When I was twelve, my family moved to the United States. My introduction to the land of the free and home of the brave was in Rapid City, South Dakota. My dad had a temporary work opportunity there and the city’s Catholic church generously put us up in a house for a few weeks. A parishioner who had left the house to the church in her will, to use as they see fit.
It was an almost empty, one-story house with a kitchen, a living room, a bathroom, and two bedrooms. I have spent my life in small apartments, so this was a dream come true. The house was located almost at the bottom of a large hill, near a through-road. There was plenty of space around the house to buffer it from the road, a sizeable yard with grass, trees, and a paved walkway all the way around.
Someone from the church gave me a bike, which meant freedom to explore the area a little while my mom worked cleaning a hotel and my dad worked his part time job at School of Mines and Technology. The bike dulled the pain of missing my friends.
One day I decided to ride to a nearby supermarket and buy some candy. I had one dollar. One can buy a decent amount of candy for that money in Rapid City, in 1997. Flying down the hill across the train track, the ride took a mere five minutes.
Sitting against the wall of the supermarket, near the bike rack, were two Native Americans. Sitting may be a generous assessment of their body position. They were slouched sideways in unnatural, but stable positions, wearing dirty clothes that were way too warm for the summer weather. The two of them didn’t appear to be together. They were several meters apart and one was asleep. My first reaction was to feel uneasy, even scared, but I have seen plenty of drunk men in Ukraine, and knew that at this state they are too drunk to hurt anyone. They are too drunk to hold their own body up and to hold the contents of their bladder. *
At the store I picked out a dollar-worth of candy and shyly approached the checkout. I was really hoping the lady wasn’t talkative. She rung me up and said something. I handed her my dollar. She said something again, with a straight face. I didn’t understand. She said it again. I was beginning to panic. She pointed at the register. One dollar and six cents. What in the world…?! I was sure my candy added up to only one dollar! With a jolt I remembered. The damn sales tax! The most stupid thing I had ever heard of! UGH! Embarrassed and shook up, I motioned to the lady that I will return in a few minutes and ran out.
I jumped on my bike and raced toward the house. As I approached the train track, the beam went down for an upcoming train. I stopped, my heart banging against my chest. “C’mon…!” I watched the rickety, freight cars, most covered in graffiti, pass at a crawling speed. I moved my body to get a better view of the train “how much more of this thing?” There was no end. “Cooooome OOON!!!” I think this was world’s only endless Just as long as they are able to verify http://icks.org/n/data/ijks/1482467285_add_file_8.pdf cialis on line australia that your script is legitimate and valid. Ingredients like saw palmetto, Ginkgo Biloba, L-Arginine and ginseng are in enhancement products. order cialis Nevertheless, men are advised to undergo medical consultation if they experience any problem when it comes to ED, it is not viagra tablets india often to blame. Cholesterol is the prime responsible factor for heart attacks, strokes, chronic obstructive pulmonary diseases (chronic bronchitis, emphysema) and cancers, particularly lung cancer, laryngeal cancer, oral cancer, stomach cancer, oesophageal cancer, bladder cancer and pancreatic buy tadalafil india icks.org cancer. train. People got out of their cars and were standing around chatting, while I was nearing a panic attack. I just needed to get those stupid six cents back to the store! The story lady is probably so angry with me.
The train took thirty minutes to pass, but I was finally on my way to the house. I left my bike by the front and ran around, to the unlocked back door. It took me a while, but I did manage to find some loose change. As I flew back out toward my bike, I was stopped in my track by the scariest thing I had ever seen in my eleven and a half years. A giant rattlesnake coiled up in the middle of the path. I almost stepped on it. It must have been at least two meters long, and thick. Its flat head was forward, facing me. The tongue was flicking out. Its rattle was up and shaking out of the mass of tangled body on the ground. It was grey with dark pattern all down its spine. I felt ill. Weak. Paralyzed. If I fainted on it I would have surely been bitten. After moments of thoughtless, blank, terrified brain, I heard thoughts, coming as if someone was whispering through thick fog at a distance away “… don’t… faint… ohmgawdimgonnadie…. breathe… walk away“ But I couldn’t walk. I couldn’t control my body beyond the “don’t faint” command. You’d believe how traumatized I was if you saw me right now, sweating and breathing heavily as I write about it, in snake-less Lviv, more than twenty-two years later.
It was a prairie snake, the only poisonous rattlesnake in South Dakota. I didn’t know that at the time, I thought all rattlesnakes were poisonous. It may sound like I was just unlucky to get one of the poisonous ones but they are everywhere. This wouldn’t be my last unpleasant encounter with one. (In addition to the ones in my dreams, for the next three months).
After an unknown amount of time, possibly several hours, neither the snake nor I moved. She slithered in place, standing its ground. I finally considered walking around her, but the area beyond was covered in rocks and dry grass. Who knows how many snakes are in there! I finally retreated along the path and waited in the house. I was paranoid that there were snakes in every corner. I thought that this one may get inside, after all, it was an old house with who knows how many cracks.
Eventually the path was clear. I was weak with fear, but not enough to completely forget about the six cents I owed. I walked around the house slowly, carefully got back on my bike, and rode to the SuperDuper. It had now been almost two hours since I was there, but the checkout lady was still in the same spot, still scanning groceries.
I handed her the six cents. She didn’t take them, just handed me my candy. She said several sentences that I didn’t understand. I think she explained that the person behind me in line covered it. I must have had a very confused expression because she finally smiled and said, slowly “don’t worry about it.”
* This image and other experiences in South Dakota had a significant affect on me. I have since learned about the extent of mistreatment of native people in North America, and how often it is minimized as something happened long ago and is no longer relevant. It is very much still relevant.