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Dedication
To Dad, who taught me to fight till the end. And to Mum, who told me great writers write what they know.
Vic Schuurs 1956 - 2018
And to Troy, who told me I could and I believed.
Prologue
She had always seen the world in another way, and not just from her own point of view, she literally saw things differently.
...Or maybe it was just that she saw more.
“Mira, I’m worried you’re going to end up in a crazy cult or something,” she remembered Mum wailing at her when she was still too young, and hadn’t learnt yet that the world rarely appreciates that which it can’t understand. Back then Mira often watched herself being frowned down on by disapproving doctors while Mum wrung her hands, in funny smelling rooms with itchy chairs.
So little Mira decided to stop mentioning how she stayed awake long into the night, peeping out of her bedroom window to watch the stars chase each other across the night sky. She never spoke another word about the indigo whirlpool swirling in the mirror of her great grandmother’s wardrobe.
She didn’t like to make Mum worry.
And Uncle Rob said something to her one day that made sense of it all, “You know sweetheart, people might think I’m crazy sometimes, but I know I’m not mad.”
Even though she hadn’t been on the planet for too long yet, little Mira understood what he was really saying. She didn’t need to make Mum or anyone else for that matter understand her, she just needed to be ok with herself.
Still, Mira stopped talking about it all. And the appointments dwindled off and finally stopped with those same frowning doctors now looking on her with smug, self-satisfied grins; thinking proudly to themselves that they’d cured her.
The magic stopped too. It was still there in the background, but she had life to do. It was hard to concentrate on Pythagoras’ Theorem while she was being pecked on the head by a one-legged sparrow that no one else could see. It was near impossible to have a conversation while she was constantly swivelling to her name being called out, when no one else was there. And there was no one to talk to about it either - at least no one she could actually touch. So Mira shut it all down, vaulted her true self up somewhere deep inside; that way the world around her could sit more comfy.
Flow
Mira walked along the path clutching her sketchbook. She was looking up into the kaleidoscope the tree canopy was making with spring leaves and sunbeams.
So consumed with trying to imprint the image in her mind, Mira collided with a dark figure. Her pencil fell to the ground, tinkling as it bounced along the path.
After a gasp that sounded something close to a lizard being strangled, Mira apologised to the ground as she scuttled to snatch up her pencil.
“I’m so sorry, my mistake…”
She looked up but no one was there. Mira stood abruptly and swivelled around. She turned in a full circle a few times, determined to see evidence of the actual human being she’d run into. But the path and park were clear in all directions. No one could have left her line of sight that quickly.
“Let it go,” Mira hissed. She told herself she’d just tripped over a stone. She told herself twice, three times… but she didn’t buy it, not in her truest heart.
The whole reason she’d come to the park was to call it back, wasn’t it?
All of it.
Because Mira had to know there was more to life; that we don’t simply live and then cease. It was no longer enough for her to just fairytale believe.
She shook her head until she felt dizzy, still trying to think logically. Old habits die hard.
“No you don’t,” a familiar voice echoed in her head, “You came back to see it all, feel it all. That was the promise.”
Mira jammed her eyes shut to stop herself from seeing an apparition of a renegade Native American with his face war painted, and violet eyes boring past all the façades she’d built up over the years, straight into her soul. She had no time to stop for a cathartic chat with Mil-Kai right now.
Mira couldn’t explain it but she just knew she had somewhere to be. It felt like there was an invisible rope tied around her waist tugging at her softly but relentlessly.
When you ask for something from the universe you will undoubtedly receive it, just exactly how you never expected to.
Mira’s eye caught an empty bench seat on a rise, up off the path into the park a little way.
She could see the opaque, honey-quartz haze hovering; almost enveloping it.
“Ok, ok I get it” she muttered.
Leaving the path in the direction of the bench seat, Mira felt like she was abandoning everything that was secure and sane.
She stopped just before the seat, on the precipice for a moment between who the world expected and liked her to be, and who she truly was.
“Fuck it,” she mumbled, because in all honestly Mira was sick to the teeth of playing timid.
Despite all her conviction Mira still felt jittery as she sat down, smoothing her crumpled dress with trembling hands. Truth be told she was scared shitless; sick to the stomach of what she would find within herself, around herself…
Someone sat down beside her and Mira froze mid-smoothing.
She peeked out of the corner of her eye, expecting to see a semi-translucent Tibetan monk or maybe an oversized fairy.
Relief washing over her, Mira let out a little breath of air from between her lips. It was just a man in a sweater.
He was hunched over, clutching a takeaway coffee cup between his hands, hood pulled low over his face.
Her gladness at seeing a normal person went to Mira’s head a bit because she piped up brightly, completely out of her usually shy character “Big night last night? Or big morning ahead?”
“Hu?” The man asked to the ground.
It suddenly hit Mira that she was trying to have a cheerful chat with a strange man who’s body language showed no interest in conversation with anyone.
But instead of backing down like she usually would, Mira stumbled stubbornly over her need to justify herself.
“Just the way you’re sitting with your coffee is all…” Mira trailed off, getting needle-like vibes prickling her all over.
“Life’s big kid,” He rumbled out, still hunched over himself, still brooding a thunderstorm into his cup.
That spiked a fuse in Mira.
She was the
