Maya was a fan of taking pre-bed naps, just to have enough energy to brush her teeth at the end of the day, since she barely had any energy at all. Maya’s body was so frail that her knees would break if she carried more than 10 pounds, and her arms were vaguely reminiscent of clothes hangers. Her skin was so thin and pale you could light her up with a flashlight.
Maya sat in her room most days, gazing out the window and tapping single letters on the typewriter, creating jumbles of dark ink that sometimes could be read, sometimes not. She had no hopes of socializing with other girls in the usual way, as standing up for more than one hour left her bed-ridden for weeks.
Ever since Maya was little, her mother knew she would be different. She set about creating a captivating space for Maya, building a bookshelf in her room, decorating the walls with frescos of her own design. “I will bring the world to Maya since Maya cannot see the world,” she said. No one commented on how Maya looked except to say to her mother, “Feed her better, Eliane!” Her mother wondered how her daughter’s hair had grayed before her own.
Her daughter fit into the room – a character in a painting on the wall, too accustomed to less dimensional life to enter the real world. She crumbled atop a pile of pillows, tapping at her typewriter. She hoped to repay her mother one day for all that she expended, by writing and selling a full book, but her mother saw at the end of each day that all Maya had written was a jumble of gibberish.
Her mother didn’t mind, however. Having Maya for company since her husband had passed away was all she could hope for in a daughter, and the two of them kept themselves occupied well enough. On Sundays, Eliane would bring a tray of tea and crackers into Maya’s room. The two of them would discuss the goings-on in the kingdom, and Eliane’s dream of one day travelling to another land.
That year, on the 2nd of March, an announcement came to the town that the Prince would be making his rounds. This was a Prince in search of his wife. He charged his servants with learning the home address of every eligible young lady in the town so he could pay his visits, which he did in earnest. He met Zara, Jane, Ursula. Mary, Noreen, Daisy. Kaya, Bambi, Rose. Daffodil, Candy, Alex, Tristy, Elf, Stu, Cara, Rachel, Anne – he met these and more.
The Prince had very specific tastes – often, he would spend not one minute with a woman before knowing she could not be his wife. In these moments he would pause, smile politely, and say, “Please, if you’ll excuse me. I must be on my way.”
The mothers of these girls would agonize for hours while undoing their daughter’s braids, pointing to a stutter in their introduction, or fussing over a shallow curtsey. The girls lived their lives wondering what the one minute had meant about them, and what about them had been so un-queen-like to warrant such a swift rejection.
Maya did not wonder such things. As the royal party inched closer to her house, she stared at a crack in the ceiling and drew a picture of a black hole in her sketchbook. Her wispy hair tangled around the buttons on her nightgown, and she turned her head to stave off painful cramps in her neck each hour.
In the days leading up to the Prince’s arrival at their home, Maya’s mother cooked her lavish meals, hoping to put some color in her cheeks. But, as always, she could barely finish a kernel of corn, a leaf of cabbage, a lick of ice cream before being rocked by pains in her stomach and forced to close her eyes. Maya often cried during these pains, becoming more and more certain that she’d forever be a burden to those that she loved. Yet each day, no matter the pains, she tapped away at her typewriter in hopes of completing her book.
On the day the Prince was set to arrive, a shooting beam of light struck Maya through the curtains, waking her with a sunburn. Usually the sun was something to be avoided, but today she didn’t mind. She filled up with a hazy yellow warmth, almost breathing healthily for the first time in a while. For thirty minutes she adjusted herself into a sitting position she deemed appropriate for visitors. Once she had, her mother entered and helped her slide a lace bib over her arms and head, and placed a bed table of tea and crackers over her legs. Her daughter looked lovely and happy, and the sun had burned a bit of pink into her cheeks.
Maya’s mother pulled up two chairs alongside the bed. Maya watched her, admiring her healthy cheeks; her long, full hair. Eliane had been her primary caretaker since she was born, and had never once complained. Considering how tired Maya felt from simple tasks like eating and sitting, she knew her mother must be exhausted. Her mother was the one that deserved to be Princess.
“I don’t want to be Princess,” said Maya.
Her mother looked up at her, wiping sweat from her brow. An opportunity had come straight to her daughter’s doorstep, and she wanted nothing to do with it.
“Keep that to yourself,” she replied simply.
The Prince’s royal assistant sounded the announcement that the Prince had arrived at their house. Maya’s mother greeted him in a flurry of coos and chortles, and the Prince’s royal party created fanfare with trumpets and banners and cheerfulness.
Maya struggled to swallow her tea as the good mood of the morning left her. She looked over at her typewriter, wishing she could tap away in peace. Sunlight still eluded the cover of the curtains, but now it made her sweat, and she felt trapped beneath the bed table of tea.
“Hello,” she said to the Prince, and he waved to halt all other activity from his royal party and Maya’s mother.
“Hello, Miss,” he replied. “You have the most lovely voice.” His eyes quivered, searching her face; friendly. This Prince was known for being charming.
“Thank you, your Highness”
Maya knew there was nothing remarkable at all in her voice’s timbre or cadence. Her voice was simply ordinary, of that she was certain.
“I don’t want to be Princess,” she said then, and any chatter that had started up again died down at once.
“What’s that?” asked the Prince, and Maya could feel her mother’s eyes on her. She still had a chance to take it back.
“I’m not very interested in being Princess,” she said. “I never really hoped to be a princess.”
“Ha!” The Prince laughed; a bellowing laugh, and the royal party joined in.
“Very funny,” He applauded. “Your daughter has a sense of humor,” he said to Maya’s mother, smiling. He kept chuckling to himself and murmuring, Doesn’t want to be Princess…
“I don’t want to be Princess. I have only enough energy to do my work and rest,” Maya replied. She saw that everyone was laughing, but she hadn’t made a joke.
The Prince began to realize she wasn’t speaking in jest. This girl did not want to be the Princess.
“The Princess is the chosen lady of the entire land,” he said, deciding that she had not realized what a princess was, and that he should straighten out the misunderstanding. “She’s the most beautiful woman in the land.” The royal party nodded along, tittering to one another about this strange girl that had no understanding of a princess.
“Well I’m not,” said Maya, knowing this simply could not describe her, and wasn’t nearly who she was. “I’m not the most beautiful woman even in this room.”
This was true, as every woman in the Prince’s royal party was very beautiful, and went to great lengths to tend to their beauty and expand it.
“I’m the one who decides who is most beautiful,” said the Prince, again attempting to explain something he found very simple to the woman seated delicately before him. “I could decide on anyone I want.”
“Please don’t decide me, then,” said Maya. “I only have time for my writing, not for maintaining the beauty of a princess.”
“What makes you presume you would be the Princess, anyhow?” The Prince said, less charming. His lips curled into a sneer. “I decide who the Princess will be,” he repeated.
Maya breathed shallowly, hoping all of this would end quickly. Her mother stared at the floor, probably thinking the same thought.
“I didn’t mean to presume anything, your Highness. I apologize. I did not want to misspend your time on someone that did not wish to be your Princess.”
“The Princess has all of the wealth in the land to do anything she wishes, and owns all of the beautiful gowns tailored to fit her. The Princess spends her days with me in the garden, enjoying the sunshine and the royal subjects, observing how to rule the castle, until one day becoming Queen. Everyone wishes to be the Princess.” These thoughts all streamed from the Prince as though they were so obvious no person could be stupid enough to misunderstand. He looked down his nose at Maya, thunderous in his proclamations, powerful in his stance. He was not used to being told “no.”
Maya saw there was no convincing a man that believed every woman in the land wished to be the Princess. Maya could barely walk, and sunlight hurt her skin. Ruling a country required intense mental focus, and consumed most moments of the day. Maya couldn't imagine being taken from her room and forced to squander each day with tasks she didn’t want to do. She knew she wasn’t fit to be a princess.
She stayed silent, hoping he would pass his judgement and leave her house.
“What is it that you want?” asked the Prince, leaving her secret desire unheeded.
“Nothing,” said Maya. “Really, nothing. I already have what I want.”
Maya felt the hazy yellow warmth from earlier that day returning, and she felt hungry for the first time in weeks.
“I’d like a cracker,” she said, and reached down to eat.
The Prince grabbed the plate of crackers from her hands. In a flash of rage, he threw them to the other side of the bedroom, shattering the China.
“Have you no fear?” he said. Cracker crumbs fell from the tips of his fingers as he lowered his throwing hand. His charm had fallen away. What was left was an angry man.
Maya stared at her own fingers, perched on the edge of the bed table in her lap. She wondered how her fingers would play on the typewriter to describe such a fearful human being. She blinked, and almost failed to reopen her eyes, so weak from the activity.
“I didn’t know there was something to fear,” she whispered, her air canal barely opening. She’d rarely met anyone besides her mother, and she hadn’t known it would be dangerous to speak her mind.
“Hang her,” said the Prince, and swept the air with his heavy, purple cloak as he turned. “And cut off her hands.”
A scribe took note, and the rest of the royal party filed out after the Prince, murmuring about the girl that dared speak back. Each of them met her gaze as they left, some with looks of sympathy, some with bitter rage, some with confusion. They all looked so beautiful, artifacts of regal emotion, gleaming with gemstones and loyalty for the man that had just ordered a young lady to be killed and made an example. Maya’s mother sobbed, her face in her hands.
Maya watched them go, waiting for the moment that a single guard would come carry her away with his enormous body.
“Please bring my typewriter,” she would whisper into his ear.
Two guards would be unnecessary, as she weighed less than eighty pounds.