by KUBOA
It’s been three weeks since Hector Bingleton performed the Epley Manoeuvre, and in that time Milton hasn’t bent down to tie his shoelace, or lie on the affected ear, just as Hector had instructed. Every night he slept upright on a small armchair in his living room, hardly moving his neck at all.
Hector is performing a few routine checks. He first makes Milton turn his head to the right and then the left. He then tells him to look up and then down again. His final instruction is to make Milton bend down, touch his toes and return upright, as quickly as he can. Milton got as far as his knees before the world shifted beneath his feet, forcing him to crash over his coffee table and land face first on the hardwood floor.
Hector rubs his mammoth chin and says, “You’ve obviously not told me all the symptoms. You can’t blame me if you’re not being totally honest. Is there anything else?”
Checking his head for blood, Milton says, “I don’t think so.”
“No headaches? Shortness of breath?”
“I have a headache now,” says Milton.
“I’m serious.”
As the silence around both men developed, Milton did remember something. “When it’s quiet, I hear things.”