My equilibrium has never been strong. Riding in the backseat of cars is enough to make me blow chunks. I hate carnival swings. Those 3-D movies, forget about it! I’m just not made for experiences of exuberant movement. I don’t know why I was surprised the first time I experienced vertigo. It was just bound to happen at some point, getting out of bed would make me feel like I had been on the rough seas for a week.
Saturday, I kept feeling like the vertigo was sneaking up on me. I’m no stranger to it now. I can hear the hints being whispered to my brain. A little dizziness. Slight veering to the left when I walk. A vague feeling that can’t be 100% pinned as nausea. I kept to my chores and ignored the clues I was getting. Dinnertime came rolling along and I needed to get ready for supper at El Maguey, my favorite restaurant on Earth. I was prettied up as much as I get (a shower and I brushed my hair). We were walking out to the beau’s truck. The night sky was clear and beautiful. I would be an idiot not to look up and gaze at the stars.
WRONG: I was an idiot to look up and gaze at the stars.
That’s all it took. I looked up and the world was on a whirl to the left. I was pretty sure my stomach contents were on the verge to stepping out as if I had been riding the Tea Cups all day long. By the time the beau parked the truck, I was almost convinced dinner wasn’t happening because of the mental Tilt-A-Whirl I was riding.
We walked into the lobby and sat down. I felt like I had been seated on the Matterhorn. We are spotted by two waitresses who wave and say, “Hello Melanie!”
That’s right, they know me by name. Don’t hate.
The beau looked over at me and said, “Are you okay?”
“The room is spinning.” I close my eyes and beg the artificial Wipe Out to stop.
“Do you want to go?”
“Yes. No. Yes.” I wonder if this is what if feels like to ride the Zipper. I never did try it as a child and now I’m thankful that I didn’t.
I suggest we order something to take home. I’d hate for him to miss out on dinner. And hell, maybe I will stop feeling like I’m on the Blair Witch Project. I may want to eat again sometime in the next three years.
At the checkout counter, I tell one of the waitresses that we wish to order takeout. This causes a confusion that is probably still being discussed right now. She rephrased my request to make sure that was what I meant. I heard another waitress in the background speaking in Spanish, and though I can’t translate completely I know it is about the our sudden desire to take our meal elsewhere.
The world is obviously coming to an end, all at the hands of my exclusive Caterpillar ride.
I told you not to hate. The restaurant and I are tight.
The ride home is like a carnival ride that has gone haywire. My eyes insist on shifting to the left no matter how much I fight it. Every bump is amplified and I’m sure I’m going to vomit. I can feel the beau’s eyes occasionally glance at me and then they dart back to the road. The site of me in a shade of greenish grey is much too scary to handle.
At home, I curl up on the couch and quickly fall asleep. The beau wakes me up after a while and helps me to bed. I fight the roller coaster ride in my head until I finally slip off the cliff to Sleepy Town.
I don’t have a picture of me with vertigo, but I have this really blurry picture of me drinking Coronas. That should do, yes?