Uki - Daredevil

home, again

FRANKIE PAUL is an Indigenous woman with a big family. She isn't like many women - she is not frail, she does not easily give into the newest trends, nor is she bubbly or out-going. She was socialized around 3 brothers and 1 sister. All of which were closely knitted, mainly due to cruel bullies from their youth having made fun of them - to point and laugh at the shade of their skin, or where they came from. Being Inuit and in New York was peculiar - how does a family from a far-North area function when they are far from their seal skin lined mittens or stone-carved jewelry? Especially when the communities this family lived within carry western ideals and have no clue what being Inuit really is.

Frankie can tell you. Oh, she could go on. The way her heart seeps with burning passion, and how goosebumps will roll across her Carmel-toned arms - this type of passion will convince anybody that her existence is valid and her ancestors would most definitely be proud.

Frankie's family lived in Hells Kitchen since they moved from Hebron, Labrador up until the Battle of New York. It's been years since then, and while her family hadn't had enough time to marinate with their thoughts even now, she needed to go back. She needed to move on with her life, to stop avoiding the clump of trauma sitting in the middle of Hell's Kitchen, being a burden to her mind and symbolizing her whole life's work and progress. She couldn't just let that sit there.

So, while she let those thoughts marinate, the burden to her mind burned memories that replay.

The rocks and rubble, the smell of smoke and dirt in the air. How unfair the scenery was to Frankie's eyes and body, her breaths heavily shaking her lungs that ache with every intake of smoke and anxious thought.

Digging through rough solid with tiny fingers, and feeling like Frankie was using the world's smallest shovel. The agony grew bigger and bigger with every piece of pebble that uncovered the sight of Frankie's lover. Dried blood splatters appear on some rock, but dirt covered Sam's face. He was breathing, Frankie could tell because the piles moved up and down in the pattern of what it would look like in the morning if the pebbles were a big fluffy duvet.

She'd lost Sam the next day in the hospital. Frankie never knew what it was like being that girlfriend who lost their partner until 5 years ago.

But her plan was to move back to Hell's Kitchen to rewrite her tragedies. Not loathe into it. She was excited. A part of her wanted to create new memories there, with someone new. Someone who wouldn't know her past, or someone who did  know and understand, but love her for it. Someone who equally wanted to rewrite what they know love to be. Or rewrite their own histories in a way they don't understand yet.

Frankie had her things packed, a job lined up and a plane to catch.

—

She settled in just fine, into a dingy little apartment that cost a good penny, and a mix of minties and wine in the fridge. Frankie wondered how the equally dingy bar a block over was doing, and was eager to meet new faces or re-encounter old faces - so she gave in, took her jacket out of her suitcase and was on her way to Josie's.

Frankie pushed through the door with a jingle. It wasn't slam packed in Josie's, which meant it was an off-night. Though this was the perfect time for Frankie. Hoping Josie was around, or if an acquaintance would recognize her.

"Can I get a beer?" Frankie raised her hand, and found a seat at the bar.

The bartender nodded, flipped around to the fridge and quickly opened the glass bottle. "You're Frankie," his gaze upon her was friendly. "Remember me? I'm friends of your brothers."