It was early July. I had been through a very rough fifth-grade school year, and was happy to just be enjoying the summer. On this particular day, I was laying on the living room floor of my grandma's house, assembling my latest toy: The G.I. Joe Defiant. This thing was massive; a mobile crawler that cranked up to reveal a space shuttle launch station. There were three main parts: the giant blue-and-gray colored crawler, the booster / space station, and the gleaming white shuttle itself. It was the most expensive toy in the G.I. Joe action figure line, and I had been badgering my parents for a year to obtain it. At ten years old, toys were my life, and it was one of the few vehicles out of the entire Joe collection that I didn't possess.
My family wasn't wealthy by any means, but, being an only-child, I usually got everything I wanted - and more. Most people would write me off as spoiled, but I always understood how lucky I was. It also helped a great deal in my campaign to own All Things G.I. Joe that I took excellent care of my collection. The walls of my room were covered with the box art and checklists that came with each new series, so my parents knew that I was serious about my hobby. I got a lot of satisfaction from putting the toys together myself, and this one promised to be very challenging. Even though I was weary this morning, the excitement of building the shuttle was enough to keep me going. I wanted every piece to fit flush, and each decal had to be perfectly straight. I had already lined up the action figures I wanted to place inside it.
As I unfolded the Defiant's instruction sheet, my thoughts drifted to the toughness of the past year. We had moved to a new town, and, as nice as it was, adjusting to a different school was hard. I had difficulty making friends, and constantly found myself in trouble for acting-up in class. I was also filled with an unexplainable fear of leaving home. It was so indescribable; I couldn't put the feeling into words. It was an impulse that said: If you leave your house, something terrible will happen. What exactly would happen, I didn't know, but it paralyzed me. That feeling never left for the entire school year, and lingered into the early part of summer.
I pushed aside the bad thoughts - and the carsick feeling that always came with them - and went back to work on the crawler. In the dining room, I could hear my grandma on the phone. She had been on it a lot lately. It sounded like a serious conversation, and I didn't want to listen to it. I focused as hard as I could on the project in front of me. The smell of her Virginia Slims and the sound of her tabletop smoke filter were oddly comforting. I wanted to finish my task, but I didn't want to be alone.
Grandma had given me the Defiant as an early birthday present. She called it a "good distraction"; that it would "keep me occupied for the next few days". I can still picture myself walking down to the basement and watching her removing the bedsheet to reveal the giant box of the shuttle underneath. My mind raced with all of the adventures my action figures would have with their new vehicle. While my dad was at work, I would spend my time at grandma's assembling Joe's latest defense against the evil organization known as Cobra. I couldn't wait to show him the progress I had made so far.
A couple of classmates from school had stopped by to "see how I was doing." They were nice-enough kids, but we weren't very close. I knew why they were really there, but we didn't talk about that. Nevertheless, they were both impressed with the Defiant, and I was pleased to show them how it was coming along. I was almost done; just a million-or-so decals to put in place. We talked for a while about nothing in particular, and then they left. I was reflecting on the strangeness of their visit when grandma hung up the phone once more.
She motioned for me to come to the table. "Honey... that was the hospital. It's time to say goodbye." She let out a heavy breath, and crushed out her cigarette in the ashtray. She looked so tired. Her eyes were red from stress. After a moment, she picked up the phone again. "I'll call your dad."
I watched the smoke swirl in thin lines toward the filter. The carsick feeling was creeping back. I nodded slowly as I ran my hand along her soft, checkered tablecloth. I didn't say it out loud, but I just wanted to go back to my shuttle.
It took the better part of two days to build the Defiant. By the third day, I could finally cry.