The Woman and the Crow

*Content Warning: This story contains a character who is kidnapped by DHS and includes a death that occurs in a detention center.*

Miriam sat on her front porch.

She lit a cigarette.

She stared at the sun.

When she finished her cigarette, she lit another.

She stared at the trees and the parked cars and her neighbor’s dry lawn.

She thought of nothing.

She tried to think of nothing.

After the fourth cigarette, she got up to go back inside and got a glimpse of her reflection in the window.

Her hair stood out in all directions, as if she had been electrocuted.

Her robe was stained with food and coffee and dirt.

Her skin was dry, and her face sagged in fatigue.

She looked 65 instead of 55.

She winced a little at what she saw but went inside, grabbed a bag of hot Cheetos, turned on the television and lay down on the couch, anyway.

As she ate, she let the sounds of commercials and sitcoms lull her into a restless sleep.

What was the point of doing anything since Juan was gone?

Miriam opened her eyes to darkness.

The television had turned itself off.

The sun was gone.

She got up and turned on the lamp next to the couch.

She walked to the bathroom, avoiding looking at all the picture frames she had turned face down. So many pictures of Juan. And she knew what each one was.

The photo on the coffee table was a picture she had taken on their first date. They had gone to a little park in Los Feliz. He had talked about birds the whole time. Eagles. Pigeons. Ducks. Parrots. Hummingbirds. Crows. Especially crows. Crows were his favorite. “They’re so smart,” he kept saying. “They remember things. Hold grudges. They pass information down to their children. They’re brilliant.” At one point he apologized, admitting he was nervous. She said it was fine. Told him that she had already decided she was going to marry him when he had showed her the mating dance of the Laysan Albatross. As he laughed, she snapped a photo.

The photo on the bookcase was when they were on their honeymoon in Greece. They had stayed at a small bed and breakfast owned by an old couple from Athens. Their room had a patio that overlooked the ocean. One morning, Miriam had woken up at 8am to find Juan already sitting out on the patio chair, sketching the birds he saw flying by. She had snapped a photo as he turned towards her, his face lighting up into a smile. A smile that could bring world peace.

The photo on the television was a selfie she had taken on one of their many outings to the Gabrielino trails. It had been a hot, summer, day and they were both wearing big straw hats. They had just had a fight. She was tired and hungry and wanted to go back, but he wanted to go a bit further. See if they could spot more wildlife closer to the stream. They both went silent as they saw a great blue heron fly above them and land on the dirt road up ahead. The heron stared at them for a few moments before once more taking flight. Right after the bird flew off, Juan looked at Miriam and said, “Ok. Now we can go.” Miriam had laughed and snapped a photo of them. Him smiling his delicious smile as she kissed his cheek.

She couldn’t bring herself to throw the photos away, so she had just turned them toward the floor.

She washed the Cheeto dust from her hands and then walked back to the living room, avoiding looking into the bedroom she hadn’t slept in since he was taken away. The covers were still lumped together; his pillow still had his indentation. She often went in to smell his clothes and his shoes. If she could still smell him, it was like a part of him was still tangible. Still something she could almost hold. Something that was almost still alive.

Five years ago, on a Tuesday, Juan got up and went to go teach AP Biology at Marshall High School, like he had every day for ten years.

When he wasn’t home at 5pm Miriam figured he was in a meeting.

When she hadn’t heard from him by 6pm, she started to worry.

She called and called and called but only got his voicemail.

She called the school, but they said he had left at 3pm.

When she told the police, they told her she had to wait 48 hours before she could report him missing.

Once 48 hours had hit, she contacted the police again.

They asked her about her marriage and if she believed Juan was truly happy.

That maybe he had decided to run off with someone else.

She started to question her marriage, their love, their life.

Her friend, Petra, convinced her to hire a private investigator.

He was able to get security camera footage of Juan leaving school.

Of Juan being approached by four men, dressed in black.

Of these men shoving him into a van that said DHS.

But Juan was a citizen. He had documentation. How was that even possible?

Miriam contacted their lawyer who contacted DHS who said there was nothing they could do.

Who said that Juan was already gone.

But gone where?

Another country?

Dead?

They didn’t answer.

“He’s already gone,” they repeated as if that was supposed to be enough. As if Miriam should be satisfied with such a vague, horrific answer.

Miriam raged and screamed and posted on social media.

She spent every second of every day trying to find Juan, trying to get him back.

And then, a year later, a video emerged of a man walking around a detention cell, screaming for help.

He had a fever and kept yelling that he was burning up, that he needed a doctor.

He paced around the room and then collapsed.

It was Juan.

And the world saw him die.

And it felt like something in Miriam died too.

Something inside of her snapped.

And she curled into herself.

Petra told her she needed to keep fighting. Keep shouting. Keep working for others. That there were so many others like Juan who needed their help. People who had been kidnapped. The Disappeared, they were called.

But what was the point?

Juan was gone.

So, she shut out everyone.

She cocooned into her house, where she felt safe, where she could still smell hints of Juan’s cologne hanging in the air.

Miriam sat on her front porch.

As she was about to light a cigarette, a crow landed at her feet.

She jumped.

“Where the hell did you come from?”

The crow cocked its head at her in response.

She brought the lighter to her lips and watched in fascination as the crow narrowed its eyes as if in disapproval.

It hopped closer to her, and she scooted back.

They stared at each other.

Woman and bird, facing off.

Miriam got up quickly, went inside, and closed the door.

“It’ll fly away,” she said to the television.

She sat on the couch, turned on the T.V. and tried to forget about her visitor.

But eventually, curiosity won, and she got up and walked to the door.

She opened it and there was nothing there.

“Of course, there’s nothing,” she said to the empty porch.

And then, as if it heard her, she watched the crow walk out from behind the bushes and look at her.

“Were you waiting this whole time?” she asked.

It cocked its head in response.

Miriam went inside, grabbed some stale bread and came back out to find the crow now standing on her porch.

She slowly sat.

She put the bread in front of her and watched the crow eat it.

They sat like that for a while.

Just sitting across from each other. Regarding each other.

After a while, the crow flew away.

Miriam went inside a few moments later.

The next morning, Miriam woke and rushed immediately to her porch.

She opened it and smiled down at the crow.

She went inside and frowned at her stale bread.

“He deserves more than stale bread,” she said to the empty kitchen.

She brought out some small pieces and laid them next to the crow, saying, “I’m gonna get you something tastier.”

Miriam went back inside.

She got in the shower.

Afterward she combed her hair and put on cleanish clothes.

She went outside and said to the bird who was still there,

“I’ll be back with better snacks, ok?”

The crow cocked its head in response.

Miriam drove to the store and bought seeds, nuts, mandarins, and blueberries.

She also bought some fruit and vegetables for herself.

When she got back the crow was gone.

“He’ll be back,” she said to the empty yard.

She went inside and made herself some stir fry, trying to remember the last time she cooked.

She went outside with her food and the crow’s snacks and sat down on the porch.

She smiled when she saw a crow flying overhead.

She watched as it landed on the tree across the street.

She watched as it flew toward her and land a few feet in front of her.

“Hello again,” she said.

She took out a handful of berries and placed them in front of her.

The crow ate, cocking its head at her every so often.

Miriam ate, and watched the crow eat, and stared at the sky.

She looked at the bird and asked softly,

“Juan?”

The bird cocked its head in response and Miriam could feel the weight in her chest.

Of course, it wasn’t Juan.

Juan was gone.

Stolen from her like they stole so many others.

Miriam shut her eyes in fury, feeling hot tears course down her face.

And then, she felt something soft against her hands.

She opened her eyes to see the bird’s head resting on her palms.

Looking at her.

Maybe it wasn’t Juan.

It probably wasn’t.

But even so, she could feel the weight in her chest start to lessen.

Start to feel a little lighter.

And they sat like that for a while.

Woman and bird.

Until eventually the crow flew away and Miriam went inside.

She called Petra.

“Miriam?” Petra asked in disbelief.

“Hi,” Miriam responded, “I know it’s been a while. I…I wanted to know if you’re still, you know-

“Trying to get back the folks who were kidnapped?” Petra asked with an edge to her voice.

“…Yes,” replied Miriam.

“I am,” Petra said, “There’s been so many more cases since Juan.”

Miriam breathed deeply, letting in the pain.

Slowly breathing it out.

And then she said, “Tell me what I can do to help.”