He held my hand and the rushing loudness of the world around us settled into calm.
I never considered something so simple could be so effective. It wasn't just that he held my hand; it was the way and when he did it. We'd talked at length about my anxiety and how sometimes the world could overwhelm me, and he listened. He genuinely listened. He heard me and retained that information, and in that moment, the moment when I was on the verge of a panic attack, he remembered.
The lights were blinding, the temperature too hot even though my body shivered, and my eyes widened as people passed us on either side. My focus was split between wanting to listen to him talk about his plans and what he wanted to experience on this trip and needing to know what the people around us were doing and where they were. I'm sure there was a sign I couldn't focus; maybe my breath quickened, or he noticed me pull away as someone stepped too close. Perhaps my breath caught, or I whined? I don't remember, really, and it's not important.
What's important is that he stopped his excited chatter and noticed my distress. There were a number of things he could've done in that moment. He could've gotten annoyed and snapped his fingers, reminding me I was supposed to be paying attention to him. Or he could've simply walked away and left me there. But, he chose to stop and switch his own focus. Not an easy task for him.
I don't know if he knew how loud or bright the world was for me at that moment, but he did everything right. He stepped closer, blocking the light to our right; whether intentional or accidental, I don't know, but he shaded me from the chaos building in my mind. I must've been holding my breath because I recall a sharp intake as his shadow settled over me.
And I lifted my eyes to his face. His brow wasn't twisted in disgust or irritation but concern: eyebrows lifted and head slightly tilted as he took me in. I didn't say anything, and he didn't either. He could've said many things, each of which probably would've increased my heartbeat ten-fold as I tried to quell the rising panic.
No, no words were exchanged. He simply moved his hand toward mine as I stood there, the proverbial deer in headlights and fully receptive to whatever he threw my way simply because I couldn't object, physically or verbally; I was frozen. A chill coursed through my body as his fingertips slipped effortlessly between mine. He curved his hand behind mine. It probably would've been more comfortable to move my hand, but he chose to move himself instead.
