" Somewhere Over the Rainbow" by Nicole L

Once upon a time, my mother told me a story. She told me of a place hidden somewhere over on the other side of the rainbow. A place with a rumored portal that few passed through. The story told of seven “guides”, the Women of the Prism. Women that my mother advised me to stay far away from. She told me this story as a warning, as many parents did to their children. A warning to be normal. A warning not to go out of bounds, to stay away from anyone out of the ordinary, like those fabled women from the story. She said it was an unknown place, a place no one ever returned from. My mother said no one knew much of what was on the other side, that all they knew was that it was unusual and odd, and that it was blindingly colorful all of the time. All they knew was that the people who disappeared shared such anomalous qualities with where they were headed.

My whole life this story was repeated to me. Always told in hushed tones. Always told in disgust. Always with fear ridden eyes, darting back and forth, as though by mere mentioning of the place, the mythological women would come sweep them up, and throw them through the veiled portal entrance. Children’s minds were seared with the image of mystical women taking them from their beds and dragging them through the streets to their demise. Mothers and Fathers created images of the horrible lives waiting for them if they ever made themselves victims of the Women of the Prism. Through this, they scared their children straight, scared their children into becoming stagnant beings. Children were taught that their only options were to blindly accept the status quo, or be ripped from the life that they knew. In turn, the children chattered relentlessly in the playground, taking turns telling fantastical stories about what they believed could be found on the other side. They went back and forth sharing what horrible details they could amass. “So-and-so’s father said you would be forced to forever live your worst nightmare on the other side! No, no! So-and-so’s uncle told him that the snatched victims became trapped in the rainbow forever, only getting a glimpse of their old lives on days that it rains! So-and-so’s mom said the Women of the Prism became more powerful in the presence of a rainbow!” As a result of these many ghastly stories, whenever it rained, even the bravest kids didn’t dare go outside for fear of the rainbow that would follow.

Despite all of this, no matter how many times I heard the hushed tones, and saw the fear-filled faces, I never believed that this place could be so evil. Every variation of the story told to me was just that, a story. Each person seemed to be making it up as they went. No one actually knew the truth. The only people who could know, were those who’d passed through the famous portal themselves. Everyone else was just guessing. I couldn’t ever fathom why they chose to be so afraid of it. To me the rainbow seemed peaceful . . . a symbol of love and kindness. It seemed like an escape from the grayscale world I felt so trapped within. The guides sounded poised, powerful, and progressive. I could never seem to believe that this place could be so dreadful. How could a place somewhere over a rainbow be bad? How could it not be paradise? And if it was paradise, how could those who took you there be evil?

I never quite fit into my world, the world on the “right” side of the portal that is. Everyone there was so stuffy, so perfect, so scared of nonconformity. On the other hand, I was the definition of nonconformity. I never cowered in fear at my mother’s stories, nor did I partake in panic parties on the playground. I never wanted the ordinary life they all lived by. I wanted adventure. I wanted to avoid monotony. I wanted to be happy. I couldn’t seem to achieve any of those things on the “good” side of the portal.

I spent most of my time asleep, trying to re-imagine this place of gore and lore. I chose to imagine the unknown in a more positive light, shunning the gloomy picture painted by my world.

When I closed my eyes, I would imagine the seventh woman of the prism, Violet, late at night, tapping gently on my bedroom window and inviting me to come along. Calling me to explore with her, to cross through the portal. In my dream-scape, I always did the same thing. I would slowly rise from the bed and carefully tip-toe across the room to the window. As silently as humanly possible I would lift the window and sneak out to join the iridescent guides. Then, I would fly across the sky with Violet and her sisters, like a real-life Wendy from Peter Pan. We would lazily fly over the hazy drizzling sky, waiting for daybreak, and the appearance of a rainbow. I always loved those dreams . . . imagining the nighttime from the sky, the city lights shining faintly, the droplets of mist landing on my face, the cold air brushing past me, and running through my hair. Every time we reached dawn, every time we reached the entrance of the portal, I’d be awakened from the peaceful dreamscape. I could never imagine the other side of the portal while I slept. But while I was awake . . . boy did I imagine.

Whenever I wasn’t dreaming, I could be easily found writing and drawing. I would endlessly write up descriptions for the rainbow world of my dreams. I would etch out my imaginations on math homework and hidden sketch books alike. Teachers reprimanded me for being so starry-eyed and irregular. My mother threatened that I’d be taken. What she failed to realize was that was exactly what I spent most nights praying for.

My literature and artwork depicted a utopia, complete with big pearly gates and everything. In this new world I was surrounded with things that I loved. There was forest greenery everywhere. The smell of eucalyptus in the air. It was beautiful. There were twinkly lights strung all about, and stunning cottage architecture. I wrote this world to have a dimmed sky. In my mind it would not be blindingly bright, instead it would be shadowy and rain-filled, with colors shining through the pale sky. Hues reflecting through the droplets, washing over the people in a bewitching fashion. Beautiful flowers magically glittering, catching the eyes of passersby, and bringing joy to all who saw them. People all around, speaking freely, loudly, happily. The world I imagined was in stark contrast to the fearful, hate-filled world I was trapped in. Every day I would escape to my mind and imagine the world of freedom. A place I could be free to be myself, a place that would grant me my dreams, a place where I could finally be happy.

For as much as I idolized this place in my head, I never imagined I would truly get there, or if I did, that my suspicions of it would be true. I never believed such a blessing would be bestowed upon me. Never in a million years did I believe I could be so lucky.

Then, one stormy night, as I was lying in bed wishing for escape, dying to explore, I heard something. A tap. Then another one. And another one. I stared at the ceiling, paralyzed in disbelief. I pinched myself, slowly rose from the bed, and pinched myself again. I stared across the room to my window. Outside was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Her skin glowed, elevating the radiant tone of her dress. It was Violet. I ran to the window, and threw it open. Overcome with excitement I abandoned my efforts to be quiet, and grabbed at the opportunity before it could evade my grasp. We flew over the city as I imagined we would a million times before, except this time as we reached daybreak, I didn’t wake up. This time, it was real. I shivered with excitement as Violet and the other six Women of the Prism opened the portal. Violet took my hand and escorted me through the entrance I’d spent a lifetime envisioning. I was living the moment I’d pictured for the last 17 years of my life. We landed in the other world. The world somewhere on the other side of the rainbow. I took it all in. I was finally home, and it was everything I’d ever imagined it to be. For the first time ever, I felt like I belonged. All it took was a trip to somewhere over the rainbow.