The Great Pudding War

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t a full scale war, but to us six-year-olds it was. And all’s fair in love and war.

I confess that I'm to blame for starting the whole fiasco. I shouldn't have fought back. Six-year-old me clad in a pink skirt and poufy white blouse, golden hair tied in perfect pigtails. The little lady who started the big war.

I padded into the first grade lunchroom and placed my Barbie lunchbox next to my two best friends.

“Missy Loch!” a nails-on-a-chalkboard voice called from behind me.

My cute, innocent, little face flashed annoyance as I turned around and said, “Alex Nelson!”
I hated everything about him, his freckles, his curly red hair, and the smirk that often lingered on his pale face.

“So,” Alex said, his infamous smirk making an appearance, “I heard you got an A on the spelling quiz. Teacher’s pet.” He stuck his tongue out.

“And I heard you got a D,” I replied coolly, sticking my own tongue out.

His smirk disappeared for a few seconds before reappearing, bigger than before. “Maybe I did, and maybe I didn’t.”

“What do you want, Alex?” I sighed, opening my lunchbox and extracting the chocolate pudding cup from inside, placing it next to my lunchbox.

Alex’s eyes lit up, and he snatched the pudding cup from off the plastic table. “Just this,” he said, turning to run.

I shot up from the bench and grabbed onto his collar. “Gimme it back!” I struggled to keep him from walking farther.

“Give it to her!” my friends chorused.

“No! It’s mine now, Missy.” He grunted as he leaned backwards, pushing me to the ground.

I landed on the linoleum with an “Oof!” and my friends surrounded me.

“He’s a real meanie,” Cindy squealed, helping me off the ground.

“What a stinky head,” Ronnie said, rolling her eyes.

I dusted off my blouse, anger and hurt clouding my angelic face. “I want my pudding back," I whined.

“We’ll help you get it,” Cindy and Ronnie offered.
“Get him!”

We sprang after Alex. Cindy grabbed his collar, Ronnie bent to the floor and grabbed his pant leg, and I stared him down.

“Gimme my pudding cup,” I said through clenched teeth.

“No, I want it.” His smirk grew larger than I had ever seen it.

“Gimme!” I pounced, landing on top of him. He kicked his legs, trying to get off and managing to bruise my cheek, but I fought back, scratching his arm. His eyes were wide with fear, though the smirk still lingered on his face.

“Children! Timeout!” Ms. Ruthie pulled us apart and walked us to our classroom. She took the pudding cup from Alex and placed it on top of her desk. “Missy, you’ll get your pudding cup back at the end of the day. Alex, you shouldn’t have taken it from Missy. And both of you will get two extra math problems for homework tonight. Understand?”

“Yes, Ms. Ruthie,” we chorused.

“Good. Now sit down. Class is about to start.”

We walked to our respective seats on opposite ends of the room, heads hung in defeat. Nobody had won, and we knew it. The appeal of the pudding cup hung over our heads the rest of the day.

I massaged my cheek and looked over at Alex. He looked positively beaten, and for once he wasn’t smirking.

When the final bell rang, Ms. Ruthie called me over to get my pudding cup. I took the red plastic container, not feeling as satisfied as I should’ve, and walked toward the big parking lot.

On the way out, I saw Alex stumbling around with his giant Spiderman backpack. He looked almost...pathetic.

After a second of thought I tapped on his shoulder and said, “Here,” handing him the pudding cup.

He looked astonished. “Thanks, Missy,” He said, and a genuine smile crossed his face. Not a smirk. A smile.

Looking back, I can hardly believe what a big deal a pudding cup was to us. As I got older, nothing really changed. In third grade, wars were fought over hairclips, fifth grade it was bracelets, seventh grade, lipgloss, and in high school it was boyfriends. As I became an adult, I realized that nothing ever really changes.It just grows along with you. I began fighting for my kids, my job, my home, and luxuries. Meanwhile, countries were fighting for power. And in my head, I saw everyone as little kids and the prizes as they essentially were. A pudding cup.