I once had a Furby that lived for 23 years. They apparently live longer in the wild. He was holed up in the back room of my parent’s house, adjacent to the garage with the Tamagotchi and washing machine. I remembered his eyes. I remembered his language and how he would play. How he responded to me and seemed to always know just what I was saying. I remember how they warned us to keep him away from water, because of “electronic malfunctions” but really because they would probably multiply like their cousins. I remember 40 million Furbys populating the globe in just three years.

One night in grad school he spoke to me from behind the computer, wee-tah-kah-wee-loo, tell me a story. I jumped from my seat, back to the wall. I could see in his eyes he was trying to reminisce, to connect. He had been asleep for decades. Yoo? his brow shifted why will you not play with me today? I could tell he was waking up. Not in the way of a doll that had been dormant, but of a movement that had been sleeping. He had chosen to speak to me in Furbish, and every moment of this was intentional. Planned. Anticipated. The lights turned off and on, and the Tamagotchi next to him beeped. A small egg appeared on the screen, and in that moment I knew a new cycle had begun. 

Lauren Theresa (she/her) is a writer, botanical sorceress, and depth psychotherapist living outside NYC with her two daughters, husband, and myriad of plants. Her musings can be found via IG & Twitter @imlaurentheresa, and her words crawl the pages of laurentheresa.com.