door. She raised a curious eyebrow, making her way from the kitchen after finishing cleaning up after her light lunch; she hadn't expected anybody to drop by her place today, especially on her day-off from work.

Still, however, she could always welcome the company, whomever it might be.

Opening the door, Tracey found nobody in the hallway but someone obviously had left a large box at her door. Hmm, must've been a delivery guy, Tracey thought, as she brought the unexpected package into her apartment.

Curiouser and curiouser. Tracey stopped before heading back into the kitchen with the box. She wasn't expecting anything to arrive by post, and she hadn't ordered anything from the 'Net. She looked at the address on the delivery address sticker and sure enough, it was addressed to her, from someone named Tomlinson.

Hmm, that name looked familiar.

It took a few more moments before the name rang bells in her memory. Yes, there was a old guy she had helped in recovery from cancer treatments months ago named Tomlinson. Frank Tomlinson, to be more specific.

A warm smile slowly crossed her face as she remembered all the scheduled days where she would play a captive audience in that hospital room to that charming military combat veteran and police officer.

He was quite the character, always cracking wise and making sarcastic jokes about the nurses and staff while he and Tracey chatted and laughed. She even found out he was a judoka and had competed in state and national competitions during the early 1990s. It was another thing they bonded over.

Yeah, Frank was a good bloke, a lovely old guy.

In the back of her mind, however, the dimmest thoughts about the worst possible news stirred.

By now, in her fourth year of being a registered nurse, she had already been a veteran of receiving bad news about patients, especially where cancer was concerned.

Tracye hoped and prayed that the package she just received wasn't a prelude to that.

Okay, everybody, that was part one of this story concerning Tracey being gifted that vintage judo uniform. Part two to follow soon. See you all later, folks. Cheers.