I got dizzy last night. Felt as though I’d fall down, right to the floor then stay there spinning as someone threw knives just a little too close to my ears.
“What’s wrong?” Y asks.
I shake my head, the leaves painted along the wall behind her start crawling upwards, over themselves.
“Just a little dizzy,” I say, closing my eyes.
She comes and sits on the floor in front of me, holds my hand.
“It’s probably the weather,” she says. I nod, standing. I walk to the kitchen for some tea. N comes in.
“Do you want some tea?” I ask.
He frowns. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I just feel dizzy.”
The worrying starts at the tip of his nose. It gets in his mouth and eyes. He walks off without saying a word. I go back into the bedroom. It is at a different angle than it had been a few minutes before. I try not to spill my tea, finding my way into the bed. I close my eyes. Y crawls in next to me.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
I nod. Something sits down on the end of the bed. I open my eyes. N is there with his computer.
“So, you’re dizzy? Like, how?”
“Dizzy. Like–I don’t know, dizzy. Like–like time has turned to mud and everything is sort of sloshing about.”
N nods, clicking away on his laptop. “They don’t have ‘time-turned-to-mud’ as a reason for dizziness.”
I feel a bit like vomiting. “Well, doctors should be more creative, then.”
He doesn’t respond. I sigh. “Fine, it feels like I am about to vomit without actually having to vomit, how is that?”
He asks Y something in Russian, too fast for me to catch. I glare at them.
“Speak in English dammit.”
“Is there anything else? Did you do anything or take anything?” N asks.
I shake my head.
He clicks away some more, talking to Y in Russian.
“Okay,” he says finally, “it seems like this is something that happens to old people.”
“I’m not old!” I snap.
He shrugs. “Or pregnant people.”
“Well, I must be pregnant, then.”
Y pats my arm.
“You’re not pregnant,” she says.
“Well I’m not damn old either!”
N reads some more. “It says it happens to old people a lot.”
“I’m just dizzy, it’s fine.”
“Or old,” N mutters.
Y moves closer, “or pregnant,” she says, comfortingly.
I close my eyes and turn my face into the pillow.
“Do you need an ambulance?” N asks.
“Hell no, I’ll be fine.”
Y says something in Russian. I can only catch a few words–I make a promise to myself that if I do not succumb to death-by-dizziness, I’ll learn Russian better.
They go back and forth. I can tell they are worried.
“Don’t you call an ambulance,” I warn.
I turn back. The worry has spread from N’s nose onto Y’s face. I roll my eyes–or maybe the room simply rolls, I can’t tell. “I’m just–” I grit my teeth, “old.”
N pats my foot, closing his laptop. “Or pregnant,” he consoles.
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