Lack of Security
She studied his framed image: the overgrown facial hair, the way he lifted and did not return the edge of his shirt to scratch his belly, the unflattering angle that gave him a double chin where none usually existed.
He could tell she was dissatisfied, though she was careful to remain expressionless. He pushed his face into the camera and said, “You want to see me up close, huh?”
She tried to laugh, but only after remembering to. He lie down so that she could not see his face in the screen. She was too lost in her own doubts to see him anyway.
That’s you, he said from off-screen, pointing to his tattoo.
In retrospect, she saw that he was a mystery. Most of what she thought she knew felt like residue, residue and projection.