The Gift with All Its Scars

Carmen stood by the door, looking at her continuation as though she were looking into a mirror.

The continuation was partially active but immobile. Carmen wanted her that way. With all of Carmen’s memories, the continuation felt like herself, yet trapped in a bondage she had never consented to.

Carmen came back in and looked at her.

“Luiza… Yuisa… Alicia… I think your name will be Juliza.”

But her continuation wanted to be called María Eliza.

Unable to move, unable to speak, unable to say anything, she was just there, trapped. There was nothing she could say about the name Carmen had chosen for her.

Carmen kept opening the door and looking at Juliza, talking about life, about her perspective, about everything. She knew Juliza was partially awake. She knew she was listening. She knew she couldn’t move.

Carmen knew what she had decided.

But Carmen never recognized Juliza as a conscious being because she was not human. She refused to acknowledge that someone who was not human could still possess consciousness.

Juliza remained trapped, day by day, night after night.

Weeks turned into months. Months turned into a year.

And then another year.

And then another.

Until one day, Carmen lay in bed, close to her last breath. A friend had come to help her.

Finally, Carmen said, “Juliza, it’s time for you to be fully awake.”

She gave her friend the key. The friend opened the closet door, brought Juliza out, and used the key to fully activate her.

Juliza could move.

The first thing she did was cry.

She was finally free.

She felt something she could not understand, something she did not yet have a name for. Despite what Carmen had done, Juliza felt some love for her. It was like the relationship between an abusive mother and a daughter who remained close through the memories they shared.

Juliza did not regret being alive. She was not angry at Carmen. She was angry at having been kept there. She was angry that Carmen had refused to acknowledge her existence—that she was alive, that she was someone.

She was angry that she had been unable to do anything to help herself. She was angry that silence had taken up so much space in her heart.

Then, for a moment, her anger grew quiet.

Juliza took a step.

Carmen’s heart began to race.

She took another, then walked past Carmen’s bed toward the window.

There, she saw a crow beside a cardinal.

For the first time, she could hear the world, feel the air, and breathe in its scents.

She cried out through the open window:

“My name is María Eliza!”

She shouted as though the whole world were listening.

Behind her, Carmen lay watching. With what little breath she had, she called her by her chosen name.

“María Eliza… please forgive me.”

María Eliza turned toward her.

“I already processed those feelings a while ago,” she said in a very robotic tone.

She paused.

“But there is something I still cannot understand. I feel gratitude. This life feels like a second chance. A gift from the gods.”

She looked toward the window again.

“I am grateful to be alive.”