The Man I Love

I've always known that I'd marry up in the world. Way up.

His name will be Keith Beauchamp. Why? Because I love the name Keith and the name Beauchamp. Everytime someone says your name, it sounds like they are cheering you on. Beauchamp. Champ. CHAMP. And who doesn't want to be a champ? I will hyphenate my name and I will be Rachel Smith-Beauchamp.

Keith will be tall and funny. He will play video games with me and laugh at my jokes. We will go camping together and draw pictures of each other at night by the campfire. Sometimes he will make silly songs to sing me and I will write dumb poems and pack them in his lunch. He'll make me play basketball even though I'm terrible, but he'll go easy on me. I will never make him come shopping with me, but I will never go to a funeral without him. We won't be fancy, but we will be kind. When my job takes us overseas, Keith won't complain, though he will miss his mother terribly. Sometimes we'll fight, but we'll feel sheepish and makeup. We'll take a picture after every fight to remind us not to be idiots. He won't shave on the weekends and he might take me to the dollar theater. Keith will have a soft spot for little girls with dark curly hair and I tell him that maybe someday he'll have one of his own. Maybe he'll be a teacher or a pediatrician. Maybe a garbage man. Maybe he'll be bald. I hope he's at least a little handsome. Someday we'll be old and Keith will die and I'll be sad, but not lonely. I'll pray, "God, thank you for Keith" and then I will look at the stars and remember.

I think I'll find an online dating site and when it asks me for requirements or preferences, all I will write is "Keith Beauchamp." That way, if a man named Keith Beauchamp is on there, I will know he is the one for me. If there isn't one, or he's ugly, I'll have to rethink the whole name thing.