I was in love with a boy, when I was in Grade Eight. His name was Will. He lived on a farm near Wynyard. We caught the bus home together. Our bus driver used to say to him every day, when he got off the bus, “Mind the cows, Boy.”
I’d watch him walk up the hill, as the bus trundled along the highway.
Will was in my home group. Will loved Calvin and Hobbes and Discworld.
I went to the newsagency in Burnie and I bought both. I brought them to our home group, to impress the boy I loved. I read them both, to impress the boy I loved.
He never loved me back. But I loved Discworld.
Years later, I thought I saw you at Stonehenge.
I wished I had the courage to go up to you and tell you all of the things and all of my feelings.
I wish it now more.
Tiger’s Gran Laurel, and her Uncle Al, gobble up your books. Their house is part country farmhouse, part Ankh Morpork.
At the zoo, her Uncle Neil bought her an orangutan. I call him Horace Worblehat.
I think, often, of the boy I loved, and the girl I was.
I remember the cover of The Colour of Magic, which I bought from the newsagency.
I wonder if it was you I saw at Stonehenge.
I can see the hole you made in the world when you left. It’s a bit silver and shimmery.
I like to think that, through it, I can see wonder.
Don’t rest, Terry Pratchett. Keep searching for the limits of the possible.
“So much universe, and so little time.”