Toby plopped into one of the beanbag chairs in the game room. He powered up the PS5, but not before pulling a disinfectant wipe from the package on the low table. He wiped down the controller and the noise-canceling headset – mysophobia, fear of germs – who knew how many kids had used them.
He loaded up Fortnite, one of his favorites, but found himself distracted. His hands moved, but his thoughts wandered. He was surprised he wasn’t more anxious than he was. That calm, the one Dr. Enyo seemed to radiate, was working on him again.
He wondered how this was really meant to help. He remembered Miss Misty, his past counselor, and how talking to her had felt like being at the dentist – stiff in the chair, jaw tight, waiting for the drill. Dentophobia. That’s what it was like with her. It had never felt safe to share. The eager way she leaned in made him feel like she was glad he had scary things to confess, and left him feeling less understood and more examined, like she was collecting his fears instead of easing them.
With Enyo, though, he felt a strange urge to tell her everything. Why was that?
On the screen, his character stood frozen while the game went on without him. He wasn’t even playing. With a sigh, Toby backed out. He needed something different.
At the end of the row sat a gray box, a little dusty: an original Nintendo Entertainment System. He put the PS5 to sleep and pushed the NES power button, switching it on. Tetris was already loaded. He smiled. His dad had an old Game Boy in the master bathroom – Tetris, the only cartridge he owned – and his high scores were practically impossible to reach.
Toby started a game. The simple rhythm of the blocks stacking and clearing steadied him. He hardly thought at all about what his parents were saying to Dr. Enyo in the other room.