“A survey of known household objects reveals no items with buttons small enough to fit up her nose,” said Hal, the personal digital assistant. The name had been her ex’s stupid idea.
The machine was using his reassuring tone, which always grated on Bonny’s nerves. She had planned to change the voice after the divorce. Her ex had thought all the female PDA voices were too shrill. That was a warning sign, right there.
“Most common items small children stick in the ear or nose are food items such as beans and peas, followed by paper. Was it a paper button she stuck up her nose?”
Bonny sat up and the PDA slowly turned up the lights in the bedroom.
Her daughter, Natalie, was standing there in her footed pajamas, tears streaming down her face. Bonny grumbled at the PDA, “That makes even less sense than a button.”
Bonny motioned for her daughter to come closer. She kissed her forehead and said, “tip your head back so I can see.”
There was nothing but fleshy darkness and, well, things that belong in tissues or noses. Why couldn’t they invent a cure for snots? It was obvious not enough researchers had small children. “I need you to tip it back further.”
Natalie wiggled and let out a whine of, “I can’t.”
“If it’s not a paper button, then there is most likely nothing up the child’s nose and she is mistaken.” The PDA put emphasis on the word mistaken to make it clear it was implying more than just a simple error. Bonny should have demanded Arlo pay for the new voice as part of the divorce settlement. She wasn’t even sure how she had ended up with ownership of the PDA and the maintenance fees associated with it.
“Here, baby, lay down on the bed so I can get a better look.”
The PDA lowered the side of the bed for the child to climb up and raised it once the child was secure. “Searching reveals that fewer than 1 in 10,000 children have had buttons lodged in their noses. Misstatements about foreign objects in orifices are far more common, 1 in 1,000.”
Bonny lay her head down on the child’s chest and squinted up the nose. Why were noses so hard to look up? She needed more light. “Hal, where is the flashlight?”
“The flashlight is in the kitchen. I think you do not understand what I’m telling you.” The PDA had shifted from the reassuring tone to the you-must-do-this tone he used when you hadn’t taken your medication on time or you were going to be late to an appointment.
Bonny got out of bed and picked up Natalie. She was almost too big to be carried around on the hip. Bonny was one part sad and two parts relieved. Preschoolers were too damn much work without a Nannybot. Arlo had insisted that a PDA was just as good as a Nannybot, better, as a PDA could replace all switches and buttons in the house. He wasn’t the one who had to con a willful toddler into getting dressed, not even when he was still there. Bonny certainly couldn’t afford a Nannybot now. “Come-on, baby, let’s get a better look.”
The PDA said, “If you don’t go back to sleep now, you won’t get your optimal amount of rest. Both you and Natalie will be tired and cranky tomorrow.”
Bonny ignored him. She asked as she walked down the hall, “How did you get a button stuck up your nose?”
“It was on my finger,” Natalie said, as if that explained everything.
“And,” Bonny asked, “How did it get on your finger?”
“It fell off the dress.” Perfect child logic.
“There are no clothing items in the house with buttons small enough to fit up Natalie’s nose,” the PDA said, reinforcing his earlier position.
Hal turned on the kitchen lights as they entered. After Bonny lifted Natalie up onto the counter Hal started the flashlight beeping so Bonny could find it.
“Hal, make some coffee for me.” Bonny pulled the flashlight out from the coat closet, in a box of camping supplies she hadn’t been aware Arlo had left. Bonny hated camping.
“If you drink coffee you won’t be able to get back to sleep.” Hal replied.
“Just make the damn coffee.” She flipped on the flashlight with her right hand and tipped Natalie’s head back with her left.
“Baby, what dress did the button come off of?”
No answer. Bonny couldn’t see anything up either nostril. How far up could a little finger push something like a button?
“Natalie, what dress?” Bonny flicked off the light.
Natalie looked about the room as if the kitchen was suddenly deeply interesting.
“Natalie is exhibiting classic signs of dishonesty. Shall I cancel the coffee?”
“No, I want the coffee and I need you to call a car so we can go to the emergency room.” Why was she arguing with a digital assistant?
Bonny tapped the nails of her right hand on the counter, listening to the bubble and gurgle of the coffee machine. The nutty smell tickled her nose. Maybe she would be less annoyed at the PDA after the first cup.
“A car will arrive in 15 minutes. Are you certain you want to go to the emergency room? If Natalie doesn’t recant by morning, I can make an appointment with her general practitioner.”
Natalie looked up at Bonny with her big brown eyes and said, “Please, mommy, get it out.”
“We are going. Add extra sugar. And some chocolate. It’s going to be a long night.”
Bonny lifted Natalie down, “Go get dressed, as fast as you can.” Then she followed her own advice.
The entire way to the emergency room Hal kept up a run of statistics on the likelihood of the child having a button up her nose. The public records held millions of data points on children claiming foreign objects in orifices and none had a magically appearing button up their nose. Hal didn’t use those words, but it was implied. Natalie was a liar and Bonny was an inexperienced parent who was making a fuss over nothing.
Bonny wished she had left the PDA’s remote at home, but it had all their medical records and insurance information. She wouldn’t even know where to begin if she showed up without the PDA.
Finally she said, “Hal, you are making me anxious. Can you please hold your opinions until after the doctor?”
Hal said, “Noted. Caffeine can enhance anxiety. Perhaps the cup you are drinking now is contributing?”
Bonny ignored the PDA. She was going to have to gut the programs on it. The stupid care settings were out of control.
She returned to the subject of the button, “What dress did the button come off of?”
Natalie ran her finger in circles on the car window, leaving little smudges, “The one on the doll.”
Hal butted in, “Natalie owns no dolls with butto….”
“So help me, if you don’t shut up I’m going to cancel you. You hear me, Hal?”
There was silence from Hal but sadly not the car. It said in a pleasant female voice, “Cleveland Municipal Hospital. If you enjoyed your ride, please don’t forget to rate me. Have a nice evening.”
The door swung open and Bonny took Natalie’s hand as they exited the car and walked the short distance to the emergency room front doors.
The wait wasn’t as bad as Bonny had thought. She was glad she had brought the PDA along, as it completed all the paperwork within a blink of Bonny approving the connection.
They didn’t even see a real doctor. Natalie was ushered into a brightly colored children’s examining room with an exam table that looked like a rocket ship. A robotic nurse, with large eyes that blinked and winked as it talked, saw her. It had a pin light shining out of one finger into Natalie’s nose and announced, “There is a button up your nose,” in a surprised, joyful tone that made Natalie giggle.
Faster than Natalie could be aware what was happening a little hook extended from the finger, up into the nose and out came a tiny button. The nurse asked, “Who could have put that up there?”
Natalie’s eyes were wide as she held out her hands to take the button.
The nurse gave the button a quick wipe on a cloth that had appeared like magic and handed it to Bonny instead, “Keep this safe so it can’t jump up into that nose again.”
Natalie chattered all the way home. She wanted to go back. The nurse robot was so funny.
Bonny said “uh huh,” “yes,” and “OK,” at the right points to keep the child talking as she turned over the mysterious little button in her fingers. It was so tiny, so pink. Where had it come from?
The question was answered when Bonny tucked Natalie into bed. There, partly undressed, hair mussed, was Natalie’s great grandmother’s Madame Alexander doll. Natalie avoided her mother’s eyes as Bonny carefully picked-up the antique doll, “You know you aren’t supposed to be going through my hope chest, right Natalie?”
Natalie nodded.
“This doll is for you, but not until you are much older. Do you understand?”
Natalie nodded.
Bonny tried to look sternly at her daughter but suspected she was failing. Watching the little girl curl into bed, thumb to mouth, she was suddenly two parts sad her little baby was growing-up.
She closed the door and the PDA asked in a hushed tone, “May I speak?”
Bonny braced herself. “Yes, what is it?”
“I was not aware of the doll. I didn’t note her take it. I did not know it was in the chest or that it posed a safety risk.” The tone Hal used implied, worry? Concern? “On review of child monitoring I have identified where I failed and have flagged any activity near the chest of interest. Are there items in the chest I need to be aware of?”
Bonny put her hands on her hips and stared up at one of the cameras stuck unobtrusively in the corner of the hall. “Are you capable of learning? Really learning?”
“I am a learning system, designed to learn your preferences and…”
“Stop!” Bonny said, a bit louder than she intended. She took a deep breath. “Next time, believe the child. Next time, trust me.”
“There will be a next time? You will not discontinue my service?”
Bonny shook her head as she trudged down the hallway to her bedroom, “No. Not if you can learn. You have a leg up on Arlo if you can figure out how to listen.” Bonny crawled into bed. “Good night, Hal.”
Hal turned off the lights without her even needing to touch a button.
