Would you like cream and sugar with your panic attack?

I first noticed Zachary as we were taxiing on the runway, about to take off from Detroit to Minneapolis.  I was sitting on the front jumpseat of a 737 facing first class, and he was sitting in the first row of economy, on the aisle.  He was staring at me with this panicked look in his eyes, and at first I couldn't tell that he was trying to get my attention.  He finally raised his hand, so I walked over to him, hoping this wasn't going to be some crazy emergency.

"I think I'm having a panic attack.  Do you think I could get a drink or something?"

I told him I couldn't get him a drink right then since we were about to take off.  He looked nervous and a bit sweaty, and I started racking my brain trying to think back to my psychology classes and what to do if someone's having a panic attack.  I asked him if he wanted to breathe into a paper bag (always a solid solution).  He said no, he just wanted a drink.  As we talked a bit more, he told me he just got out of rehab for alcoholism and meth amphetamines. 

"Well now I really can't get you a drink."

I asked him if he had anything with him to do, because sometimes a distraction is the best way to get your mind off of your anxiety.  He said his iPod had died, and he couldn't focus on his book.  I ended up offering him my iPod, feeling slightly embarrassed that country, Billy Joel, and the Backstreet Boys may not exactly be to his liking.  In any case, he thanked me and said he would be fine (he gave the iPod back as soon as we got up in the air, go figure).  I told him to let me know if there was anything else I could do to help.  There was an elderly couple sitting next to him who overheard our exchange, and the husband kindly started chatting with Zachary, trying to keep his mind off of takeoff.  As I went back to my jumpseat, he kept shooting pleading looks my way, and I tried to just smile at him, because what more could I do? 

Throughout the short flight, I continued to check on him, and he seemed to be hanging in there, although I could tell he was still on edge.  He kept writing in a little notebook with a skinny Sharpie, and I hoped that was keeping him occupied.  Part of the way through the flight, a doctor on board stopped me in the aisle and said he had overheard what had happened, and volunteered to switch seats with the elderly gentleman so he could help keep Zachary calm.  This seemed to work, and every time I walked by, Zachary and the doctor seemed to be deep in conversation. 

After landing, as everyone deplaned, Zachary came over and thanked me.  I put my hand on his shoulder, wished him good luck, and told him he would be fine (as if I knew).  He walked off the plane, and I just hoped that he had someone to meet him at the airport. 

As the doctor passed by me on his way off the plane, I thanked him for all his help.  All he said was,

"You really made an impression on him.  He said he would marry you."

I walked back past Zachary's seat to get my suitcase, and saw a skinny Sharpie on the seat.  I picked it up and put it in my pocket.