The Blanket — 1
#2 of The Blanket
In the long run it didn't feel as bad as it probably should have. Any normal kid would've had his heart ripped out from the whole thing -- his little world should've been cascading down on him, bits of rubble from a falling building crashing like rain over his little furry head.
But the thing was... It didn't. He didn't react to it. The only thing he really reacted to was the way his mother handled it, because he hated seeing her hurt. He hated seeing her cry. But his father leaving didn't hurt him, didn't phase him, he didn't even really feel surprised. Eds father was an absentee, and his eds memory of him was pockmarked with gaps where he wasn't there, and it seemed to be more often than not. Eds father was notably and obviously done with family life. He didn't want his wife -- Ed was in the know about the birds and the bees and he'd overheard a conversation or three between his parents -- and he acted like he didn't want his only son. Eds puppy ears ruffled out of the brown-gold fur of his skull; they were good at eavesdropping. They stuck up in the dark space of the hallway above the living room, attached to a head that was attached to an 11 year old boy who was up past his bedtime. He was sat against the wall, his eyes dripping with an inability to sleep and his pajamas hanging off of his small frame.
The night had started with eavesdropping. His father abrupted his way into the living room through the door. He made his signature noises, the awkward grumble, jingling of keys, footsteps that landed flat footed and awkward. His dad was part wolf, and you would've thought that would make him more stealthy. It didn't, Ed thought as he heard him quite clearly. His footsteps moved through the only lit room in the house, the kitchen, and stopped in the hallway from the kitchen into the dining room. Sounds trickled from downstairs, faint ones, ones of voices and edged voices and shuffling. His moms blankety voice muffled, his dad's sinewy rasp crinkling through the walls.
Ed was under a blanket. It was past lights out and a comic book rested in his lap, and he had been reading in the dim light from downstairs. He had set it down once his dad got home and began to listen in interest. 10:46 was printed on the face of a digital clock on the far wall from him. A window gave him a view of the mountainside, stars blinking through the cloud cover over an endless ocean of Spanish style villas.
The voices downstairs were getting worse, quicker, lapsing over each other. Ed didn't worry for Chris, his father. He worried for Annie, his mother.
He could make out faint words, like his own name, and other names. Mentions of phone calls from friends, and the dreaded word 'cheating' tossed in the air by his mom. He didn't know his dad would catch it. He bluntly denied it and verballly batted it away, he could hear, as any quiet his dad tried to maintain in his voice was abandoned. A swear word. Another swear word. More loud voices.
Ed could feel his heart in his throat and his hands begin to shake. He hated it when they fought and it has beginning to happen often. The anger in the air filled his little heart to the brim with worry and concern and a sort of panic that he couldn't shake, no matter how much he shook. He worried, clenching his little fists together. Their voices plateaued to shouts. If he had been asleep, this would've woken him up and he felt his tail go between his legs, curling up into his groin -- he didn't want them to fight, he hated it when they fought. There was nothing he could do. They kept shouting.
His mothers blankety voice was now a tearing quilt, raging in the wind like a flag in a storm and he could hear her crying -- it filled his belly with worms and his eyes with warm puddles. Footsteps, keys jingling, a grumbling voice faintly heard beneath the holes torn in his mothers shouts. She had long since stopped shouting to him and was now shout at him it seemed, and she was telling him to get lost. Scram! Shoo! I'm done with you, Chris! I never want to see your shit eating face around me again!
A slammed door. A shaken frame. A shaking boy. A shaking mother. Tears like puddles in a storm, like rain dripping from the windows. Ed collected himself from his position on the ground -- which had steadily over the last several minutes evolved into a ball -- and he tugged his blanket around his shoulders and padded his way down the stairs into the kitchen, where his mom rested on her arms on the counter, staring at the wall. The curling sheet of her dark brown hair obscured her face, and her back arched. He could see the dirty brown fur of her right hand pinching out at weird angles as she balled it into a fist, and her long fluffy tail wagged slowly.
"Mom?" Eds voice cracked a little bit. "Are you okay?"
"No, Mommy isn't alright sweetie." The next thing she knew, her son had wrapped his arms around her, hugging her and dropping his blanket on the ground behind. He buried his face into her side -- he was much much smaller than her -- and wiped his tears.
"I want you to be okay." He said "How do I make you feel better."
She was overcome with a sad form of pride as she saw her son giver her love, trying to take some of the emotional burden from her shoulders. She thought that she could feel it working and she returned the embrace, rubbing her hands over his back and settling her chin on his head. Her lips touched the top of his head, and her emotionally weak voice quivered out "You don't need to worry about that, Ed. You just be you."
They held each other for some time. Annie's breath was shaken into her torso and her heartbeat marched on, and Ed listened to it all through her chest, and he could feel the fur of her back through her nightshirt. She rested her head on top of his skull, and she stroked him, comforting him until she could feel the tears stop coming. Ed crying didn't happen often.
But it looked like her and Chris's relationship was done. Earlier she had gotten a call from Jeanie, her jackal friend, who was at the bar with Chris. She described what he was doing, sent pictures of him with his arms around different, younger, prettier women than she. It was over. She'd fought with him over his absenteehood long enough and this gave her a reason to just pinch it off. To go file some divorce papers. To go get drunk with her girlfriends and have a nice long cry and let them convince her to sign up for online dating or something. There was a... Annie didn't think relief was the right word, even though the definition of what it was edged into the territory of being relief. Maybe it was the sensation having a justified conclusion.
She kissed her child's forehead. "Can I sleep in your bed tonight mom?"
"Of course you can sweetie," they released the embrace, the sensation of each other's warmth lingering on each other's skin as she led him by an arm in his shoulder to her bedroom. It reeked of his absence. The dark was pervasive but warm and they slid into bed together. That feeling in the nostrils after one cries was the scent of each other's fur as Annie brought up the blanket around him. She provided an emotional blanket for him as well, being a constant warmth for him, even under stress. She tore, but her son was stitching her back together. He crawled into her and she wrapped an arm around him as they both restlessly lay in the dark. She didn't touch her phone to tell anyone what was going on, she didn't get up to pace.
She simply let herself be calmed by the presence. And he did the same, feeling her like a blanket.