My Writer's Cramp Pieces

Stolen Identity

The crows woke her with their cawing. What were they trying to tell her?




A Writer’s Cramp (1,000 words or less in 24 hours) prompt:

You discover someone has stolen your identity. Tell about the discovery and impact.

Stolen Identity

When I woke, the crows were complaining about the lack of bread crumbs. “Caw! Caw! Caw!”
“Okay,” I muttered, as I dressed and headed for the bathroom.

The door was locked. My best friend, Susie, had six kids and two bathrooms. It wasn’t uncommon at her house to find a locked door, but I lived alone. I jiggled the knob, figuring it was just stuck.

“Just a minute,” came a deep-throated voice.

I backed away and turned to stride toward the other bathroom. But then I froze. Who was inside my bathroom? I ran for the front door.

“Caw! Caw! Caw!” screamed my impatient friends, but I ignored them as I high-tailed it over to Susie’s house.

After hearing my hysterical outpouring, Susie insisted on calling the cops. They arrived promptly, sirens blaring, lights flashing.

With two officers beside me, I headed home. We could see through the window that the strange man was fixing breakfast. Who was he? How had he gotten into the house?

The police politely knocked, but even so, one of them drew a gun. The other turned to me and said, “Step back, ma’am. We’ll handle this.”

Except they didn’t. Oh, they talked to the guy, all right, but then they ordered me to show proof of my identity.

“I live here,” I stormed, but apparently that wasn’t enough.

With the taller of the two cops beside me, I walked down the hall and into my bedroom. My nightgown and a dirty bra still lay at the foot of my unmade bed. I hoped the cop wouldn’t notice.

I stepped over to the bureau and started to open the drawer. The cop pulled out his gun. My hand shook as I tried to hand him the wallet.

“Take it out, please,” he ordered.

I wiggled the license from its plastic sleeve.

I started to apologize for the awful picture, but kept silent. I didn’t mention, either, that I actually weighed twenty pounds more than the license said.

The cop slid his gun back into the holster, then shook his head like he’d found errors more serious than excess weight. With his hand on my elbow, he walked me out of the bedroom and down the hall.

“I don’t understand, ma’am,” he said when we'd returned to the entryway. “You both have I.D.’s that say you’re Robin Johnson at 2367 Stuben St. Can you explain that?”

Susie had remained outside, but she had good hearing. “She is Robin Johnson,” my friend said, pointing at my chest.

That drew the stranger. His cop followed.

“No, she isn’t," said the other Robin. "Who are you?” he asked, staring at Susie.

“Caw! Caw! Caw!” screamed my crow friends, but the policemen didn’t seem interested in taking down their statements.

~~~~

Susie’s cell phone buzzed. One of her kids needed a ride home. Susie's lips were pursed with worry, but I shooed her off.

As soon as she left, the shorter cop grumbled, “We’d better take both of you down to the station. Fingerprints will settle this once and for all.”

As the four of us walked out, I turned back to lock up the house. The stranger beat me to it, inserting his key into the front door, just like he really did live there.

At the station, after taking our prints, the officers made the two of us sit and wait. I kept wondering if I was dreaming all this, but a drunk on a nearby bench reeked of urine and booze. I remembered hearing that dreams didn’t carry vivid smells. I bit my lip to double-check. I tasted blood.

The other Robin Johnson kept glancing at his watch.

“Late for work?” I asked.

He smiled before he caught himself, then mumbled, “I’m on vacation, a teacher.”

I laughed. “Franklin School, second grade, right?” I said it sarcastically, not believing he’d have the nerve to claim my school and position.

He bolted up. “How did you know that?” He shot me a look that would have wilted feathers if I’d had any.

“Officers,” he blurted out. “I’ve had enough of this woman and her lies. Lock her up and let me go home.”

The man was tugging at his tie. His face had turned tomato red with anger. His slightly gray and longish hair flopped back and forth as he waved his hands in the air.

I hadn’t saying anything during his tantrum, yet he turned to look at me. One of his eyes twitched. A frown line deepened.

I stood. “I’d like to go home, too,” I said. “And remember, I’m the one with the neighbor who can identify me.”

The man glared then so fiercely I thought he was going to hit me, but instead he stamped his foot, twirled about three times to the right, and tossed purple dust up into the air.

Time froze. Air rippled.

As the particles slowly sifted downward, the man said softly, “Okay. So there’s been a mistake. I’m not Robin. I’ll be . . John. Your husband. Understand?”

No. I didn’t understand, but as the air stopped twinkling and the last of the dust faded, I blinked.

“John,” I said. “What are we doing here?”

He smiled, a smile that lit up his blue-gray eyes. “Robin, we came to report a lost dog, remember?”

His arm swept about me, drawing me close so he could kiss the top of my head. I nodded.

A policeman handed us a form, and John filled it out.

We left on foot, enjoying the pleasant day. Birds were singing. The clouds overhead were large and puffy. A squirrel chattered down at us as we passed underneath an old pecan tree.

Just as we arrived home, Susie drove by. She waved.

John used his key to open the front door. I turned back to glance at the crows lined up on the telephone wire. They were staring down at us, peculiarly silent. How strange, I thought as I walked inside.




1,000 words