Short Story: Only One Thing Was Off Limits

A wee fiction for all

One thing that was always off limits was the G.I. Joe helicopters. They cost a lot of money. And every Christmas and birthday for a time there, I hoped for one. But they simply cost too much. I was lucky to have a few of the figures — maybe a dozen. And had friends who had some others, we’d meet up and play, we’d watch the cartoon a wee bit too. My favourite was Sgt Slaughter, and this was long before I would find out that he was a pro-wrestling character.

At my friend’s place around the corner, they had the G.I. Joe figures on display, he promised. I was looking forward to seeing them. What he didn’t tell me was that they had not just one helicopter, but four! I guess this was the big reveal, you hold that news for the visual. My jaw was on the ground. I reached out to spin one of the plastic blades but my friend’s mum shook her head. I thought that was a bit odd, and maybe she was just grumpy, she never said very much, but I’d caught the look just in time I suppose.

We went out to play on the trampoline, we ran around and around the house playing tag. We took a tennis ball and did our very best to brand each other, sometimes soaking the ball in a puddle first.

I was staying the night, so even though I was super focused on the G.I Joes, I knew we’d have plenty of time.

The peas and carrots weren’t very nice that night in the dinner. Luke-warm. The gravy had lumps of flour, visible. And the meat was tough. But no one was a restaurant critic back then, and the best food option was always the fact that a meal arrived on the table on time every time.

Later that night we sat on the floor to play with the G.I. Joe figures again. And I stood to go to the display table and just lifted down one of the helicopters. My friend’s father, a doctor, home and reading the paper, stood and hovered over me. He leaned down, without a word and picked up the chopper and returned it to the table.

My friend whispered swiftly, “those aren’t ours. They’re dad’s!” I felt the red all around my face and my heart seemed to be beating really fast, but I just blurted out, “all of them?!”

“YES!” This time it was basically a hiss.

So, that was that really. The helicopters remained off limits.

We went to bed after MacGyver, and we talked nonsense for a bit. Then I asked my mate if his father ever, you know, played with the toys, or were they just for display.

He reckoned they’d sometimes see their dad on the floor spinning a blade and marvelling. But mostly they weren’t around to see this. He said they were his father’s special toys for unwinding after work — his work was full on and when the weekend would arrive sometimes their mum would take them out for a walk to the park, and that’s when his dad would have time alone with the toys.

It did seem a bit weird, hearing that. But the helicopters were mighty expensive, I remember thinking. And being a doctor was probably not easy.

A few years on, we’d largely lost touch. My mum read aloud from the paper that the doctor with the helicopter toys had lost his job. Someone had walked in on him with his lips softly kissing the legs of a woman in her 90s. He’d calmly explained that the lips were the softest part of the body and he was using that soft part to stimulate blood flow. This poor patient had clots on her legs, but a wee kiss running from ankle to knee, and then up a bit further, if needed, was surely going to cure what ailed her.

That was the end of the story really. He moved out of home. Started life again. I remember going around to that house one more time after that. But it wasn’t the same. The helicopters weren’t there.