Dawn
It started quietly.
Earl stiffened in his seat five rows ahead of me, shoulders drawing in like he was bracing against a sudden chill. At first, I thought he was just tired, head tilted, fingers pressed together on his desk.
Then his pen slipped from his hand.
It clattered against the floor, loud in a way that made several heads turn. Earl didn't react. He didn't even blink.
That's when I noticed it... the way his breathing had gone shallow, the way his jaw was clenched like he was trying to hold something back.
"Earl?" the teacher called gently. "Are you alright?"
He didn't answer.
My chair scraped back before I realized I'd stood up.
I crossed the aisle and dropped into the empty seat beside him. Up close, I could see it clearly now, his eyes unfocused, brows drawn tight, one hand pressing against the side of his head.
"Hey," I whispered. "Hey, look at me."
Nothing.
My heart slammed hard enough to make my hands shake, but I kept my voice low and steady. "Earl. It's Dawn. You're okay. I'm right here."
His breathing hitched.
He turned slightly toward me, lips parting like he wanted to speak, but no sound came out. His hand pressed harder against his ear, fingers trembling.
Oh. Oh no.
I remembered him mentioning it once, in passing. Episodes. Pressure. Sound disappearing like someone had flipped a switch. Or the loud static ringing only he can hear.
I glanced up at the teacher. "He's not feeling well," I said quickly. "Can I take him to the nurse?"
The teacher was already moving. "Yes. Please. Take your things."
I didn't wait for anything else.
I slid my arm gently around Earl's shoulders, careful and slow. "We're gonna stand up now," I murmured, keeping my voice calm. "Just follow me. I've got you." I'm not even sure if he can hear me or not
He hesitated... then leaned into me.
That nearly broke me.
We stood together, my hand firm at his back as I guided him into the hallway. The door closed behind us, muting the classroom noise instantly.
The change helped.
Earl let out a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging as if the world had finally lowered its volume. He pressed both palms to his ears now, eyes squeezed shut.
"It's loud," he whispered. "But I can't… hear it. It's just—" He swallowed. "It's pounding."
"I know," I said softly. "You're safe. The hallway's quiet. Just focus on me, okay?"
I guided him to the bench by the lockers and sat beside him, close but not crowding. I lowered my voice even more, like we were sharing a secret.
"Can you feel the bench?" I asked. "Your feet on the floor?"
He nodded faintly.
"Good. Keep breathing with me. Slow."
I exaggerated my own breathing, steady and even, hoping he'd follow. After a few moments, his shoulders loosened just a little.
"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I didn't mean to cause trouble."
"Hey," I said immediately, turning toward him. "No. None of that. You didn't do anything wrong."
He opened his eyes, glassy but focused on me now. "It feels like everything's far away."
I resisted the urge to pull him into a hug right there in the hall. Instead, I placed my hand on the bench between us, with palm up... an offer, not a demand.
He took it.
His grip was light, careful. Like he was afraid of breaking something.
"You're not alone," I said. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."
We sat like that for a few minutes, the world reduced to the quiet hum of the building and the steady rhythm of our breathing.
Eventually, Earl's fingers relaxed.
"I can hear you again," he said softly. "A little."
Relief washed through me so hard I had to look away for a second.
"That's good," I said, voice thick despite myself. "That's really good."
The nurse appeared at the end of the hall, already alerted. As she approached, Earl glanced at me, uncertainty flickering across his face.
"Will you..." he started, then stopped.
I squeezed his hand gently. "I'll wait. As long as you need."
His shoulders eased, just a fraction.
"Okay," he said.
As the nurse guided him toward the office, Earl looked back once. Our eyes met, and he gave me the smallest nod.
I nodded back.
In that moment, surrounded by lockers and fluorescent lights and everything ordinary, I understood something clearly.
Caring for him didn't feel scary.
It felt right.