Escape

Abe laid the 38 revolver on his lap as he sat on the top step of the fire escape at the back entrance to his apartment. He leaned against the railing and looked at the gray sky and thought about Laine one last time and the life they almost had. The life they should have had if only - if only she hadn't pulled that last unforgivable stunt a week before they were to wed.

It had been at the end of a perfect day. They'd gone out to the lake that morning and walked hand in hand along the path that winds through the woods next to the shore. Abe closed his eyes and remembered how the cool breeze had felt against his cheek - and Laine's warm hand, so willingly in his. He'd felt like the luckiest man alive. Laine was the only person in the world who had stuck by him, the only one who truly loved him. Well, at least he thought she did. But how can someone truly love you if they want to control you?

He had thought she was being romantic when she suggested they write their own wedding vows. "Well, sure," he had agreed. He was a published writer wasn't he? They decided to write their vows that afternoon alone and then polish them up together over dinner at Joe's Oyster Bar. It was harder than Abe thought it would be, but when he was finished he had crafted a beautiful promise to honor Laine's individuality, to cherish her for who she was, and never to try to change her.

That night over a plate of fried oysters and hushpuppies they read them to each other by candlelight. Laine had gone first. Hers was not very inspired, but sweet and romantic and she did promise to love and cherish Abe. She had nearly cried when Abe read his. Then she had to go and spoil everything by suggesting an addition to his vows.

"It would mean a lot to me if you would add a pledge to never make the decision yourself to go off your medication."

"I will do no such thing!" Abe had said, so loud that the people at the next table surely heard. "How can you ask such a thing?"

"Why not promise, it, Abe?" she had pleaded, "It will just be you and me and two witnesses. Besides, you have already told me you want to stay on your meds this time. Remember, you said you don't ever want to put us through again what we endured two years ago."

It was true enough - that year had been hell - the last part of it, anyway. But the first part of the year had been great. He had written an entire novel in six months and sent the manuscript off to his agent. He'd been so excited about it that he'd written nearly all day and all night getting by on short catnaps. It was a damn good story, too, and his agent had a publisher who was very interested -- just wanted a few changes. Abe had gotten bogged down in the rewrites, though, and slowly slipped into a black hole of depression again and nixed the deal. During that period he hadn't been able to summon the energy to get out of bed, let alone, write.

The scenario was all too familiar for Abe, though. Even before being diagnosed with bipolar disorder when he was seventeen, he knew well the phenomenal highs and profound lows that had become the pattern of his life. The lows were almost worth the highs of the manic phase, when he was more productive and came up with more ideas than ten men. He'd managed to make a living as a writer during those highs, which was no mean accomplishment. The trick was surviving the lows that invariably followed.

He and Laine had met when he was coming out of the previous depressive cycle - before he wrote the last novel. She'd been excited about the project, too, and so proud of him that she didn't mind when he barely had time for her. She understood that he was an artist, and moved in to take care of him so he could write. Nothing had prepared Laine for the period that followed, though, when he could barely get out of bed for four months. His emotions were completely unavailable to him. He even began to wonder if he loved Laine anymore. No one understood what it was like for Abe during a depressive phase. It was a living death. Just brushing his teeth seemed to take more effort than he could muster. No wonder he had tried to commit suicide twice already. Why would anyone want to live like that? He'd tried to escape life that time by putting a revolver in his mouth. All he managed to do, though, was blow out three molars and tear a hole in his cheek. He had a nasty scar that reminded him every day of how bad life could get.

But Laine had stuck with him, and it had cemented their relationship. Abe had started taking his medication again at her urging, even though he knew it meant he would be living a half-life. He wasn't even sure he could write in that medicated fog. He'd sold a few short stories since then, though his publisher hadn't been any more excited than Abe had been about them. But Abe had been fairly stable for months now, and he and Laine had finally been ready to tie the knot.

Abe looked at the gun in his lap and touched the cold steel. Laine just hadn't understood what he was all about. That stupid suggestion had put everything into perspective for him. They had argued right there in the restaurant.

"How can we make a life together if you don't trust me to make good decisions?" he had asked. "There is more at stake than you know. What if I can't write anything good ever again on the medications? I have to be free to make choices like that. I have a right to decide to stop the meds if at some point the disadvantages are outweighing the benefits."

"But we can decide it together, Abe," she said. "Maybe the doctor can try a different medication or something. But how can I marry you and start a family if I am worried that you may not be there for us? I have to have your promise that you won't decide on your own to turn our lives upside down."

That was months ago. They had made peace before they went home that evening, but the wedding never happened and Laine moved out before the week was up. The bond between them had been broken.

Abe had quit taking his meds soon afterwards. There just didn't seem to be any point. He had felt fine for a while without them, and somewhat relieved that the wedding was off. He still loved Laine, but she had asked too much and there was no going back. He didn't need the responsibility of a family, anyway. A serious writer needs to be unfettered. Abe went back to work on a regular schedule, and had turned out some promising chapters on a new book, but eventually the black cloud of depression overtook him again.

This time there was no one to take care of him. He was alone - more alone than he had ever been. The pain of existing without any hope or connection to life was unbearable. Better to end it all now, once and for all, than to go on living in a bottomless black pit.

Abe lifted the revolver and put his lips around it, touching the top of his mouth with the barrel. He thought of the last words Laine had said that night.

"It's a simple choice, really, Abe. You can choose me and we can live as partners, sharing and watching out for one another -- or you can choose freedom. If you ask me, freedom is a lot like losing." She had touched his cheek on the scar left by his last suicide attempt and added, "I'd rather lose you now than wrap my life around yours and then lose you later to another bullet. Don't you see? I love you too much to watch you self-destruct."

Abe slowly withdrew the barrel of the revolver. He trembled as he rose to his feet to go inside. Laying the gun next to the telephone, he picked up the receiver. Laine had been right, he thought as he dialed her number. When he lost her, he'd lost everything.

Abe held his breath as he sank into the sofa waiting for Laine to pick up. She answered on the second ring with a cheerless, "Hello."

"Is it too late for us, Laine? I'm ready to promise before the world to take my meds if you will still have me. Is it too late?"

There was silence on the line, and then gentle sobbing. "Oh, Abe," she said haltingly, "It's not too late. I've been so miserable without you."

"I may not ever be able to write worth a flip again, you know. I may end up having to wait tables at Joe's Oyster Bar to make ends meet."

"The world can get along okay without another novel, but I can't get along without you." She added, laughing through her tears, "I hear Joe has a good benefit plan."

THE END