IN (2)

Carson remembers Christmas, but he can't determine whether it's a placed-mem, a group-mem, or a bona-fide self-mem. To be honest he's not sure if lately he's been coming OUT more or going IN. The hard thing about all this was discerning self-mem from group-mem, and just now when he looks out over the silken tan-red sand and verdant leaves of the palms outside the window he imagines the sand as snow and the trees decorated in lights, and the ring of carols, faint in the air as if sung by a troupe of church choir devotees out spreading good cheer a wave of nostalgia buckles his knees.

Anticipation. The word itself flits across his mind-screen. He doesn't know how else to say it. What was that sense that was both desire and withholding? Need? Not quite so malevolent, yet still a kind of necessity. Does he remember sitting in a chair, in a car, in a church pew, waiting for the call to run to a place where what - what would it be? What does he desire? What does he need that he cannot not have? At least not when he wants it. What was this twist in the gut called hope that he now, he realizes, feels?