Stephen Howard Insecurity Blanket

“Insecurity Blanket”
By Stephen Howard

Oscillations of the sun mirror the undulations of the economic climate. The sun is now
falling down from its peak, as dreams and security sink into oblivion along with it. Empty cars
rumbled through the streets with emptier people at the helm. As the lazy end of the afternoon
arrived, a brown car was driving down a solitary street. The automobile staggered over a bridge
separating the business district from the residential. A hunk of wood was jettisoned out of the
window just as the car’s suspension bounced, going from street to bridge. “Spencer Lakely –
Marketing Manager” was inscribed on the impure golden plate attached to the piece of wood.
Bubbles rose from the stream as it sank.
He rode along the streets that gave birth to identical-looking houses on either side. A good
number of them had “For Sale” signs stuck in their lawns. I might be just like them, the people I
felt no sympathy for. Spencer remembered when he had to dodge kids playing sports in the road.
Now no one came out. Just more signs.
The drive reminded him of when he was a kid and went to a place called a pioneer village, or
something like that. It was the remains of the old houses that used to stand in his hometown, but
were preserved for their “historical significance,” whatever that meant. Like anyone gave a
damn about history. Yet Spencer grinned with delight when he looked at the empty houses,
reminded of his youthful days. We’re all going to be one big pioneer village. I hope they laugh
at this.
After navigating his way through the maze of conjoined asphalt, Spencer pulled into the
driveway of a house. How he knew it from the other houses was only a matter of habit rather
than identification. The door opened and he stepped out, slamming the door behind him. He
looked at the sun’s trajectory. Still too high, she’s going to notice. His eyes grasped for the
hands on his wristwatch. 3:07. He looked up again, and noticed the clouds skirting across the
horizon. I wish I could’ve just kept driving all I wanted to do was keep driving but I can’t do
that even though I don’t know why. His feet began to move without sympathy towards the
wooden door. The glass fractured his face and sent the image back at him. So, that’s how I truly
look. He grudgingly twisted the handle and pushed the door open with extreme reserve.

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Slithering into the house with the smoothness of frigid winds that rush into hearth-driven
homes, Spencer hoped that the fridge’s hum could cover the sound of his footsteps. His eyes
roamed the room and viewed a familiar site. After every day of work, Spencer would walk in
and see his wife sunk into the couch, watching her favorite romantic shows. She'd be so
absorbed in the ridiculous plots of the soap operas that she usually failed to recognize Spencer's
entrance into the household. There was a permanent indent in the sofa. Don’t think like that.
She works hard on the weekend. But I hate it and I don’t know if she knows that I do. The
formally-attired man shifted his eyes several times, then attempted to transverse from the
entryway into their bedroom without attracting the attention of his wife. To be expected,
clumsiness struck him while he was attempting to sneak past her. His right arm thudded against
a wall, sending a dull sound shuddering through the stuffy air. Once a figure on the large screen
finished speaking, Hannah slowly rotated her neck towards the origin of the sound, and smiled
widely.
"You thought you could get by me, didn't you?" Her teeth shone as if the sun was hitting
them.
"Hehe, well you really like your shows..."
"How was work today? You sure got off early!” Her smile became less relaxed, with the
corners of her mouth twitching from fatigue.
He cleared his throat. His shaking hand elevated and loosened the choking tie hanging from
his neck. "It was tough. Not a good day."
"We've all got tough days every once in a while. It'll be better tomorrow."
"Let's hope so." He plodded across the wooden flooring of the living room and went into the
master bedroom, while Hannah's head reattached itself to the television. Spencer tore off his
clothes and threw them on the ground, not caring where they landed on the plush bedroom
carpet. Hopefully she didn’t notice I just want to fall forever through this. The bed creaked
under his weight as Spencer hopped face down onto the mattress. He breathed deeply. The
scent of sweet perfume on the pillows filled his nostrils. He didn’t recognize the perfume.
Usually she wore the perfume he gave her for Christmas.
"Daddy?"
Spencer jettisoned out of his bed and turned to see his seven year-old son looking at him as if
he was an alien. With the sun to his back, Spencer's face was completely obscured to his son

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Ian, who stood at the doorway with protruding lips. "Daddy!" Ian rushed over to his father and
hugged his left leg. Spencer nearly lost his balance as the energized boy rammed into his leg.
His quivering hand smoothed over the curls that grew on top of his son's head like a lion's mane.
The tall man placed both of his hands under the armpits of the young boy and hoisted the round
body onto his right forearm.
"Hey, how's my boy doing today?"
"Good. Can we go play foo-ball in the backyard?"
Spencer's eyes shut with delight at the boy's pronunciation of the word. "Yeah, we can go
play some foo-ball. Not too long though, Daddy has to make dinner."
Ian was placed on the ground and stumbled out of the room, yelping incoherent exaltations.
Peeking out at the living room before he made his move, Spencer slid into the bathroom and
closed the door. He turned his attention to the mirror, which was stained with small specks of
toothpaste and shaving cream. His eyes slowly descended into the sink as he placed his hands
on the edges for stability. He stared down at the drain with an unrelenting gaze. Everything
else became blurry around him except for the dot of gray in the center. The room seemed to
rotate around the dull-colored speck. Drops began to form in the corners of his eyes, and they
fell from his face onto the drain, silently splashing on the sides of the white basin. Footsteps
sounded on the flooring, prompting Spencer to quickly shut the door. He placed his head on the
door, but heard nothing.
Spencer lifted an arm and grabbed onto the medicine cabinet, prying the door open with his
fingers. Sitting on neat rows of white plastic were prescription bottles and tubes of ointment.
Spencer looked up, staring with darkened eyes, and grabbed several bottles, digging into each
one with a newfound anxiety. He quickly repositioned the bottles into their respective rows and
forced the capsules into his mouth. He turned on the fountain and cupped his hands, using the
metallic-flavored liquid in order to ease the flow of the medicine into his system. They taste
bad but they help me I think. Spencer flushed the toilet and used his hand to remove the excess
water off his lips before exiting the restroom.
Upon entering the living room, a strange urge came upon him. “Can you go the news?”
“Why?” Her docile countenance was swept away by incredulousness.
“I just want to see what’s going on with the debate today.”

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Instead of changing the channel, she threw the remote at him. I’m not a usurper I just want
to watch something for once stop labeling me usurper. Spencer changed the channel, and when
he did so, an attack ad was on the television. He scowled, but she looked on. The ad implied
that a candidate running for a local campaign had several illegitimate children. After the
commercial, Hannah shook her head.
“Like anyone could believe that!” She had told Spencer before that she supported the
candidate.
An uncontrollable, nearly maniacal laugh erupted from his mouth. “They could’ve made
breathing sound bad, and you would probably deny that he was doing that as well, right?”
She gave him a nasty look, but then started laughing with him. “Maybe.”
Eventually, the commercials ended, and the televised political debate resumed. The faces of
the candidates all seemed unrecognizable to Spencer, blending together in a fraudulent mix of
trivialities. His eyes gazed at the television for several rounds of debate, watching diligently.
His eyes began to glaze over, prompting him to get up and start for the door to the backyard.
“I thought you wanted to watch this.”
“It wasn’t as good as I thought.”
“That reminds me, are you ever going to register?”
“It’s all the same, really.” He sighed and walked outside as her eyes followed him like a
curious newborn’s. The glass door creaked open as the shadowy figure lurched from the stuffy
to the open environment.
The orange haze flooded into the backyard, bending around the foliage growing on extended
branches. Basking in the rays was Ian, who leapt at the sight of his father.
“Sorry I’m late buddy, I needed to take care of something really quick.”
Ian didn’t respond audibly, but instead threw the baseball towards Spencer and watched the
spherical figure dance with the wind as it neared his father. Shadows crept over the grassy knoll
as the two continued to disregard time for fun. Whenever his son would fail to catch the object,
he would frown and run towards it, arms flailing about like a twirling octopus, and Spencer
would stand there in the peaceful dusk, smiling at the innocence. Everything became hazy as
the pills began to take effect. The leaves were shimmering and his hands felt warm even though
the wind was blowing outside. It feels alright to be alive right now.

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After about twenty minutes of playing catch, Spencer had to leave his son, to the childish
complaints that come out of any youth once a good time ends. He went inside as the sun began
to fall below the mountainous horizon. Inside, the television was still being watched. Spencer
peered with vacant eyes towards the screen and then proceeded into the kitchen. Since tonight
was Wednesday, the Lakely’s always had homemade Mexican salad. He diced up bell peppers,
tomatoes, and onions while his wife had the meat on the stove crackling in the frying pan over
the stove. He got done with the slicing, yet stood there in the same position, looking down at
the knife as his reflection looked back. The eyes reflected off the knife looked into his as scents
and smells seemed to fade in the flow of time. The black pupils jumped in between his gray
irises as focus was lost. His gray eyes were reflected in the gray knife and the pictures all
became gray just like the walls of the world and-
"Honey! You awake? You’ve been standing there for about a minute!”
He blinked and shook his head several times. "Yeah… sorry. I was getting a little too
caught up in cutting the vegetables.” Spencer took the knife and continued cutting the
vegetables, attempting to focus on each individual slice. His eyes kept looking away from the
vegetables, making it a miracle that he did not slice open his fingers on the spot. That would
spice things up a bit.
When Hannah finished browning the meat, she nonchalantly handed the skillet to Spencer.
He grasped the handle and touched her finger, prompting her to smile. Ian started calling for
Hannah, breaking the moment of tranquility. He watched her thin frame glide across the floor
into the hallway. Spencer shook his head and made the three taco salads with meticulous detail.
Occasionally missing, he took no notice of the spare ingredients spilling onto the floor or the
counter. He made each salad unique, because each member of the house liked theirs to be made
with different ingredients. He liked everything, his wife preferred almost nothing except for the
meat and lettuce, and Ian liked everything except tomato. Spencer understood that though. He
couldn't stand tomatoes when he was a kid. I might not enjoy them still but I’ve gotten used to
them at least.
Spencer called out to the others, signifying that it was dinner time. Ian came stumbling into
the dining room, which was lit by the golden chandelier hanging from above the table. Hannah
eventually came in, after her son had bounced up and down in his seats for several minutes,
waiting anxiously to eat his favorite meal of the week. Once she arrived, they all began to eat

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their food, with Spencer being the quietest at the dinner table. His wife's eyes looked at him for
several minutes. She squinted and broke a sustained period of silence.
"Hey, honey, is something wrong?"
"No, no, everything is alright." His lips eased into a smile, but it vanished just as quickly, as
if a shooting star struck his face and receded back into the starry night, fleeing from the eyes of
curious onlookers.
She forcedly laughed, almost assuming the appearance of coughing. "You repeat yourself
when you aren't sure. It's okay, you can tell me."
Spencer sat inert with his eyes looking at his dinner and his hand gripped desperately to his
fork. No you don’t want me to and I don’t want to. "No, it's not okay." His skin flushed as he
looked down at his salad.
"What do you mean?"
He looked up from his meal. Emotions and thoughts began to swim underneath his face, but
he tried to conceal them. Now or never now or never never never now. "I... lost my job today
Hannah. I lost it and I don't know what to do." His fork clanked against his plate. That’s all I
was just a sound in the great noise of day.
Her eyes grew wide and she broke eye contact with her husband, deciding instead to stare at
the walls. He gazed unbelievably at her, waiting for some words of encouragement, but the air
remained undisturbed. In retaliation, he slammed his head against the table, looking straight
down into the carpet. She can’t forgive me this time she forgave me the first time but not now.
She just sat there, her mouth slightly agape. Ian was still eating, but started taking slightly
faster bites as the tension grew tighter. As his eyes grew darker, Spencer clenched his fists
around the edge of the table, turning his knuckles into ivory. After several minutes of
undisturbed silence, he removed himself from the table, staggering in both an emotional and
physical stupor into the dark rain while she stared into oblivion’s wall. Ian quizzically looked
towards his mother. "Is something wrong mommy?" She didn't respond, instead motioning her
son towards him with abrupt hand gestures. The lanky hands sunk into his soft skin as her
whimpers mixed with the desolate and feral howls echoing outside.