Central to Nowhere
Page 22
‘You gonna ride my circus pony?’ Michael asked her.
‘I can’t ride, Michael.’
He was adamant. ‘Yes, you can. Dad will teach you. Won’t you, Dad?’
Adam nodded, let Ivy see his vow. ‘You bet. Trust that I will.’
Adam unhitched the horse and his boy climbed up to ride. Adam stood hand in hand with Ivy as sunset touched the sky, breathing in the colours as day turned to night. And Michael held out his arms as if the world was a bigtop that he would make his own.
A little boy in a radiant afro, arms held wide open to life.
Acknowledgments:
It was two days before Christmas that I broke my leg. Not a broken arm from a horse this time, but on a mountain bike and in clip pedals. At the beginning, I couldn’t see that breaking a fibula could be something even remotely fortuitous. But as I continued to work with Rachel Sweasey on edits during my healing, I realised that in writing about Adam O’Rourke’s break, I was living his recovery myself. There was truly no one better to write about what he went through with cast and crutches, than me. Thank you to my husband Paul, for all the hot English breakfasts you plied me with on my slow and frustrating recovery. You always encourage me to find the best author in me, to summon determination always. Thank you to the team at Rhiza Press for the work they have done to make Central to Nowhere a novel I am proud to call Australian. Thank you Rochelle Manners, Emily, Carmen and certainly not least Rachel— her calm British manner at least upon one occasion over the phone tempering a very taurean tantrum from expressing itself. What were we waiting for? I wanted to saddle up this story and get it to the printers. Weren’t they listening to me? In my slow recovery, I am learning that there is often something beautiful that comes from turmoils we have to face, but that when we are patient, when we trust, eventually all things work for good.