Story #4: Dakota Morning, Part 1

This story is told from three points of view and will be posted in three parts, beginning this month with "Matt," continuing in December with "Jamie," and ending in January with "Rob." It was first published in the Winter 2010 edition of Black Oak Presents: A Journal of Mid-American Culture, which is now out of print. I am excited to reshare it, with revisions, these seven years later:

Matt

Instead of living in his parent’s basement, my cousin Rob lived in their attic, like a bat, and he reminded me of a common household pest in every way. My room was directly below the attic with my bed positioned right under his. His bed was loud and squeaky, and my sister Jamie was always in it. I couldn’t sleep for the turning of my stomach with every whisper, creak, and muffled laugh that came from overhead, every night.

Every noise that hammered away at my head forced me to think about simpler times, like when Jamie and I first got here a year ago, last spring. It was a bitter cold day in March, and we were almost 2,000 miles from Connecticut, thrown suddenly into the dreary folds of North Dakota. 

My uncle had picked us up at the airport, looked at us like he was sorry, given us both a hug, and then helped us carry our suitcases to the car.

It had been over a decade since we had last seen Rob, and now we were all grown up and he was a man. He could not hide his selfish excitement as he came ambling out of their old farmhouse to greet us, and when his big eyes fell on Jamie, I just knew all of this was going to happen. 

At first, Jamie didn’t really talk to anyone. There were a lot of mysteries still surrounding the deaths of our parents, which haunted her. It also made for some intensely awkward moments with Uncle Mike, who hadn’t talked to Dad in years and didn’t quite know what to say to us now either.

Soon enough, though, Rob had Jamie coming out of her shell. He took her swimming, took her walking in the woods, got her up early for hikes and breakfast. She was smiling again and even laughing. Everyone just seemed to forget all about the terrible things that had happened. I, Matt—the wallpaper, a fixture—was the one left to take up the memories while they were busy having all the fun.

It wasn’t bad enough that they carried on like this under the noses of Uncle Mike and Aunt Misty, but they had to know that I could hear every movement, every murmur as I lie awake at night, grinding my fists into my head to drown them out. 

Sometimes I heard other noises in the house, too. Footsteps, whispers, knocking from above and below. I didn’t know who, or what, was up that late. Mostly I was preoccupied with Jamie and Rob.

One night I got bold and decided to go up to the attic, just to know for sure if their affair was real.

I climbed the narrow stairs and reached the thin landing, putting my ear to the door. I could hear them talking in low voices but I couldn’t understand what they were saying. I heard movement and then giggling and kissing. Wet kissing noises: the foulest sound of all.

I listened for another minute and then accidentally let out an angry sigh. My sister heard it. They stopped whatever they were doing and I heard a sound like someone darting up in bed. “What was that?” she asked breathlessly.

I covered my mouth and bounded down the stairs as quietly as possible. I closed my door behind me and listened. The noises upstairs stopped. Sometime later, maybe an hour or so, I finally heard my sister’s soft footfalls as she came down, crept past my door, and went back to her bedroom in shame.  

The next morning, two very long faces paced around the kitchen. Rob’s eyes were red and they shot from me to the floor to her, and then to my uncle. Jamie ate slowly and exchanged long worried looks with Rob, which would end as soon as my uncle turned in their direction. My aunt stood in the background like an ugly lamp, reading the local paper so quietly she might as well have not been there at all. 

This nonchalance irked me. The tension was thick, as they say, and yet my relatives were oblivious. I needed to say something.

When my cousin got up, he put on his baseball cap and let his dishes clank in the sink. “Bye, everybody,” he said quietly, hesitating in the doorway, then disappeared down the hallway to get his things for work. 

“Bye, Rob,” Jamie said quietly. 

I waited quietly as well, for the door to close. And then, before I could control what I was saying, I stuck my fork out and said, “Jamie, we need to talk. I know what’s going on.”

My uncle, surprised by my sudden loudness, choked on his orange juice and turned to me. My sister froze.

“Matt, it’s none of your business,” she said slowly, trying to say more to me with her wide, panicked eyes than with her words.

“What are you two talking about?” my uncle interjected. Even the great intellect Aunt Misty put her paper down.

I spoke. “Jamie, as your brother, I want only what is best for you. And this isn’t right. It’s sick. You’ve got to stop.”

“What’s got to stop?” my uncle asked, agitated but curious.

“Don’t, Matt.” She shook her head slowly. The beginnings of tears gathered in her eyes. “Everything’s fine, okay? Just stop.” She flinched as I pounded my hand on the table. I said nothing, only glared. She added quickly, “Matt. Leave it.”

“Now hold on a sec,” my uncle said, starting to look angry.

“He’s your cousin,” I hissed, feeling the power of my own suggestion.

“Whoa now, okay. What is this about?” my uncle asked, standing up.

I finally addressed him. “Uncle Mike, Jamie is spending an inappropriate amount of time with Rob, and you should know about it,” I answered calmly.

My sister got up and dashed out of the room. I heard the front door open and then slam shut. 

“Rob!” she yelled from the porch. “Robbie!” 

I let her go. That was all I had to do, and it was the right thing.

"Dakota Morning," copyright 2017 Amelia Cotter (first published in Black Oak Presents: A Journal of Mid-American Culture, Winter 2010 Edition, 2010)

Story #4: Dakota Morning, Part 3

Happy New Year! This story is told from three points of view and has been posted in three parts, beginning in November with "Matt," continuing last month with "Jamie," and ending this month with "Rob." It was first published in the Winter 2010 edition of Black Oak Presents: A Journal of Mid-American Culture, which is now out of print. I am excited to reshare it, with revisions, these seven years later:

Rob

What a morning. On any other day it would have been fun to call out of work and drive around with Jamie, but instead I was bleeding to death in my car and speeding off to nowhere with her about to go into shock next to me. 

I wanted to drive out to a little deserted lot I knew of, where we could just talk for ten minutes. Ten minutes was all we needed to sort this whole thing out.

To think that all Dad had to say was that he didn’t want to hear about it again—no wonder we did such crazy stuff all the time and got away with it. What a joke. My parents were clueless, clueless about every damn thing.

The pain pounded in my head from Matt slamming me to the ground. He was no small guy, but I couldn’t believe he knocked me clear off the porch.   

I needed to get Jamie out of there. It was not her fault that all of this was happening. She had plenty else on her mind. None of this should have been her problem at all.

When we were kids, Jamie and Matt and their parents used to visit us during the summer. A big part of me was glad when those two came to live with us. It was like we were kids again. Those were the best memories I had from growing up and I knew we could get them back—me and Jamie, at least.

I needed to tell Jamie about something else Matt had done. There were a couple of reasons I was unhappy with him, and his creepy night-spying was just the cherry on top of a pie that had been baking for a very long time.

When we got to the empty lot, I turned off the car and got out. I went around to the trunk and looked inside. I kept on almost believing that the present Matt had left me wouldn’t be there anymore, but of course it was. I scared myself now just thinking that I had ridden around with it for a good few days, trying to pretend like nothing was wrong.

There was a rifle in the trunk. It was mine but I had not put it there. Matt had gotten a hold of it, but that wasn’t all.  

I walked over to Jamie’s side of the car. She stared up at me with her sad, pretty eyes. I stood back and pulled the door open. “Hey,” I said, “I got somethin’ you need to see.”

We walked around the car and she peered into the trunk with a mix of curiosity and fear, like peering into an open coffin. The trunk was empty, spotless, except for the gun sitting there polished clean with a note tied to it. 

Jamie reached for the note and untied it, opened it, and read it to herself.

“Monster,” she whispered when she was done. She looked at me. “What the hell?”

I shrugged. “I found it is this way a few days ago. The rifle had three bullets in it. First thing I did was unload it, but I left the gun there ’cause I didn’t want him to think I knew about it, I don’t know, just in case.”

She stared at me for a second and blinked. “But…why didn’t you tell me? Wait, when did he do this?”

I shook my head and shrugged again. “A few nights ago. I mean, I really don’t know. I just…found it the other day. But you know, today settles it.” 

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.” She talked quietly and looked around suddenly, over both shoulders. “Let’s just leave, altogether, and get out of here. Today, now.” The look on her face was dead serious. 

I knew she meant it. I was ready, too. “Alright. Let’s do it. We should go back first, and get at least some of our stuff.”

“I don’t know.” She reached out and hugged me. I hugged her back. She held onto me for a long time.

We got back in the car and didn’t say much, but Jamie kept looking at me and trying to smile. I tried to smile back.

We were going to go somewhere, do something, but for how long? I didn’t want to start talking or even thinking about it just yet. I could give it until we got back on the road again and to a hotel, maybe. But we were doing this. Something real was happening.  

As we drove, I looked around. It was still early. The road sprawled out in front of us, with snow and fields lining it forever. The sky was so blue, that cloudless blue that reminded me of fall, not spring. I could even smell burning leaves in the distance and had this sensation like winter was coming and not going. 

We pulled onto the long driveway and I could see our property stretching across the horizon. There was our house, a barn and the trees to the east, and then a long field of brown and white that crawled out toward the west until there were hills and then endless sky. 

As we bounced along the gravel road, my bleeding head throbbed with every jolt and bang of wheels over rocks. Jamie put her hand on my leg. We looked up at the house. It wasn’t our house anymore. I saw Matt and my parents standing on the porch, waiting and watching us. 

There was something wrong about how they looked. Matt was still in his t-shirt, all covered in his own blood. His hair was a mess and he was pale like he was freezing his crazy ass off, just standing there on the porch like a total nut.

Jamie looked at me. “Do you think he knows we talked about him?” she asked.

I glanced over at her. “Of course he does.” She nodded and we looked back again. Matt was alone.

“Wait, where did Uncle Mike and Aunt Misty go?” she asked quietly. 

“They were just there,” I said. We stared ahead, bumping along while Matt glared back at us, covered in blood. A lot of blood.

“Robbie, we should turn around now,” Jamie said quickly, leaning back into her seat.

“I know. We need clothes, though, right? And some cash, and our stuff?” 

“Do we?”

We pulled to a stop with Matt directly ahead, leaning unnaturally to one side, his dark eyes squinting in the muted sunlight. 

I had a terrible feeling.

“Don’t leave me alone,” Jamie said quickly, grabbing my hand.

“I won’t,” I said, and wondered if we were really about to get out of this car, and what the hell would happen if we did.

"Dakota Morning," copyright 2018 Amelia Cotter (first published in Black Oak Presents: A Journal of Mid-American Culture, Winter 2010 Edition, 2010)

Story #4: Dakota Morning, Part 2

This story is told from three points of view and is being posted in three parts, beginning last month with "Matt," continuing this month with "Jamie," and ending in January with "Rob." It was first published in the Winter 2010 edition of Black Oak Presents: A Journal of Mid-American Culture, which is now out of print. I am excited to reshare it, with revisions, these seven years later:

Jamie

The porch steps felt like ice under my bare feet as I raced out to the car. Luckily, Rob hadn’t left yet, thank God.  I realized it was a bad idea to make a dramatic scene like this, but it was too late now. This was urgent and things were probably about to get much worse.

“Rob,” I yelled and pounded on the window.  

“Oh Christ, what?” he asked, jumping out of the car. He was bent slightly and his eyes were wide, like he knew what was happening and was preparing himself for anything. 

“Matt is in there, telling your parents—”

 

He didn’t let me finish. He turned on one heel and cursed, threw his hat on the ground, and started back toward the house.

“Wait. What are you gonna’ do?” I asked, following him. “Oh, God,” I said to myself, hugging my arms. It was even colder outside than I thought. I had no shoes and no jacket and was just standing there on a mat of prickly grass, helpless.  

“This is unbelievable,” Rob shouted, stomping up the porch steps.

My uncle and brother came out the door and met him halfway. The three of them stared each other down for a few seconds. My uncle looked intensely angry. I did not like confrontation, and wished in my heart that none of this was happening. I tried to look out into the field beyond the house to distract myself, but then everyone started yelling.

“What the hell is all this?” Uncle Mike asked us. 

“Nothing is what it is,” Rob answered defiantly. He turned to Matt and stuck his finger out at him. “What the hell is your problem, Matt?” 

My brother’s face slowly turned a deep purplish-red and then he lunged at Rob, knocking him from the porch clear onto the ground. They rolled around in the yard, throwing short, blunt punches and yelling muffled cries into each other’s necks, blowing clouds of breath into the air like a couple of fighting bucks. All the while, my aunt and uncle shouted for them to stop. 

I wanted to do something but I wouldn’t dare get in their way. Rob pinned Matt down after a while. Matt flailed and spat at Rob, clawing at his arms. Rob held him by the collar and was about to go in for the big punch when Uncle Mike finally intervened, prying him off of Matt. I felt so useless, but the look my uncle shot me as he pulled Rob to his feet told me I was doing just exactly the right thing by being still and quiet.  

My uncle let him go and pulled Matt up by his shirt with one hand, blood pouring out of his nose. He took big, gaping breaths. 

My uncle surveyed us all, even my aunt, and shook his head. “You all make me sick. Yesterday was a normal goddamned day and now you’re all acting crazy! I don’t want to know if what Matt is saying is true, and if there is something up here that shouldn’t be up, I don’t ever want to find out about it. And I want it to stop!”

That was all he said. He let go of Matt with a quick shove, brushed himself off and adjusted his shirt, and went back inside. I looked over to my aunt. Normally she had a bland expression, but today she stared so coldly into my eyes that it was obvious that she knew. How could we have not known that she knew? I put my hands up to my head.

Rob wiped his bloody nose and lip, and rubbed his forehead. There was a long silence as everyone just kind of breathed and thought for a moment.

“Get in the car, Jamie,” Rob said quietly.

“What?” I asked softly, taken aback.

“Get in the car.” 

“I need my shoes,” I said quietly. 

“I’ll get your shoes,” he answered calmly and went inside, hanging onto the railing and swaying a little as he went up the steps. 

I flopped into the car. Matt looked at me, glared at me through the car window. I locked the door.

Rob came out with my shoes and jacket. He opened the door and the familiar scent of his coat came into the car before he did. Dried blood and mud covered his face, with fresh blood still running over it.

“Do you need a tissue?” I asked. I opened the glove compartment and started fumbling through papers. There were no tissues. It was warm in the car and my thawing hands had trouble grasping anything.

“No, I’m fine,” he answered, touching his nose and looking at his red-stained hand. “Damn it.”

He handed me my stuff. I put on my shoes and jacket. “Thanks, are you okay?”

He looked past me to Matt. “Hell, I’m fine, Jamie, fine,” he said, still breathing heavily, looking very disturbed. He wiped his hand on his coat. I reached out to touch his face and he winced but let me touch him. “I’m okay,” he reassured me. “Come on, let’s get the hell out of here.”

“What about work?” 

He barked out one loud laugh. “Jamie. There’s not gonna’ be any work today.”

“Do you think Matt is okay?” I asked him, which at that moment was probably the stupidest question in the world.

“Do I think Matt is okay? No, I don’t think he’s okay. And I don’t think he will ever be okay, and I don’t think he ever was okay,” he answered and cleared his throat. 

We sped off quickly, bumping along the driveway. I looked around, not knowing what to say.

The sky was a deep blue. Birds were out flying around collecting things. The snow was melting in some areas. Pools of icy water surrounded with thick brown mud dotted the still-frozen landscape. Snow was expected again later in the week, typical spring weather. It was strange and somehow beautiful.

"Dakota Morning," copyright 2017 Amelia Cotter (first published in Black Oak Presents: A Journal of Mid-American Culture, Winter 2010 Edition, 2010)