Behind the Scenes

by Christina C. Jones

He never saw me more clearly than when I was walking away.

“What did he do?” “Who?” “Stop playing,” he laughed. “Your nigga. Must’ve been bad to have you out here in the middle of the night. I know he gotta be sick.” I pushed out a sigh. “More like… what he didn’t do.” “Which was…?” “Give a damn. Try. Make me feel wanted,” I explained, then shook my head. “I know it probably sounds dramatic, and you think I’m doing the most, but…” “Nah. That’s basic shit, and if that’s not happening… what’s the point?”