The creak of the old wooden door echoed through the dimly lit room as Nelly Furtado hesitated on the threshold. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and dust, and the centerpiece of the room—a battered copy of the board game Operation—sat ominously on a rickety table.
Across from her, a wiry man in a lab coat grinned widely. His glasses magnified his eyes to cartoonish proportions, giving him the unsettling look of a mad scientist. Dr. Morris Fishbein, he called himself. “Come now, Ms. Furtado,” he said, gesturing to the chair across from him. “Let’s see if you have the steady hand of a surgeon.”
Nelly forced a smile and sat down, her fingers brushing against the plastic tweezers. The game’s red-nosed patient stared up at her, his cartoonish expression frozen in perpetual panic.
“Let’s begin,” Dr. Fishbein said, his voice dripping with theatrical menace.
The game started innocently enough. Nelly managed to remove the wishbone without triggering the buzzer, but as the game progressed, her anxiety mounted. Each time the tweezers slipped and the buzzer sounded, Dr. Fishbein cackled, his laughter filling the room like a thunderstorm.
“Careful, careful!” he teased. “One wrong move, and it’s curtains for poor Cavity Sam!”
Nelly’s hands began to tremble. The absurdity of the situation—the creepy doctor, the eerie room, the ridiculous stakes of a children’s game—only heightened her unease. Her breathing quickened, and her vision blurred.
Suddenly, a warm hand covered hers, steadying her shaking fingers. She looked up to see Joe standing beside her, his calm presence cutting through the chaos like a beacon.
“Hey,” he said softly. “You’re okay. It’s just a game.”
Nelly nodded, her breathing slowing. Joe’s hand was still on hers, grounding her. She closed her eyes and whispered, “Serenity now.”
Joe chuckled. “Kramer fan, huh?”
She opened her eyes, a small smile playing on her lips. “Yeah. It’s silly, but it helps.”
Dr. Fishbein frowned, his theatrics momentarily deflated. “Well, this is highly irregular—”
“Game over, Doc,” Joe said firmly, pulling Nelly to her feet.
As they left the room, Nelly felt the tension in her chest begin to ease. Joe’s hand was still in hers, and she realized it wasn’t just the mantra that had calmed her. It was the simple, human connection.
“You know,” she said as they walked down the hallway, “one of my favorite Beatles songs is I Want to Hold Your Hand. There’s something so… pure about it. Like all the chaos and noise in the world can’t touch you if someone’s holding your hand.”
Joe smiled. “Well, it worked, didn’t it?”
She nodded, squeezing his hand gently. “Yeah. It did.”
Outside, the night air was cool and refreshing. Nelly took a deep breath, feeling the last of her anxiety melt away. She glanced at Joe, a grateful smile on her face.
“Thanks for being my calm in the storm,” she said.
“Anytime,” he replied.
And as they walked into the night, hand in hand, the world felt a little less daunting, a little more serene.