Twenty-one years ago, I fell in love with Keith. He was tall, dark, and handsome, as well as seven years older than me. He wanted to be with me every day, and I was flattered. For so many years, I’d tried to avoid the type of man who appeared to be a player, a user, or someone out for just one thing. I avoided that prototype like the plaque, so when Keith was the opposite—I felt totally safe. I let my guard down, and fell deeply in love. When he asked to see me every day and every night, I obliged feeling so thrilled I’d finally landed a fine, attentive, first lover. His constant attention made me feel as though I’d made the right decision.
Three months passed and we were still going strong, but I was growing weary. Our relationship never settled into anything that felt normal. He appeared not to have any friends, and his entire family lived in Indiana. He never went to visit with them. Once the fog of love lifted from my eyes, I noticed his tiny studio apartment in Lincoln Park, and the fact that he had no car began to bother me. When we first met, his car was in the shop and then just never materialized. This was a man that made quite a bit of money. I saw his paychecks, but later learned he had no bank account. He drank sometimes and even shared a joint with my brother and I (smoking pot was my way of being wild since I was such a prude about sex). I never thought he might be abusing a heavier drug until he offered me cocaine one night. I didn’t want to try it, but he kept insisting until I took one line. I’ll admit it, I was curious. I hated it though. The feeling of something that didn’t get you high draining down the back of your throat just felt sneaky. The sneaky kind of drug that could become your addiction. He asked me to try it again, but I refused. He never asked again, but I began to wonder about his habits and addictions.
He worked every day, but always appeared broke. Slowly I noticed that he was asking me for my money when I made less than him while working a full-time and part-time job. I began to wonder where his friends or family were, so I insisted we visit his mother in Indiana. We were still seeing each other every day, but that amount of time was wearing thin on me. I felt like he was suffocating me, but I soldiered on because I believed I was in love. At his mother’s house, she took one look at me and asked if I knew of his cocaine habit. I was in shock. I replied, “What habit?” She just laughed and said ask him. On our way home, I did and he shrugged saying his mom was the one with the habit. I was so naive because I didn’t press him that night. Looking back, I don’t think I wanted to see the truth.
Finally, I said I’d wanted to go home alone. We could skip being together for one night. His reaction was even more depressing. He got all paranoid and suspicious, but let me go home. I had been in the relationship for four months and was growing tired of being in it. To have pined over falling in love, being in a relationship, and finding a soul mate only to want space when I actually found it because I felt crowded by him was a strange moment for me. Be careful what you ask for because you might just get it. I got it all right, and much more. I realized I wanted our relationship to feel more normal. I wanted to miss him instead of seeing him constantly.
