TURBINE | KAPOHAU

We had such a good time growing up. We were so lucky. The latest toys were often there under the tree, or on birthdays. Star Wars figures. And Transformers. Masters of The Universe. Muppet Babies — books and sporting equipment too. The roller-skates did not get much use. But the skateboard did. It wasn’t even that one was cooler than the other, I just never quite worked out skates on their own. But with a bit of time, the skateboard made sense. Dad was generous. Mum too. A real team effort. But you always hoped for what you did not have.

I know the neighbourhood kids were jealous. Not just because some of them said so. You felt it. They wanted to stay longer, wanted to play all day. The remote-controlled car ripping around the streets, careful not to run it onto the road when real cars tore up the street. The bike with the Spokey Doke beads, flags hanging from the handlebars. The complete set of Footrot Flats. And yet to see the bedrooms on the sitcoms on TV — there was always something you could not have. A Garfield phone, a couch in your room, bunk beds with the desk underneath, the giant watch on the wall as a clock, oversized straps hanging above and below. 

The kids around the corner would invite me to their place for sleepovers. I’d invite them around as well. We’d take it in turns, and the best time ever was always the school holidays — sometimes you could stack a couple of sleepovers back-to-back, we’d move from house to house.

It was never quite as much fun at someone else’s house though — you always felt you had to stay rather than wanting it. The daytime was fun, but the night was a grind. Tight fitting sheets and those candlewick bedspreads. I just didn’t like them. A textural thing perhaps. And it was hard asking for an extra piece of toast in the morning, or for a larger bowl of ice-cream. You couldn’t do it. At home, it was always offered. My friends always said they loved the food my mum made. They loved the way we could stay up late. They loved the spa pool, the extra bikes and the times when my dad would take us for a late-night drive. At other houses, we might watch TV for a half hour extra. But that was it. We might get to bounce on a trampoline — maybe the one thing my house did not have. I remember asking for one more than twice. Dad reckoned it a waste of money, he didn’t want to lift it, nor shift it to mow the lawn. But I lived in hope.

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. I was lucky to have a few of the figures. At my friend’s place around the corner, they had a lot of G.I. Joe figures on display. 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 on the ground. I reached out to spin one of the plastic blades, but my friend’s mum shook her head. I thought that a bit odd. And maybe she was just grumpy. She never said very much, always seemed to have her arms folded, unless folding laundry.

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 it in a puddle first. 

The peas and carrots weren’t very nice that night in the dinner. Luke-warm. The gravy had lumps of flour, 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 then just lifted down one of the helicopters. My friend’s father, a doctor, home and reading the paper, hovered over me. He leaned down without a word and picked up the chopper, 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. Someone farted far too many times and blamed the peas. We got the giggles until we were told to be quiet. The mother, a hall monitor, tapping on the door with authority. Then we got whispering, lights out, but it wasn’t too long before I didn’t hear any answers coming back when I asked questions. And how was I going to get to sleep without going to the loo, but how was that supposed to happen in a house suddenly so strange and weird and completely unfamiliar. I didn’t want to turn on any lights for fear of waking anyone up, and what if the parents were still up? But I really needed to go! So, eventually, I walked down the hall in near darkness, my arm holding onto the wall, my feet barely lifting, just pushing them down deep into the carpet as I shuffled. Made it to the toilet, and then on the way back to bed I noticed a light on in the lounge, and I saw the doctor on the floor, on his tummy, his feet towards the door near me, his head away in the other direction. He had one of the choppers in front of him and he was just flicking at the blades. Then he propped himself up on one elbow, grabbed another helicopter and sailed it through the air to crash down on top of the other one. I must have made some sort of noise, because he spun around quickly and I ran the rest of the way to the bedroom. My heart pounding as I saw the hall light go on and heard footsteps up and down a bit.

Eventually, sleep.

When we woke, the chatter in the room growing slowly in volume, like when the TV’s first turned on. I asked my mate if his father ever played with the toys, or were they just for display. He said they were his father’s special toys. 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 they figured their dad would have time alone with the toys. Or maybe it also happened when they were in bed. I thought about telling him what I saw, but didn’t. I decided being a doctor was hard work, with lots of tricky situations. I decided to keep my lips sealed. 

I never stayed the night there again.

And some 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 nineties. 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 absolutely the best fix. That was the end of the story really. He moved out of their home. Started life again. I remember going around to that house one more time after he was gone. But it wasn’t the same. 

The helicopters weren’t there.