Bryan Mortimer's Best Mistake

Bryan Mortimer had tried to end his life seventeen times since last Tuesday.

Each time had been more disastrous than before; fumbles of epic proportions, failures of embarrassing magnitude.

First, his oven. It was one of those new ones that needed the timer set, in order to be fully on, but of course, he’d forgotten that because, well, it was new. And much like Bryan, he’d fallen asleep without realizing and woken with a face covered in oven grease and an aching back.

So, naturally he wouldn’t be doing that again.

Then there was the botched poisoning of a three-hour apple and pear pie where the arsenic had actually been essence of vanilla, leading to the even more troubling questions of which unsuspecting neighbour had gotten the real arsenic, and had he at least made them a decent cake for their last meal?

A ruined river jump that was honestly just fun.

A good Samaritan pushing him out of traffic.

A pawn shop refusing to sell him the 1836 revolver.

The misfire of that old, useless, stolen 1836 revolver.

And the list goes on.

At least he’d been the only one around those times. At least he’d been the only one privy to such mortifying blunders, the likes of which compounded his reasons for taking his life in the first place.

But as he watched the sun rise over the inverted horizon, feeling the blood rush to his head, he knew the cold and harsh reality: everyone would now know what an idiot he truly was.

The pear tree was a popular destination in that small farm town, especially in the cool crisp autumn season. He’d chosen it because it was far enough away from town that no one would see the deed done, but close enough that they’d find his body and hopefully give him the burial he’d requested. And it was a poetic choice, owing to that fact that…no, he didn’t want to think about that.

At any rate, because he was Bryan Mortimer, he’d managed to screw this one up too. He contorted his body and tried to reach the foot tangled in the noose he’d made. No dice. He’d never had core muscles to speak of, he’d never seen the point, but he was regretting that now.

“Oy! Quite your jabberin’ and get movin’. The sun’s almost up.”

Bryan recognized the voices, and his heart filled with dread. Why them? Why them first?

In a few minutes two men came into view, following the road up over a hill and right past the pear tree. They stopped when they saw him hanging there, but for a long time they said nothing.

Ugh. Must he do everything?

“Stan. Frank. Good morning,” he said through clenched teeth, trying to fight the blood-rush headache.

There was a moment of silence followed by an uproarious guffaw of laughter from both men, banishing with it any hope that he’d get out of this one privately.

“Say there Bryan…what predicament have you gotten yourself into today?” Stan asked. It looked like he was having a hard time breathing.

“Is that a noose? Trying to off yourself Bryan? Well, about time! That’s probably the smartest decision I’ve seen you make!”

“I didn’t think he’d have the courage, Frank.”

“Not sure he did Stan!”

Both broke out laughing again and Bryan tried to come up with some way to salvage the situation. Could someone die from blood rushing to his brain? Maybe…but it might take a long time. He didn’t have that much time. In the distance he could here a chorus of children on their way past the tree before school.

“Come on, cut me down before the kids get here!” Bryan said, his panic rising.

Now, you might think Bryan a compassionate soul, wishing to spare the children the sight of something so horrific. But that wasn’t the case. Truth of the matter was the kids in that small country town were more vicious to him than anyone.

“Are you wanting to spare the children? Or Ms. Lovett?” Stan said.

If all the blood wasn’t already in his face, his cheeks would have gone red from shame.

“Oh, leave the man be, he’s clearly heart-broken!”

“Is that why you’re trying to end it all Bryan? Unrequited love?”

“Cut me down! I can’t see anything…” Bryan said.

Why was he fighting so desperately to live? Shouldn’t losing vision be proof the end was near? Still the thought of not even being able to see the children as they threw their pears at him, seemed too much to bear.

“All right, all right, I won’t be responsible for your death, Bryan,” Frank said, “even if I do think it’s a good idea.”

“Screw you!” Bryan said as he felt Frank climb the tree in a couple easy bounds. It had taken Bryan nearly ten minutes to make is way up…

“That’s the attitude you wanna take with your savior?” Frank said, as he reached down and pulled Bryan’s torso up toward him.

Sweet relief filled Bryan’s head as the blood drained away, and the blackness began to ebb backward. But then dread filled his stomach as he realized Frank wasn’t exactly cutting him down. Instead, he seemed to have taken the noose and was binding Bryan to the tree more tightly.

“There you go, nice and cozy. Now you’ll get to see if you’re destined to live.”

“Good one, Frank.”

“What? What do you mean, are you going to leave me here?”

“Well, seems to be you’re too cowardly to take your own life, but you’re right in suspecting that you oughta leave it. So, if fate wants you to live, you will!”

Bryan knew they meant to humiliate him as much as possible before letting him down. Odds were, they’d come back to get him that night, but by then the whole damn town would’ve passed him.

“You can’t leave me here!” Bryan said vehemently.

“Oh yeah?” Frank said, his snarling face pressing in close to Bryan’s, “I’ve been meaning to teach you a lesson for a while, boy. No one wants you here. Do you hear me? No. One. And just to prove it,” Frank turned and snapped off the branches to the pears in arms reach, “I bet you your life you’ll die, just as you wanted, in three days.”

“Three days? What do you mean?” Bryan asked.

“That’s how long it takes to starve…” Frank said with a sickening smile.

“You mean die of thirst,” Stan called from below.

Frank turned to Stan sharply and shouted, “He knows what I mean! Three days he’ll be dead. Not a single person will cut him down, or even hand him a pear.”

And with that he hopped down from the tree and dusted off his hands.

“You need to be taught! All of you!”

“All of us?” Bryan asked, unable to keep the contempt from his voice.

“Let this be a warning to companies like yours. Don’t come here and try to take what’s ours.”

“Sure, I’ll pass it along at the next big-city meeting,” he said disdainfully.

Frank said nothing for a second, but then he and Stan took off in a jog, just narrowly avoiding the children as they reached Bryan.

Two of them had run ahead of the pack, but they stopped dead in their tracks upon seeing him.

“Mr. Mortimer, why are you up in a tree?” a small sandy-haired boy called up.

“Hello, Georgie. Can you run back to Ms. Lovett, ask for help?”

“She isn’t walking with us today. Hasn’t walked with us all week.”

She doesn’t want to pass the tree, he thought. His heart sunk. Any hope he had of getting out of the situation faded. But at least Mary wouldn’t see him like this.

“You look awfully dumb up there,” the little girl said honestly. Then she picked up a pear and chucked it at him. It hit him square in the ribs.

“My daddy thinks you’re the devil, come to ruin our town.”

“Yeah and my daddy thinks you stick your nose where you shouldn’t.”

“Well, you can tell your daddy’s that I’m surprised they can think at all.”

There were a couple seconds of silence before the kids realized the insult, after which they promptly picked up more pears and pelted him mercilessly. More children came up the hill, saw the festivities and joined in the fun, without even asking why.

By the time they finished, Bryan face was bruised, a bit bloody, but mostly covered in mushed pear. His tongue searched his lips and chin and managed to take in a few scoops. Maybe this could work out; he’d taunt the children, be smashed with pears, eat the pears. As the season went on, they’d get softer, smooshier. He’d get more food.

He could live like that.

It was better than the life he’d had since Tuesday.

The day went by surprisingly quickly. Not many came by, but those who did either didn’t notice him, or else pretended they didn’t. Many knew Frank hated him, especially since the incident. If they’d caught even a whiff of a plan by Frank, they’d be smart enough to stay away.

The kids harassed him with pears again on the way home, and he managed some dinner. The weather was pleasant as the sun set, and after a while he actual found himself drifting to sleep. This wouldn’t be so bad, he thought to himself. Life in a pear tree.

The next thing he knew he was waking to soft fingers on his cheek and the smell of lavender. He immediately knew who it was but hadn’t the courage to open his eyes and look.

“If I untie you, can you climb down?” she asked softly in his ear.

Bryan nodded.

“Come then.”

Mary untied him and he moved his stiff muscles, watching as she worked her way back down the tree.

“What happened?” she said.

But he didn’t have the heart to go into it. The noose, the bruises, the pear-covered clothing would have to speak for themselves.

“Do you have any food?” he asked weakly.

“Yes of course. I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.”

“I never should’ve taken this job in this backward town,” he said, watching with eyes half closed as Mary helped him prop against the trunk of the tree and begin to take out some food from her bag. “I’m just a city mouse…”

“Shh, don’t talk,” she said, breaking off a piece of something that looked like banana bread.

“In love with a country mouse.”

“Bryan…”

But he waved her protest away and took a bite of the bread. Then another, and another, till he’d eaten nearly half the loaf. It wasn’t banana bread, but a pear and walnut. It was delicious he had to say…almost as good as the ones he…

“Did I make this for you?

“Yes,” she said shyly.

“Mary…”

“Bryan, I won’t marry Frank."

“No, Mary…”

“What is it?”

Bryan shifted position as his muscles began to seize beneath him. His stomach began to cramp violently, and he let out a cry of pain.

“Bryan!”

But he couldn’t talk. All he could feel was the searing pain in his stomach and the mind-numbing realization of what had caused it.

The Arsenic.

Well, he thought to himself, looks like I’ve managed to kill myself after all.

It was cruel fate that it had wound up in Mary’s bread. Happy fate that he’d the chance to intercede.

At least he could fix this one mistake.

Mary held him, panicked, crying, watching the life in him fade quickly. He couldn’t manage a warning, but Mary was smart. It’s why she didn’t run for help now. She knew it was over before it began.

But seeing as his death had saved Mary, Bryan supposed he could live--or die--with that.