Knowing what I know now, it’s difficult to look back objectively on the time when I was falling in love with Keith. (It’s also unpleasant, so this will be brief.) But if I turn off my bile ducts and quiet the voice in my head that accompanies any thought of him (spoiler alert: it’s Oda Mae Brown from Ghost warning, “Girl, you in danger!”) I can almost remember those amazing first weeks when we got together and it looked like my happy ending was unfolding right in front of me.
In retrospect, it’s easy to see that Keith was sprinkling red flags like rose petals along the path to my eventual collision with the truth. In real-time, though, every concern had a wounded puppy explanation that made me increasingly sympathetic and fond of him.
More importantly, those red flags were up against something no man, woman or glaring psychological illness could compete with: The Keith Love Show.
If you love love, get you a Keith.
Stupid Games and Calculated Moves was the only playbook I’d previously known men to work from, but Keith was a different kind of guy–he was a fucking avalanche of emotional intimacy and physical affection.
It could be overwhelming, but it was the authenticity I’d always wanted and I was in, motherfuckers.
For his part, Keith was almost instantly bewitched. He drowned me in adoration and acts of devotion and I soaked it up like an thirsty sponge and adored him in return.
With those cards on the table, we bypassed regulation early dating and jumped straight into couplehood.
I wasn’t thinking of the couple nights he’d had too much to drink or the crazy stories about his ex-wife, I was just thinking about how major it was to be asked to meet his children and how exciting that he and I were making a life together.
And I was happy.