And, Breathe

Despite her best efforts, Celia was miserable. To most people the conditions would have been ideal: comfortable heat, cheery sun, a delicious salty breeze, and everything she could want was within arm's reach. Celia didn't know how to relax. She came to this island resort thinking she could force relaxation upon herself. So far, no matter how good the food, the drinks and the spa treatments were, she was still a sourpuss.

The week-long getaway was a gift from her coworkers. Business was good. A big project had just wrapped up, and Celia was celebrating 8 years with the firm. There was a party at which she had planned to give a rousing speech and recognize the efforts of her team. Instead, they turned it around and made the day about her. Mixed with their appreciation was a usually-unspoken concern for the workaholic Celia. While she was caught somewhat off-guard, Celia was touched by the gesture. She promised, more to her colleagues than to herself, that she would make the most of her vacation.

That promise was made months ago, and relaxing was very, very hard.

Her smartwatch vibrated a short pulse against her wrist. Celia had set an alarm to try those breathing exercises she'd heard so much about. It didn't work the first several times, but her coworkers insisted that repetition would make it effective. She put her e-reader on the little table beside her and stretched out in the beach chair. Closing her eyes, she began to count.

Inhale, two, three, four, five, six, seven... At least the air smelled fresh way out here on the ocean.

Hold, two, three, four, five... A seagull screeched nearby. Celia actually liked the sound of gulls. The Great Lakes had them too. Gulls don't care if they're at the beach or in a park or in the middle of traffic, as long as they get that french fry.

Exhale—

That exhale happened all at once as something heavy slammed into Celia's torso. Well, so much for decreasing her heart rate. As she finished coughing she examined the projectile. It was a drone.

Turning her head, Celia saw a young boy standing about 10 yards away. He looked maybe 8 or 9 years old and wore an Avengers t-shirt. In his hands was a remote control. He looked at Celia wordlessly.

To Celia, a kid may as well have been an extraterrestrial. She had about the same experience with each, which was none, and she rarely gave them any thought. She'd seen kids on TV, though, and some of her colleagues were parents who couldn't go two hours without dropping a parenting anecdote.

Deep breath. Celia held the drone in both hands and approached the boy. She handed the little flying machine to him, and he accepted it. They stared at each other in silence.

"Is there something you'd like to say to me?" Celia asked at last, gently, she hoped.

The boy flared his nostrils, stuck out his tongue as far as it would go, then took off running.

"Hey!" Celia was not used to being disrespected. If she let this go, she knew she'd be thinking about it all afternoon, too distracted to relax. For the sake of closure, Celia gave chase.

It wasn't long before the boy realized the drone in his arms was slowing him down. Fortunately, he was an experienced pilot. He launched the drone into the air mid-stride and with the remote in one hand kept it flying alongside him. Now he could put some distance between himself and his pursuer.

Eventually they began to run out of beach. The boy turned sharply and headed up a boardwalk. Celia made it about half-way before she had to stop and catch her breath. The boy stopped, too, still a good ways ahead. Celia had walked into his trap.

Panting, Celia watched the drone float toward her. She shook her head at it, as if the drone would recognize the gesture and leave her alone. A few feet in front of Celia the drone swerved and rammed into a button on the railing. Sprinklers activated, spraying her from all directions. Celia shrieked. The water wasn't cold, but to someone who had previously been dry it was chilly. The boy and the drone took off once again.

Celia next caught up with the boy at a swimming pool. She was on one side, and he was on the opposite. It was a busy time of day with couples and families in and around the pool. Running was out of the question here. Celia watched the boy while she considered her next move. He held the remote control in both hands.

Before Celia could act, the drone tapped her squarely in the back. Startled, she squeaked as she fell into the pool.

With the sound of splashing still in her ears, Celia could hear a matronly voice above the crowd calling a guilty child by his full name.

Behind her some teenagers were crowded around a smartphone. "Oh my God, I got it!" Celia, still catching her breath, made her way to them. She gestured for them to show it to her. Trying and failing to hold in their chuckles, a young woman turned the screen to Celia and pressed "play".

And there was Celia flopping into the pool in an endless loop.

Slowly, and then all at once, Celia dissolved into laughter, echoed by a new round of giggles from the teens.

By now the boy's mother had dragged him by the arm to where Celia stood. Her apologies and expressions of concern practically tripped over each other but Celia barely heard her. She assured the woman she was unhurt. She accepted the boy's half-hearted apology. She gave the group of teens permission to post the clip on TikTok.

And then she flopped down onto a nearby lounge chair, and, smiling, took a very deep relaxing breath.