I spent Christmas and New Years week trying to write about the specific events that truly precipitated my move from New York.
Ha! I must have saved about 40 completely different drafts—none usable.
The first event is a cliche——9/11. The second is my mother’s death a month later from a fall into her shower. She lived for fifteen minutes and cried, through her Companion Button to the woman in the companion company about how she didn’t want to die.
Fifteen or so months after that my identity was stolen and Chase Bank, the bank I had accounts in forever, charged me with felony fraud (long not funny story.) This is the bare outline and it’s a bit frazzled as its author was.
The detective in charge of the case had to tell them my credit card receipts and even better, an ATM receipt for a withdrawal that came from Chase on the day and almost the hour in question from San Diego was proof enough that I didn’t do it.
Nor would I have masterminded such a bogus idiotic crime. Mine would have had some class and intelligence.
It took me another four years to leave New York. By that time I was a total wreck who only cared about an easy life. For many of us the 9/11 aftermath wasn’t that feel good experience many did have.
They couldn’t even prosecute the criminal ring that was responsible for my identity theft as New York went onto high alert. Too bad as I would have liked to have seen these people serve long sentences, and I was supposed to go to Fort Worth to be a witness.
The detectives had been trying to get a pick––pocket ring that operated out of multiplexes. (I could be found in one once or twice a week.) After they stole your wallet they turned it over to a person who took your Social Security number as it was on health insurance cards then, name and address, would have documents forged. Somebody else would go to different branches of your bank. As they had all the info they were given much access. More than I ever had. They didn’t go to branches near your home or office.
I had reported it and got a new card but they didn’t tell me to close the account and I didn’t think about it.
I thought that it would be both fun and serve a higher purpose to be a witness. The detective was excited because I was articulate and understood the various parts of the crime
When I had first gone to the 21st Precinct, the twelve year old rookie who began to take my complaint told me that I had probably lost my wallet——after I showed him a letter from Chase saying I was going to be charged with felony fraud.
I should explain I had come home at 10:45 the night before. The doorman told me the subways were closed as New York was on high alert. People kept coming in with more stories. The subways were open but….By the time I got to my apartment and opened my mail it was after 11PM when Chase’s fraud department closed.
Being obsessive I was up all night trying to figure out a way to get somebody to do something before morning. I have a slight gait problem that is intensified when I’m tired or stressed. The twelve year old policeman made me walk back and forth the room. That had nothing to do with anything. The detective and I laughed about it later as it was so absurd. But I, Miss Overly-Nice was so farklempted I forgot my manners.
The detective on the case somehow had been in the next room back and watched everything. Both he and I said in unison: “are you crazy?” Even after I had lost my wallet my identity was taken from it and used in several serious crimes. All came back to me according to the bank that lived to drive me crazy or so I sometimes thought.
This was just before I began a blog and I do love to tell stories. But I didn’t want to talk about any of my problems to people in New York. New York was in story/problem–fatigue.
My apartment had a massive flood and I had to let the super come in before Eight AM though legally I could have protested because he had lost two nephews in The Towers. That trumped everything.
The flood was caused by the steam riser in my downstairs neighbor’s apartment exploding. As steam rises so do steam riser floods.
By the time I put my apartment on the market I was even more emotionally and physically fatigued. Every large event in my move would coincide with a fall of a brokerage house. This move was brought to you by the stock market. I was crazed by the events and the timing.
Was I ever going to find peace again?
I stupidly prepared my apartment to sell by spending way too much money doing I have no idea what.
For the first time in my life I wasn’t in control of my life.