Five Years a Writer

I heard the heavy breathing well before I was pulled into the scenario. As I became aware of the noise, I realized it was not so much heavy breathing as it was very deep, very rhythmic breathing — like a person might do if they were trying to avert a panic attack. Then I felt the tap on my left arm.  “Excuse me, sorry…(gasp)…to bother you…(gasp)…but…” The woman, looking straight ahead as if focusing somewhere in the distance, was extending her right hand to me, all the while moving her left arm slowly, rhythmically, from up by her head, down, along her body, in time with the breathing she was clearly — I now had my eyes wide open — trying to control.   In an instant I realized she was panicking. She needed to be connected to someone who wasn’t. I reached out and grasped her right hand with mine and used my left to form a vice-like grip around her right wrist.   “It’s alright,” I said. “It’s ok. Just concentrate on your breathing.”   She wrenched her head around and looked at me, a lit