Anexis Matos

Content warnings: toxic family dynamics and ableism

Dear Maria,

A friend told me that, if I put my thoughts out into the universe, what I want will come true.

“I’ve been doing it for a while,” she said. “It’s been working.”

Two things to note. One, I don’t believe in this. I don’t care what she says. It sounds stupid. I’m happy for her, though. It just seems unlikely.

Then again, I suppose it’s not that unlikely. That’s how magic works, but, as far as I know, it doesn’t work with writing. You have to be a magical being for it to work.

Two, I can’t have what I want. Things are not that easy. I can’t just write something and have you back with me.

But I’m writing it anyway, despite my thoughts. I haven’t written since I graduated high school and I’ve been looking for an excuse to do it. It has nothing to do with not having the necessary devices. I make sure to always have one. My work won’t get done if I don’t.

Not much has inspired me. College doesn’t help. I’m constantly drained. Stressed. College is both rewarding and soul-crushing. It’s never one or the other.

Where do I start? It feels like forever since I put words to screen, though I’ve written many college papers. It’s not the same, though, is it? One is rewarding. The other makes me want to pull out whatever is left of my hair. Today, it’s not much. I cut most of it, leaving it neck-length. It’s so short that I can’t put it into a ponytail. Perfection.

Living in the Western Empire also means I have access to a variety of potions. Everyone in the human realm does, but some places forbid their purchasing and delivery. One of my favorite potions is one that keeps my hair very soft, making me less willing to pull at the strands when frustrated with a college paper. With the texture being so pleasant, I don’t find my hair so irritating.

It’s been even longer since I’ve seen you. I guess meeting you is a good a place as any to start.

I was four when we met. A family friend was visiting and brought me a gift. I knew him well, but I can’t remember if he had given me gifts before.

“What is it?” I was always excited to get something new, but what child isn’t? Children are easily bored. I was no different.

“Open it.” He was smiling. This had to be something I would like.

I opened the box and pulled you out. A beautiful doll with long hair and a dress I knew I would remove later. I had a tendency to do that.

Your long hair was soft. It would eventually get tangled since I never took care of my dolls’ hair. It reminded me of my own long hair. Long hair I’ve never wanted. Perhaps that will change as I get older, but even the soft texture offered by my potion is not enough to convince me.

The week before, Mom sat me down and spent hours separating my hair into tiny braids. I’m sure I complained about the pain. About sitting down for so long.

Since I’ve never liked doing my hair, this allowed me not to worry about it for at least a month. The braids reached the middle of my back. Your hair reached your waist. Mine, unlike yours, was curly. Like all my dolls, your hair was straight and felt perfect.

I’ve only ever lived in the Western Empire, but I’ve moved twice. Previously, I lived in Erie. Now, I live in Libertad, the empire’s capital.

At the time, we lived in Olen. Most of my extended family lived there, so, if we needed anything, we didn’t have to travel far. A fifteen minute walk was the furthest a family member lived away from us. On a good day, it was only about a five minute drive.

From what I remember, there weren’t as many potions being sold in the empire. While they were not illegal, potion sellers were concerned since many places in this realm are known for enslaving or killing magical beings and creatures. In the Western Empire, there are not as many lives lost, but it’s allied to kingdoms that have lost too many Gifted, humans with magical abilities, though they attempt to help them. I imagine that information was not sufficient to convince them to sell here. I wouldn’t be convinced either.

I wonder how different Mom’s experience would have been if she had access to these potions. Maybe I would have enjoyed doing my hair because of the texture.

“What’s her name?” I said.

“I don’t know,” he said. “That’s up to you.”

I didn’t think about it too long. “Maria.”

I wish I could tell you where your name came from, but I don’t remember. It’s possible it was nothing more than the first thing that popped into my head. If I were to name you today, it would be significant to a book or something. Maybe the only significance in it was that I liked it.

From then on, we were inseparable. I didn’t want to share you with friends. Mom forced me, so I compromised. Only a few minutes every time someone asked.

Days after you came into my life, I attempted to remove your dress. You scratched my hand. I flinched, shocked. I tried again. I got scratched again.

Confused, I took your hand. It felt normal. How did you do that? Dolls weren’t supposed to do that.

“Sorry.” In my confusion, my apology was hesitant.

“Don’t do it again.”

For a moment, I couldn’t say anything. Some of the dolls I had played music or said the same phrases all the time, but none ever responded. What was this?

“You can talk?” I said.

“Yes,” you said. “Don’t tell anyone, okay?”

“Okay.”

I was happy to comply. It was my secret. My friends had the regular talking dolls. Mine was special.

I liked that I had something my friends didn’t. They already had something I didn’t. They had what I wanted at the time. They could see. I was the only blind person in the group. I was already different from them. I wanted something that made them different from me. That way, we were equal.

A child’s way of thinking, I know, but I was resentful. They may have treated me like there was no difference between us, but that doesn’t change that I wasn’t like them. I wanted something to be mine. Something they couldn’t have. You were it.

It was a terrible way to look at you. I had a good group of friends. We lived in the same neighborhood and knew each other since we were todlers. There was no reason for the resentment since, from the very beginning, they saw nothing different. They saw the obvious, oF course, but, very often, they forgot. Every time they did, it was wonderful. I could pretend nothing was wrong. Eventually, they remembered and things went back to normal.

I vividly remember our games of hide and seek. Our older cousins joined us and, for a few hours, we tended to have a lot of fun. The one gripe I always had was that I was never selected to find everyone else because I wouldn’t be able to identify them by sight. I don’t think I ever got over this as a girl, but we eventually grew out of the game, so it didn’t matter.

I saw you as a friend, but also as a way to purposely be different without including everyone else. I was always included, yet I felt like an outsider. I wanted them to feel that way too. It didn’t make sense, considering they didn’t know about you. At the time, it seemed like a great idea, but I saw the flaws after a few years.

Most of the time, I’m still the only blind person in the group, but I’m okay with it now. It helps that we’re all adults. I don’t want a cure for my blindness anymore either. I’ve lived this way my whole life and I’m not willing to go through the adjustment period. I don’t want to learn to read and write again. To use my technology without Braille or it talking to me.

I may be okay with being the only blind person in the group now, but I still feel how I did as a girl. Often, it’s the small situations that pop up that can make me feel different. The fact that, for some time, I had to rely on terrible public transportation. That, even when the transportation is good, I still have to plan days in advanced before going somewhere. The fact that attending certain activities is useless when I don’t understand them because they’re so visual.

Everything is easier now, but I always find myself wondering how long I have before everything is hard again. Before I’m depressed because everything becomes too much.

I always talked to you after that. As the years passed, you became my refuge. Bullying became part of my reality. As expected, my blindness was the reason. My self-esteem crashed for years. I don’t struggle with it as much now, but I’m so sorry for that little girl who did.

I wonder what would have been helpful. You were, but everything else seemed to make things worse. Reassurance only worked the first few times. I started pulling away from those who told me things were going to be okay. I came to you, who didn’t tell me that.

You listened quietly, holding my hand. It was more like touching it. Your hand was much smaller, so it always lay on top of mine.

Looking at it now, it makes sense that reassurance didn’t work for me. I don’t look for it when I talk to my friends. A sounding board and maybe some advice will suffice.

I moved to Erie with Dad at some point. Mom joined us a year later. Dad applied for work there and was accepted. It was agreed that I would go ahead with him.

“We’re going to a different place!” I said. “I’m really excited!”

“Where are we going?” you asked.

“Erie. It’s going to be a little far from my cousins, but it’s going to be a small town called Yera. We’re supposed to have a bigger house too.”

The one thing I remember from that time is that Mom didn’t want to go. She was unhappy when she learned that Dad applied for this job. I don’t know if they talked about it before, but they argued about it for a few days after she found out.

As usual, he didn’t pay attention to her concerns. It has always been his way or none. She agreed for me to go ahead with him and that she would come later, but I know now she was in a terrible cycle with him. If they had a stable relationship, he would have listened to her. What always happened was that Dad would say something, she wouldn’t agree, and he would wear her down until she did. He may be generous, but generosity doesn’t excuse the damage done.

This move isolated us from her side of the family. We were now closer to my paternal grandmother, aunts, uncles, and cousins. The relationship between both sides of the family are very different and, while everyone gets along, she would have preferred to stay close to her mother, siblings, and cousins.

Before I was enrolled in school, there was a question about whether to place me in a school for the blind or a mainstream one. It was decided that a mainstream school would be fine, along with instruction from teachers for the blind. I believe the idea was that I may not get the best instruction in a mainstream school. That I may not get the independence skills other blind people had, but it was decided that, with help from blindness services, I would get the same instruction.

Looking back, I think I would have liked to attend a school for the blind for at least a few years. I think it would have helped me socialize better. That’s something mainstream school didn’t teach me, though I believe they tried. Before I officially started, my teacher introduced me to every member of the second grade class, starting with the group I would be sitting with. Other teachers did something similar.

My social skills aren’t the best, but they aren’t terrible either. I’ve somehow made friends, so I can’t be that bad. Something is obviously working. I just don’t know what it is. I, though, feel awkward in most situations making friends, so I avoid them as much as possible.

I would have had blind friends if I didn’t attend a mainstream school. I was the only blind student. I have some now, but I would have loved to have childhood friends who were like me.

Across the Western Empire, there are after school programs that people with disabilities can participate in while attending mainstream school. These are meant to encourage community between them. I would have loved a program like this during that time. I wasn’t allowed to go to the summer activities that were available, so I didn’t begin interacting with blind people until I was a teenager.

Today, Yera has a vibrant population of disabled people, but that was not the case back then. There were a few, but I didn’t know them very well.

The only good part about the move was that I had my own space. I had my own room, but there was also an attic with two rooms and a bathroom. I think Dad considered renting it out or something, but I started using it to play. It slowly became messy with my toys and anything I brought up there. Sometimes, when we had guests, I had to move things, but that was very rare. We had them over twice a year and it was never more than two people, so they could always take the extra room and living room couch if they didn’t want to be together or sleep in the attic.

I don’t know when it started, but my parents began arguing. Again. About money. Possible affairs. Some other random stuff I chose to forget. What I do remember is crying to you.

“Let’s go to the attic,” you suggested every time their yelling became very loud.

I agreed every time. I spent a lot of time in the attic. I couldn’t hear them when I was up there. This was weird, considering I could hear everything else. For fun, I used to eavesdrop on people. I never got caught eavesdropping, but the attic ensured I wouldn’t.

At some point, it became unacceptable for me to be with you and other toys.

“You’re too old for them,” Mom said.

“You’re not a little girl anymore,” Dad said.

After pressure, I stopped coming to you. I put you and the rest of the toys in a box. I placed it in one of the bedroom closets. It was full of winter coats. I pushed it all the way to the back, so it was hidden by them.

I didn’t explain. When I placed you in the box, you didn’t say anything. At the time, I assumed you were angry with me. Your anger would have been valid, even if I wouldn’t have understood it.

I didn’t cry when I placed you in the box. I hugged you one last time. At the very least, I thought the toys would keep you company. Perhaps I was naive, but I was hopeful you would be alright.

The closet door closing was louder than I expected it to be, though I know I didn’t slam it shut or push it too hard. I sat on the floor, but no tears came. I was too old to play with toys, so it didn’t matter. I was too young to realize I pushed away a friend.

I found another way to disappear weeks later. I raised enough money and, for my thirteenth birthday, I bought myself a LightReader. I logged into as many libraries as I could and filled the device with as many books as possible. My parents didn’t supervise my technology use, not even placing parental controls on my devices. They trusted me implicitly. If they only knew the adult books I accidentally downloaded, then proceeded to read because they were so interesting. The fact that I continued reading adult books knowing I wasn’t supposed to. I don’t regret reading them, even if I was too young for them. At least one of them taught me about consent.

I disappeared into my own stories too. I wrote fanfiction and, later, original fiction. I never published my fanfiction, but it was a good place to start.

When I started writing fanfiction, I just wanted to write. I didn’t realize my stories weren’t original until later. I took a favorite series and thought it was perfectly fine to write the characters and setting into my own stories. Telling you this makes me want to write fanfiction again. I think I’m a better writer now, so it won’t be as childish as it was when I was a teenager.

My writing was always based on my latest obsession. Even though I was a very avid reader, I remember not being able to fully realize characters. I somehow always infantilized them. Wrote very problematic things and didn’t handle them well.

As bad as my writing was, it was helpful. It was the best way to manage my emotions. Later, I learned that it was therapeutic for me. I’m mentally lecturing myself now. What a terrible idea not to write for so long. I’m going to make a habit of writing again.

When it was time to fill out high school applications, I considered asking if I could apply to boarding school. I decided not to because i’d miss Mom, but I didn’t want to stay in a house where they continuously argued. Also, food and I have a complicated relationship. I would have had to figure that out if I went to boarding school and I wasn’t willing to do the work.

Years later, I applied to college and decided to leave home. I moved a few minutes away from campus. I found work part-time and settled into a routine. I visited my parents during the holidays and some weekends. They still continued to argue, but it didn’t happen as much when I was there.

Ever since I turned 13, I wondered why they were together. It made no sense. He didn’t listen to her. He always wanted things his way. He’s never known how to treat a woman with respect.

“Why do you always submit to him?” I asked.

“I married young,” she said. “I was 18. It was not my best decision, but I didn’t have much guidance. He gave me attention and care. After some time, I fell in love.”

“But he’s a womanizer.”

“He’s still your father. Be respectful. He is who he is. We do our best to get along with him and keep the peace. He’s my cross to bear.”

I knew she would never be an equal in his eyes. If she was, he wouldn’t treat her like this. He would have appreciated all the work she did. Everything he didn’t deserve, but received anyway. He would have helped her with everything she needed without her asking. Without complaint.

I resolved never to be with someone like him. I don’t have the patience or time to deal with their bullshit. I will kill them eventually. Not my cross to bare then, huh?

When I turned 21, my friends decided to throw me a surprise party. They didn’t have to work that hard to distract me. I decided to take a break from college for a year, so I was working full-time.

It was a Friday night. My birthday was a few days earlier. My plan for the night was to order pizza and watch a movie. I was too tired for anything else.

“Surprise!” they said the moment I entered the living room.

For a moment, I didn’t know how to respond. Eventually, I smiled. I was tired, but touched. “What’s this?”

“A birthday party,” Catalina said.

I nodded. “Thank you so much.”

“We ordered pizza,” Catalina said.

catalina knows how much I love pizza. My perfect birthday consists of pizza, cake, and a show or movie. I need nothing else.

We ate. I had wine for the first time. I won’t try white wine again. There are probably good ones, but I’m not willing to look for them.

I wasn’t expecting any presents, but I got some. Clothes. Jewelry. Scrunchies. I love scrunchies. There’s something soothing about having one on my wrist.

Keili gave me a large box. I carefully opened it and retrieved a teddy bear. “Thank you. It’s really cute.”

Honestly, I wasn’t too sure what to say. I wasn’t expecting a toy. I’m an adult. Why would I expect one?

I’ve never asked Keili why she gave me a teddy bear, but I’ve slept with it beside me since. I’ve also been taking it with me when I leave the house. I’m not sure how my coworkers responded to me having a teddy bear on my desk the first time. They never said anything. I assume they’ve gotten used to it.

Writing this out makes me feel like I’m betraying you. You were my best friend. I don’t want to do that to you.

I’ve filled my apartment with toys. I got questions from my parents, but, at some point, I told them to stop bringing it up. They did. The argument that they didn’t buy what’s on display works to perfection every time.

One day, I sat down to watch a movie. I was playing a game at the same time. I can’t pay attention to one thing at a time for some reason.

“What happened to your friend?”

I turned to the teddy bear I didn’t bring with me. How did it get on the couch? “What?”

“We all know there’s a special toy,” he said. “One that probably meant a lot to you.”

I told him about you. It was the first time I shared my friendship and feelings toward you, this being the second. I don’t know where this letter is going, but someone else is going to know about you.

“Wow,” he said. “It sounds like you had a great relationship. Why don’t you look for her?”

“She’s probably not there anymore,” I said.

“But you can try. She should be here too.”

You should be here, but I couldn’t be sure you were still where I left you. Mom loves cleaning. There was a high possibility she went into the attic and got rid of everything. She could have given a few things to people, throwing away what was broken.

“What do you know about toys?” he asked.

“I’m confused by the question,” I said. “What do you mean?”

“What do you know about what they do for people?”

“I’m not sure what they do besides giving us something to play with, but I didn’t know toys could talk until Maria.”

The bear was silent for a beat. I think he may have been considering what to tell me or what not to. That makes sense to me, considering I do it all the time, especially when I’m out of my house.

“Parents buy their children toys,” he says, “not realizing their effect on them. We become what the consumer needs which gives us the magic we have.”

“What?” I said.

“We grow with you. You make us what we are. We’re put in boxes as blank canvases to be what you need. Sometimes, we’re given a base personality, but not always.”

I didn’t know what to say for some time. Did I change you then? Did I make it difficult for you to be who you wanted? When you always supported me?

“What does that mean?” I said.

“It means you make us special,” he said, “but, in exchange, we provide you with what you need or want at the time. Most of us are happy with this arrangement. We have a good relationship, but there are others who don’t.”

“What happens to them?”

“That depends. Sometimes, they leave. Others are lost by those who buy them. Sometimes, they’re even thrown away.”

I nodded.

“Those who buy toys know that something is provided for them,” he says, “but, most of the time, they don’t know what. Not all toys decide to talk. Usually, they decide based on your actions. Maria and the rest of us think you make a good friend.”

I’ve never doubted you and I were friends. There’s something that’s always told me I’m right. It has me wondering how easily I left you.

“Look for her,” the bear said. “She’s your friend too.”

I thought about it for a few days. Mom reached out before I could decide to deliver news I’ve been expecting for years. “I’m asking your dad for a divorce.”

Finally. It was about time.

“Okay,” I said. “Do you need me to do something for you?”

“No,” she said. “We’re selling the house, though. I’m starting to clean. If you can, I’d appreciate your help.”

“Sure.” I probably should have thought about it, but I admit I wouldn’t have looked for you if I didn’t have an excuse. I didn’t want to face my decision, though I know I was a child. “When are you starting?”

“This Friday.”

“Okay. I’ll be there in the morning.”

I won’t bore you with the details. I went to the house and Dad no longer lived there. As usual. Leaving the cleaning and everything related to the house to the women.

I found my way to the attic eventually. I held back as much as I could. Most of the items were still good quality, so Mom packed everything into a box.

“I’ll send it over to family,” she said. “They might find something they like. Some of your younger cousins might like your clothes.”

I nodded.

“I plan to visit soon,” she said. “Do you want to come?”

“I can’t,” I said. “I have work, but I plan to go for the holiday.”

“Great. I’ll see you there.”

I searched the entire attic, but I couldn’t find any toys. I asked, knowing the answer before she spoke. “I was cleaning a few years ago. I threw out most of what I found. All of it was old.”

Of course. We both constantly throw things away. Sometimes, we regret it. Other times, it doesn’t matter.

I suppressed a sigh. I knew there was no hope of finding you. I hoped that Mom didn’t go to the attic and look through everything. It had been years, though. Enough time for her to go on one of her cleaning sprees.

I regret not looking for you before I left for college. Maybe you would have been there. She wasn’t specific about when she cleaned. If I looked and found you, I may have taken you with me, even if it was to keep you in the box.

I agreed to help Mom with anything else she needed. She drove me home. “I’ll call you.”

“Okay,” I said. “If I don’t answer, remember to write me a message. You always forget.”

“I’ll do my best to remember.”

She probably wouldn’t have remembered.

“Why won’t people call anymore?” she complained when I messaged her the first time. “Not everyone has the time to look at messages.”

I was 13 when she said this to me. Dad got me my first BridgePhone a few months after I got my LightReader.

“You’re going to high school soon,” Dad said. “You can call us if anything happens.”

I messaged Mom that I would be late one day. The bus was stuck in traffic and others would be dropped off before me. I didn’t want to call because I was playing a new game.

“Why didn’t you call?” she asked when I entered the kitchen.

“I sent you a message,” I said.

She sighed. “I don’t look at my messages.”

“You should,” I said. “Not everyone is going to call.”

She complained for a minute or two about this. I laughed. “Messages are so much easier. Not everyone has the time for a call, but anyone can check a message at some point.”

She sometimes checks her messages. Most of the time, though, I have to call her to ask her the simplest things.

She guided me to the door and, when I was inside, she walked away. I left the bear in the living room couch, so, when I reached it, I turned to him. “She’s not there.”

“I’m sorry. At least you tried.” He paused. “She expected you to leave. We never expect you to stay.”

“Why is that?”

“Because everyone moves on.”

I nodded and headed to my room. I wanted to be alone for a while.

My parents eventually sold the house. I keep in touch with both. Mom went to visit family and I joined her a few months later. It was great. I missed my cousins, aunts, and grandparents.

I met the newest member of the family. The baby was born a few months before my parents decided to divorce. He didn’t always like me to carry him, but would allow me if there was no one else.

I haven’t visited for the last two years. I’m in a group chat one of my cousins created. Twice, my nephew has taken his mother’s device when I’ve messaged and sent a voice message. “Hi, Auntie!”

He doesn’t know who I am. He hasn’t even seen a picture of me. I wonder where his mind went when he took her device and called a stranger Auntie. Whatever the case, it was adorable and I responded both times. No need to discourage the child.

I miss the days of childhood. The careless way I did things. I didn’t have all the worries and stresses I do now. I find myself going back to my favorite childhood things. Books. Series. Movies.

It’s easy to throw away childhood because we’re adults. When I see children, I often hope they never grow up. This world is already harsh. I would love for them to stay in childhood bliss for eternity.

I’ll see him in a few months. I don’t think he’ll remember that he talked to me, but I’ll tell him about it. Maybe he’ll laugh and surprise me.

I don’t believe in my friend’s advice. I don’t think putting something out into the universe will do anything for me. Hard work does that. Actions do that.

Writing this has done something else for me, though. I’ve had to look back at this in the last few days. I didn’t want to face this two years ago. I didn’t want to when I started writing, but it has made it easier. I took my time to write this, but it’s written now.

I think it might do something for someone else too. I don’t plan to send this to any particular person. I’m just going to send it out into the world and see what happens.

Love,

Your friend