A Halloween short story - Wicked Snow White and the Two Dwarfs

Being mortified after finding out that a lifetime dream is about to become reality seems counter-intuitive, but this is what me and my husband felt in March, as we walked out of the USA Embassy in Romania, our home country. 

 

“OK, so we have a visa. What now?” I asked C., squeezing the voluminous paperwork in my hands. He looked puzzled. We had absolutely no acquaintances in Chicago, the town we choose to live our American dream and we were supposed to leave in less than six months.

Our miracle came through Facebook.

In true social media fashion, Rachel, a Romanian priest’s wife living in the 'Windy City' was recommended to us by the friend of a friend. She called almost immediately after leaving her a private message, sounding interrogative, although friendly. “A 24 years old journalist and a 30 years old assistant manager, you say? Oh, I think we may help you”, she decided after a couple of minutes into conversation. There was a catch though: “When time will come, you’ll have to pay it forward”.

“Wait, isn’t that a movie?” I thought to myself, but refrained from making any comments. After all, this person was offering to help us rent an apartment and blend into Romanian community. I immediately felt an uncomfortable sensation, like our deal will not be all unicorns and rainbows. It was anything but.

We kept our connection alive through phone calls and Facebook messages, although never got to the point of having the slightest form of friendship. She would say things like “God bless you” with the same ease people say “Good morning”. Sometimes, just seeing her name on my cellphone display would send me into a fit of anxiety. I began avoided her calls all together. 

That unconformable feeling grew stronger as the day of our departure approached. I just couldn't shake it off. 

To our surprise, she used her influence and gathered from donations all we needed to start a new life from scratch. While most of the rented apartments are completely empty, ours had everything from furniture to kitchen tools and a fridge stocked with food.  It wasn’t until a week later from our arrival that we met, on a Sunday morning in July, at church.

Medium framed, with hazelnut eyes, curls of dark hair resting on her shoulders and almost no wrinkles on her angelic face, she stroked me as a grown-up version of Snow White. Unlike the beautiful princess, Rachel was wearing an all-black outfit that she rarely traded for a t-shirt and jeans. Her electrifying presence got people eating out of her hand; including us.

We soon discovered she had a divergent behavior. 

At church we barely spoke; Rachel had to play her role as a hostess and greet people, introduced the new ones and then waving to everyone as they would go home.

Weekdays though were a different story. When she wasn’t working as part-time veterinary assistant, she lectured us about the importance of having a well-paid job and projected a very gloomy future for us when two months had passed without finding one. “You two are in a big mess”, she used to bark over the phone. From time to time, an easy-going version of her took over, offering rides to interviews or cooked meals.

Her manner of speaking was the least disturbing parts of her character. I was often asked to leave whatever I was doing and jump into her car at a moment’s notice, hardly ever knowing the destination. “Those online applications won’t get you a job. You might as well help me with some errands”, she would say while pressing the gas pedal with a smirk on her face. Her malefic side completely unraveled on the day I turned down a job offer as a part-time receptionist for a dentist, a friend of hers. The job implied a close to four hours commute three times a week and the tasks of both a secretary and an accountant. Needless to say, it was an overwhelming, scary prospect for a journalist.

Once again, we discussed this issue over the phone. “You're gonna regret this. I give you one more month in this country!” she yelled in my ear, causing me to burst into tears. She had went too far with it. We both agreed that instead of providing support and encouragement, Rachel was  a mental poison that brought us to the verge of depression. Our relationship with her gradually changed. We began coming up with excuses for not answering her texts and calls and after a while she just stopped.

I felt like I was breathing again. Not long after our ‘breakup’, our sanity restored, we got hired by American companies, something she told us it’s impossible. Now, we actually enjoy going to the Sunday service, making small talk with Rachel, just like everybody else, knowing that we are no longer her little project. We still don’t answer her phone calls.