If I were just an English instructor, I’d ask, “Inside what?” and my mind would grind and whirl on prepositions and their dependence on objects, the way they finish each other’s sentences, the coffee ready in the morning and left in the thermos, hot and ready.
But instead I heard, “It’s been a long time since I’ve been inside,” and the Land of Inside spread out before us last night, the writers around the table: carpet, painted walls, chairs. And heat and doors that lock and clean water. And lights that make waking and sleeping their own thing. The Land of Inside keeps some out, can give some such dignity.
|random inside space|
When you’re not from the Land of Inside, you enter as a stranger, and sounds can knock the lid off, can pry open. Especially electronic sounds, like TVs and fans and central heating vents, the smallest rattle because what’s Outside is bigger.
I didn’t know. Being an Insider, I haven’t known Inside.