So Kai and I had the whole day to spend together. Ryan was at pre-school. The house was still off-limits because of the floors. So I took him to boxing class with me. Then we bought some new jammies for him, as he had, as he put it, “gotten pee” on the ones I’d packed.
Back at the hotel, we walked the dog while they refreshed our room. Kai chased pigeons and, at one point, sat down on a bench also occupied by a sleeping homeless person. Kai moved from the bench before I could snap the picture.
We talked about what we would do with our afternoon, and Kai told me he wanted to hit up the Children’s Museum. This was actually appealing to me, since I only had Kai to contend with, and wouldn't have to try to keep track of two children in a vast museum full of children.
We needed to deposit the dog back in the room, and Kai bounced like a pinball through the hotel lobby, visiting the hourglass collection, trying to step only on the triangles in the carpet pattern. He’d been particularly floppy and klutzy all day, tripping over his shoes, scraping first one knee and then the other and then an elbow. So when I heard him cry out in pain, I wasn’t particularly impressed.
“What did you do?” I asked.
“I burned my hand on this light.”
I looked where he was pointing, and saw a light projector on the floor. It was shining a logo on a nearby fountain wall for one of the trade shows hosted at the hotel. The effect was kind of pretty. The projector had been cordoned off with the kind of elastic ribbon fencing they use at the airport to form security lines.
“That’s probably why this thing has a fence around it, Kai.”
“My hand is so hot!” he said.
I sighed.
He complained for the entire 30-floor ride in the elevator, and down the hall to room 46. “It’s hot, it’s hot, it’s hot!”
I took a look at his hand. It was red. I was beginning to realize that Kai had really hurt himself, and I was not unsympathetic. I’d burned my hand about a month ago on the handle of a skillet and I’m not going to lie to you—it hurt like a son of a bitch. I would put it in cold water for relief, and the moment I took it out, it would throb.
I filled a cup with cold water and told him to soak it.
“My hand is so hot,” he said.
“I know, buddy,” I said. “I know.”
:::
I took him to the nearby grocery store for some Motrin. I tried to find some Solarcaine—the sunburn medicine with the topical anesthetic, but they didn’t have any.
I bought him a Red Bull instead and told him to wrap his hand around it and hold on, which he did. For dear life.
“Do you still want to go to the museum?” I asked.
“Oh yes,” he said.
:::
“Be sure not to open your Red Bull in the museum, the lady at the membership desk said.
“Oh he won’t,” I said. I felt like I needed to explain to her that I would never give a six-year-old a Red Bull. “He burned his hand, so he’s holding the can.”
When it came out of my mouth, I’m not sure it sounded any better.
“Would you like a cold pack?” The lady asked.
“Oh, yes!” Kai said. “My hand is so hot!”
She handed him the cold pack.
“Wow,” I said. “The Children’s Museum for the win.”
The lady raised her fists over her head in the international symbol for victory, and I was reminded that sometimes I really like people.
:::
Kai spent the next hour in the water room, which was the perfect spot, soaking his burned hand exploring science.
When it was time to go, we realized that his cold pack was warm.
“Solid turned to liquid,” he said. I gave him back his can.
By the time we got to the car, he was crying and his hand was beginning to blister.
The floor guy texted me, asking if I could meet him at the house for a walk-through. The realtor texted to see if we wanted to talk about a counter offer on the new house. I’d wanted to have the kids take their scooters over to Scott’s office overlooking Millenium Park.
Instead, I took Kai to the doctor.
Because yeah.
:::
I took him to urgent care because the doctor’s office was closed. I had to fill out forms and explain what had happened. For some reason I felt the urge to tell them about how we were redoing our floors and therefore staying at a hotel. I described to light and the projection of the logo against a black wall of running water, of the flimsy fence. I was asked to sign and date the privacy policy before the receptionist left to copy my insurance card.
I had no idea what day it was. I looked around for a calendar and couldn’t find one anywhere. I thought about the last time I knew the date and counted forward.
“What’s the date?” I asked, when the receptionist came back.
She told me. I was off by four entire days.
:::
The doctor looked at Kai’s hand and looked at me. I’d told her about the Motrin and the Red Bull and the water table at the Children’s Museum.
“Wow,” she said, opening Kai’s fingers and examining the damage. “Nice job.”
She gave me a prescription for an antibiotic and told me how to wrap his hand, how it would look as it heals, what to look for if things start to go south.
On the way home Kai said something about bowling.
“What did you say? You want to go bowling?” I asked.
“No, silly,” he said. “My hand is still too hot.”
:::
I’d called the hotel manager to tell them about Kai’s hand. I didn’t want to get all this-hot-coffee-is-hot about it, but in the interest of public safety, I thought they should know.
You probably don’t know this about me, but in my previous life in advertising, I was the person that would design a logo to go into a light projector for a trade show. I didn’t want to complain because I knew that would come back to bite someone like the previous me. Like when I’d cast and photographed a couple buying a house for an ad, and we got complaints in the form of letters from some weirdos because the “wife” wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, and I’d had to have an uncomfortable meeting in a director’s office. Having to shut down the light projector because some kid got 2nd degree burns was going to get someone in trouble, and sure enough, the projector was gone when we got back.
In the elevator, I pressed “33,” skipping our floor entirely and heading to the club lounge, a glass of wine and some barbeque chicken flatbread.
The waitress asked how our day was.
“My hand got hot,” Kai said.
The waitress looked at me for explanation.
“I’ll have a cabernet,” I said.
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