June 2006
Schemee found him later that night after receiving a call from the bar manager. He was halfway into his sixth glass of striaght whiskey, head hung low. Schemee slipped into the chair across the table from him.
"Taking to drinking?" Schemee asked carefully.
"Oh, has the great Schemee come down from high to judge me?" Schemer said in a sarcastic tone as he lifted his head with moderate difficulty, slurring his speech.
"No, I've come to take you home. You're drunk and cut off." Schemee replied. "Now let's go."
Schemer's only response was to try and guzzle down the rest of the whiskey he was nursing. This only achieved a coughing fit and a burning sensation that flooded his airways. Schemee rolled his eyes. "It's time to leave."
Schemee grabbed his Uncle's coat and tried to give it to him, but Schemer swatted him away and went back to trying to drink his whiskey. Schemee, who wasn't having any of his Uncle's antics, grabbed it away from him, putting it out of his reach.
"I'm finished when I say I'm finished!" Schemer stood up quickly and attempted to slam his fist on the table, but misjudged his aim and force horribly, and crashed to the floor. He was black out drunk at this point, and Schemee could only sigh. He slung him up onto one shoulder, and carried him fireman style out to his truck. Schemee had long since surpassed his Uncle in height and was considerably more muscular from his professional baseball career and easily lifted Schemer's thin frame.
He buckled his Uncle, who was now fast asleep, into the passenger side of his truck and headed for their old house.
Schemer woke up, first feeling nothing, and then wincing as pain seeped slowly into his senses.
"Ugh." He moaned, his mouth was dry and metallic tasting. His head was pounding, his stomach hurt terribly, and he felt nauseous and dizzy.
"How do you feel?" Schemee asked from the chair across the room. Schemer turned over and blinked in the direction of Schemee's voice.
"Ugh, Schemee, what's going on?" He managed to rasp in his nephew's direction. He couldn't properly see him, keeping his eyes open was a struggle.
"You had a bit of a bender last night." Schemee confessed, putting his book down. "What do you remember?"
Schemer sat up slowly, clutching his head. "Not too much… I remember leaving the Station, and going to…. Oh no. This is a hangover, isn't it?"
Schemee gave a small smile. "Yeah, unfortunately."
Schemer looked and felt ashamed. "Oh God… How much did I drink last night?" He almost didn't want to know.
"Well, someone recognized you and told the bar tender that you weren't looking too good, but they had already served you your sixth whiskey at that point. They called me, I told them to cut you off and said that I'd come get you." He explained nonchalantly. He walked over with a glass of water and aspirin. "Here, sip it slowly but drink it all, and take these."
Schemer looked up at him, looking miserable. "I'm sorry." He said softly.
"Don't be. Just don't do it again, okay? You're not a drinker, and while it certainly wasn't enough to hurt you beyond what you're feeling now, if you've never drank before it's a lot to handle all at once."
"I didn't, um, get angry did I?" He asked, looking ashamed.
"You weren't happy, but no one who drinks that much while already in a bad mood ever is." Schemee admitted.
"Did I hurt you or anyone?"
"No, nothing like that. Like I said, you're not a drinker, but you're also not violent."
Schemer gave a small relieved sigh. "I don't know why I did it. I never wanted to turn to alcohol for anything. Maybe I'm no better than my dad after all." He said morosely, leaning back into the pillow.
"I think we both know that's not true. Go take a shower, and come downstairs when you're ready. I want to talk to you." Schemee instructed firmly.
Schemer lowered himself gingerly at the table. Schemee slid a plate of breakfast in front of him wordlessly.
"I really don't think I can eat right now Schemee. I feel like I'm going to throw up." He tried to push it away but Schemee held it there.
"Trust me, you'll feel better if you eat it."
Schemer rested his head on one hand but slowly ate a few bites. "You don't have to take care of me anymore, I think I've put you through enough."
"It's fine, it's no trouble." He said neutrally.
They sat in silence until Schemer finished eating what he could.
"I talked to Becky last night, after I got you upstairs." Schemee confessed, turning to face his Uncle.
Schemer breathed deeply and shut his eyes again. "And I'm guessing that she's confused about why I ran off?"
"Definitely confused. I explained with minimal detail the relationship that you and Stacy had. If you're comfortable sharing the rest with her yourself you can do so. Otherwise she won't ask any questions." Schemee explained. "Why did you leave so suddenly? What bothered you?"
Schemer paused, thinking carefully about what made him react in that way. "I panicked. She mentioned about how Stacy was broken to the concept of love. If Ned ruined love and marriage for her, then what was I?"
Schemee nodded, taking it in. "Uncle Schemer, she stayed by your side all those years. Through the sickness, through health, and despite the lies that I've stayed mad at, she forgave you. I don't think she wanted to marry you, or anybody for that matter, because that idea had been ruined. But I don't know how you could possibly think that she didn't love you."
Schemer looked away pointedly. "I miss her so much. I've tried to move on. I've tried to fill my life with things that reminded me of her. But how can I get over her in death when I was never over her in life?" Schemer asked sadly. Schemee could see the grief dancing on his face. He got up and put a hand on his Uncle's shoulder.
"I was wrong about what I said. You haven't been using other people to replace her. You can miss her, you can continue to love her, but you have a lot of people who also miss and love her and I think you can use that to heal. It's time for you to find your own happiness." He said gently.
Schemer looked up to meet his eyes. "I'm so sorry. For everything." He apologized, and Schemee could hear the emotion hanging thickly in his voice.
"I am too. Oh, what a tangled web we weave." He exhaled heavily.
Schemer gave a humourless, breathy laugh. "I don't suppose that I can go back to the Station with my dignity intact. Becky probably thinks I couldn't care less about her feelings."
"Talk to her so that you can clear the air. Then start to do what makes you happy, not what you think you're supposed to be doing."
