Octavia’s future arrives in a box small enough to fit in her coat pocket. She removes the plastic wrap, careful to tug the scared furball out of its package without getting scratched. Warming the tiny creature in the palm of her hand, she whispers “you’re home” as instructed by the Owner’s Manual. At the sound of her voice the animal’s heart flutters, settling into a steady beat. Octavia nods. Top Ramen suppers, years without a vacation—all led to this moment. She swaddles her baby future in a washcloth, tucking it close to her chest.
The Owner’s Manual encourages customers to name their investment, and Octavia chooses “Mirai,” or “future” in Japanese. Octavia calls in sick and snuggles in bed with a constantly hungry Mirai. The Owner’s Manual tells her it is impossible to overfeed at this stage. By the end of the week Mirai is big enough to sleep in a crate and Octavia returns to work.
Soon, the Owner’s Manual says, Octavia will feel the first changes. Octavia celebrates Mirai’s first steps, records her first words. The Owner’s Manual explains that this is a crucial period in her future’s self development, a time of testing boundaries. Don’t be afraid to give in, it advises. You want a future full of confidence. When Octavia says no to seconds at dinner, Mirai bites Octavia’s arm. Without a word, Octavia goes into the kitchen, returning with a plate of chicken and rice. Mirai devours her food, purring as she eats. Octavia cleans her wound and sighs. Growing pains. No one said changing your life would be easy. Within months Mirai outgrows her crate, demanding Octavia buy her a bed. Octavia pulls several months of double-shifts to pay for the queen-sized mattress filling the living room of their apartment.
The Owner’s Manual assures Octavia it is natural for a young future to explore the world, so the morning Octavia wakes to find Mirai gone, she isn’t concerned. Mirai will be back soon. But night comes and goes, and still no Mirai. Two days pass without a word. Octavia refuses to call the police with their ugly guns and boots in her home, poking into Mirai’s things. The Owner’s Manual directs the customer to let go at this stage, adding “Do Not Give Up! This is the Crucial Test! Your Future is Almost Here!”
After more than three months without a word from Mirai, Octavia moves Mirai’s mattress to the storage unit in the basement. The Owner’s Manual offers no advice on handling a runaway future. Octavia stops listening for Mirai’s footsteps in the hall and rearranges the living room. Putting away Mirai’s baby spoon in the cupboard, she finds the receipt and box Mirai came in. Folded into a small square, the Owner’s Manual fits neatly inside the box. Octavia has just enough time to get to the Returns Store before closing.
Phebe Jewell’s work appears in numerous journals, including Milk Candy Review, Bending Genres, Molotov Cocktail, New World Writing, Reckon Review, and elsewhere. A teacher at Seattle Central College, she also volunteers for the Freedom Education Project Puget Sound, a nonprofit providing college courses for incarcerated women, trans-identified and gender nonconforming people in Washington State. Read her at https://phebejewellwrites.com.
The Disappointed Housewife 