Between, like, midnight and six in the morning, he said, rubbing his eyes, leaving them red. He was tearing up. I became aware that I was wiping mine with the back of my hand. When it’s quiet, he continued. No traffic or planes passing over. If it wakes me up that’s it, I can’t get back to sleep. I’ve tried earplugs.

Sure.

They help a bit.

Not me.

No. Because you can still feel it.

Exactly.

He glanced over to the steady flow of students passing in the hallway outside the classroom and asked if he could close the door. I pursed my lips, but didn’t say no, so he stood up, crossed the room, and shut it. When he sat back down we started talking about the migraines. The brain fog. I mentioned the nosebleeds. I conceded that it was hard to imagine a sound causing nosebleeds, but he said he didn’t think it was at all.

Sounds can cause damage, he said. Those sound cannons they use in protests? And there was that stuff at the American embassy in Cuba, did you read about that?

I shook my head. I was stirred to see this side of Kyle; passionate and invested.

There were these sonic attacks against the embassy workers, he continued. They started hearing these strange, high-pitched sounds at night and started having all these symptoms and eventually had to be sent home. Some of them had permanent brain damage.

God.

It can mess you up.

Maybe we’re being attacked by the government, I said, sitting back, eyebrow arched.

Right, he deadpanned. The Cubans are after us.

I chuckled, though I was still tearing up. I exhaled slowly, trying to gather myself. And then I just began to tell Kyle things. I confided in him about my struggles with Paul and Ashley. My confusion and isolation. I don’t know why I felt I could be so open with him. It wasn’t appropriate, and yet, it felt profoundly comforting.

Paul’s your husband?

Yeah.

What’s he like?

Like?

What’s he look like? I laughed, caught off guard. Never mind, don’t answer that, he said. Was just trying to make a mental picture. I told him that Paul was a good man, though thought I was probably crazy.

Kyle looked at me with intent—And are you?

Sometimes I think I am, I said.

He nodded and leaned forward—Well I don’t think you’re crazy.

And for the first time in weeks, I didn’t feel like I was. And it didn’t feel crazy for me to lean in and hug him. In fact, in that moment, it felt like the only reasonable thing left to do. I felt his body release ever so slightly into mine. And something passed between us. A secret. A synchronicity. A silence, which communicated everything that we could not yet know or say.