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Morning homeroom. The creatures before me communicate in a foreign language. One of them has her legs up and is resting them on another chair nearby. They’re talking about some party I think. Something that’s about to happen or something that already happened. It isn’t my place to ask. The other one laughs as they speak.
The bell rings. I sit till the last second. On my way out the teacher shoots a warm smile in my direction. It must be obvious from the outside that I don’t understand.
I cross over into the hallway.
The echoes of the chatter and clamour ruminate in the medley of sweat and excitement. I pass a lot of kids whom I recognise but who don’t want to recognise me. The day continues just like this: trudging from class to class to class, listening and trying to understand these incomprehensible surroundings.
At lunch I don’t say much. Sound waves emanating from speech and general noise course through my eardrums without repercussion.
In the last class of the day we’re allowed to do what we want. I read “Dracula” under the table because I’m sick of trying to understand.
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There’s a surprise waiting for me at home. My brother must’ve left it on my desk.
A box labeled “RAINBOW TAPE”. On a white post it note on top reads “PLAY ME”. I decide to wait till dark; new material is always experienced more powerfully after day has slipped quietly into night.
In the darkness I find the courage. As I unwrap the packaging I notice that the “rainbow tape” is actually just a “tape”. Hidden underneath it is also a Walkman. I’ve never seen a real Walkman before but I know it to be one. Movies and books have taught me so much.
Of course, as I’ve never seen one in the flesh, I also haven’t used one before. I find a YouTube video that shows me how to properly insert the tape. When everything is prepared, I lay back into bed and pull my plushy sheet all the way up to my chin. It’s cozy under here. Clean also because I just showered. Cool and inviting, the night air floods insidiously into the room from the crack of the open window.
I hit the “Play” button. Even before the sound starts, I know it’s going to be good: a wall of excitement hits my resting body like a truck hitting an unfortunate individual on the highway.
The noise is indescribable. Simply a symphony of synesthesia. The ecstatic rumbling sparkles up my insides. I feel light as a feather. I’ve become lighter than a feather.
I begin to float up out of the bed. When I notice I’m still clutching the sheet on top of me, I toss it back down onto the bed. At the same time I accidentally also dispel my Walkman. Although the plugs are no longer in my ears, the music hasn’t ceased. On the contrary, the melodic musings have become stronger and more invasive than ever.
From the Walkman – now positioned far below me on the crumpled set of sheets – shoots out a rainbow. I cannot believe my eyes. The energetic arch has enough power to fling my window completely open. Just as suddenly as it all began, I find myself surrounded by stars and stardust, riding this rainbow over the sleepy citizens.
It’s clear to me that I’m not in control.
“Am I dying?” I wonder.
It doesn’t matter because there’s no way to stop it. The rainbow shoots onwards like a waterfall flipped horizontally. ROYGIBIV feels surprisingly firm underneath my searching palms.
The rainbow appears not to care that I’ve got no idea where we are. Instead, my vessel of transportation asserts its dominance by slowing and stopping completely in front of a huge palace. The establishment is so grandiose that I wonder who would’ve had the money to build it in the first place.
Soon my question is answered. Out of the front door swarm loads of leprechauns. They are sturdy and minuscule, bumbling in their own actions.
The leprechauns don’t seem to notice me. From up here on the rainbow, their little green speckles bulge and bumble over one another like clumps of rising cookie dough.
Apparently my rainbow is feeling invasive. The band of color and light gives me a slight nudge and I tumble into the Leprechaun Palace through an open window.
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I’ve fallen into one of the rooms on the second floor. Strangely I don’t see any pieces of furniture, just a red velvety carpet that leads out of the room and towards the main staircase. The staircase swoops down from the north and south sides of the room, culminating in a shared place of conjoinment on the ground floor.
There at the foot of the staircase is a humongous pot of gold. It collects all the light in the room and reflects it with doubled intensity.
I rush towards the riches. In the huge coins I see my own face reflected back at me. Not the face of the young me of that moment, but the face of an older self.
“Wait for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow,” I say to myself.
“What do you mean? How will I know when I find it?” I ask.
“Your future is as bright as you choose to make it,” an older me answers.
In the final scene I am seen scrambling out of the palace in a tattered nightgown, distraught and prepared to take on my destiny.
The screen fades to black.
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Hysterical clapping fills the room. Some people in the audience whistle. You give my hand a slight squeeze and a smile shines from the middle of your trimmed facial hair. Even though it’s the night of the screening and the reviews have yet to be written, I know it’s gone well. Around me are all the satisfied and beautiful people of high society, wearing their finest garments. Mainly tight diamond ridden dresses and immaculate suits, which happen to be the fashion of the moment.
Champagne begins to flow into wide pitchers held by everyone lucky enough to be participating in this event.
The critics whisper among themselves. I walk towards them to get a sense of what they are saying.
One of the braver ones notices me.
“How did you come up with this, with this absolute post-modernist masterpiece? I simply adore the way you have managed to portray the theme of teenage angst without the clichés,” she says.
It’s difficult for me to answer truthfully because I personally consider my film to be incredibly clichéd. The fact that I even demonstrated this particular film at this particular event is all thanks to my agent.
“Daaarling, people just want to watch something they can relate to. A troubled high school experience is a commonality that can be shared with a wide audience,” she urged.
Thankful I don’t need to answer: we are interrupted by other praise for the spectacle.
The interruption takes the form of a flamboyantly dressed french director. He seems to completely disregard the lady I’m currently speaking to and plants himself like a tree in front of me. Despite us having no prior connaissance of one another, the fellow director gives me a kiss on both cheeks.
“Magnifique, ma chérie. Music. Lights. Tout est incroyable! An instant classique,” he comments, adjusting his huge red spectacles. His over-the top-party hat wavers upon the shiny baldness of his head. Not being an expert of the film business herself, his smooth skinned (and younger) escort only gives me a smirk and a wink.
By the end of the night I’m having the type of fun where you completely forget your surroundings or that you’re even a human being at all. Someone with an understanding soul is blasting “Into the groove” by Madonna.
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Later that night I’m lying on the bed of the hotel room. It’s spinning hard but I don’t regret it. I wanted to feel this way when I’m here. You sit on the bed next to me. I don’t think the world is spinning for you.
“Can I ask you something?” you ask.
“MHmmhm,” I manage.
“Is there any truth behind the ‘Rainbow Tape’ thing? I mean not the leprechaun part but the whole part about your life before and all that. Did you really feel that way?”
“The leprachaauns are REAL,” I reply assuredly, still flopped onto my back on the bed.
“Ok, well I understand. Uhm I guess the reason I asked is because I’m trying to avoid something that I know I need to share,” you pause and hesitate, “I want to tell you but I’m afraid you won’t love me anymore if I do”.
“What? You know I’ll LOVE you…” I reply. I’m not sure how convincing I sound when I’m drunk. Following a moment of contemplation, I decide I can convince you of my affection by being as close to you as possible. I scramble into a sitting position to hear the rest of it.
“I killed a man once,” you say.
Your hands are trembling. It’s not long before tears stream down your pretty face.
“It was an accident. I was driving on the highway and he jumped onto the road. There was nothing I could do to stop it,” you sob.
I don’t want to say the wrong thing, especially when my mind isn’t working at its most optimal. Before I can say anything at all, I see a miniscule figure running over my tigh.
“Can it be?” I think.
And it is. Standing around us is congregation of small men clad in green. In their miniscule clutches they are holding tiny gold coins.
Both of us observe in utter amazement. They momentarily cradle the gold coins in their bosoms. Without either of us noticing explicitly, they have created a leprechaun ring around us. In unison they lift each of their bits of their gold above their heads. As if I wouldn’t have been expecting it, a rainbow shoots out of my chest.
ROYGIBIV radiates love and power. The glowing rainbow courses from my chest to yours. You smile and we kiss for real.
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WAST WRTNG 