Forbidden Things || Cobra Kai

138 F*cked in the Head

The lights were almost too bright in the museum. It was only because of the white walls it bounced off it, almost as if to purposefully blind her. It reminded her of winter days in Colorado when the sun would reflect off of the freshly fallen snow. In some scenic places, it was beautiful but it wasn't so great when driving. Similarly, it seemed looking at ancient art through glass panels with blinding lights shining down on them was on the same level as that.

Frankie stared at a small statue through a glass panel, looking at the bigger picture instead of the details. Out of everything in the whole museum, this small, seemingly insignificant statue called out to her, and she knew why.

The wooden piece was of a woman sitting on a stool or bench, topless, with two babies on her lap. They were sitting as if she were feeding them but they looked like they were resting on her after a meal. She held them close, supporting them with her arms as she stared ahead. One wouldn't think it was made of wood at first glance because it was covered in silver and gold leaf according to the placard, making her and the children shine under the bright lights. The spotlight she sat under called for everyone's attention, but Frankie was the only one looking at her.

Frankie stared into the statue-mother's eyes, hands cupping her rounding belly. A wave of maternal energy seemed to seep off of the piece of art and made her hands gravitate toward her center, to the pace where her baby grew. A lump formed in her throat, an uncommon occurrence for her, and she was more than uncomfortable as she was unable to turn her eyes away.

She didn't know if it was the wooden children on the wooden mother's lap or the way she seemed to be so proud to nurse them. Maybe it was the idea of it all. A brazen mother sitting so still yet so free; confined by the children on her lap, forcing her to sit, yet had tits out as if no one was around to see. She was unbothered by the people walking by and glancing her way, giving her just enough of their attention to let her know that they were there, witnessing her in a seemingly vulnerable state.

Frankie could relate. She didn't have her baby yet but people still looked at her. She was so small in stature that her belly was so prominent. No wonder people stared at her and gave her weird and judgemental looks. However, she didn't give one flying fuck about what they thought of her - it was none of their business what she did. She was pregnant, so fucking what?

Nevertheless, the statue sat strong, arms under her babies in an unwavering show of love. Though she came from 20th-century Ghana, she seemed like the type not to care for rules. That was Frankie's kind of lady.

Though it wasn't rules that Frankie was all that concerned with.

In the back of her mind, she knew the rest of the world didn't matter. It wasn't the gawking eyes passing her by as she stood in front of the glass case that made her nervous. They sprouted from deep within her, from the bottom of her heart where forgotten memories lay to die, or at least that was what she'd hoped for.

No, Frankie Harris wasn't scared of society's rules for her. She was terrified as she asked herself if she'd be a good mom or not.

Slowly, she had come to accept the root cause of her worry despite hating it so much. It clawed its way to the forefront of her mind as stared at the statue. She asked herself Did my mother ever hold me like that, so dear? So tender? Or was it just Dad?

As she walked around the case, she noticed a crack in the wooden woman, a split up her side. It was big enough to see the darkness inside but small enough to hide under her arm. She wondered if it had always been there or if it had happened over time, meanwhile subconsciously touching her own side. Her fingertip slid up to her ribs, her other hands supporting her belly.

She walked around the podium the statue sat on, thinking to herself. Twins must be backbreaking. Is that how Grandma felt?

She stopped in front of the case again, staring down the statue. A better memory entered her mind as the statue suddenly reminded her of a picture her grandmother had from when she was younger. It was of her, with long, pretty hair and two babies - twins - on her hips. Her face had been less serious than the statue-mother but still showed her pride in a wide smile, even though her daughter was covered in Easter chocolate and her son was red-faced and screaming.