No Big Deal

Today, my mom said that my younger brother and I had been “such good children”, and that we could finish the muffins in the fridge. This was a rare treat, as we usually weren’t allowed to have any sweets at all. We both shot to the fridge and looked inside. My brother was shorter, so he had to stand on tip-toes to see them. I counted two muffins– a chocolate one and a blueberry one. They both looked quite tasty. Our mouths watered at the sight of them.

“Suzy, Jimmy, I’m going to the supermarket and will be back in a bit. Is there anything you want me to get?” my mom asked.

“I want a racecar that can shoot laser beams!” Jimmy said, jumping up and down.

“Those don’t exist in supermarkets,” I said.

“Oh.” Jimmy’s expression fell.

“Nothing, guys?” my mom asked. 

“More muffins?” I asked. I knew she would probably say no, but it was worth a shot.

“No, of course not. Enjoy your muffins!” Then she left. The house rumbled as the garage door closed. I took out the plate with the two muffins and set them on the table.

I turned to my brother. “Can I have the chocolate muffin? Please?”

“But I want the chocolate muffin too,” he said. I really wished my brother didn’t like chocolate. I once tried to tell him that chocolate was secretly honey badger poop, but he wasn’t convinced. Back to the story. I stared at the chocolate muffin greedily, and the hundreds of tiny chocolate pieces stuck on it. I imagined eating it, taking out every little chocolate piece and saving them for later. Yes, the chocolate muffin had to be mine.

“Ha well, too bad, it’s mine,” I said, taking the muffin.

“Why did you ask me then? HEY, THAT’S NOT FAIR!” My brother grabbed my muffin and put it back on the plate.

“I thought you liked blueberries,” I said. “They’re actually real blueberries too– not the fake ones.”

My brother sighed. “Look, why don’t we split the muffins in half so we can have both?”

“Nah,” I said. I plucked a blueberry from the muffin and plopped it into my mouth.

“You can’t do that,” he said, and took a blueberry too.

“Jimmy, you don’t have to do everything I do just to get even. Not everything has to be completely fair.”

“Well then, look at this,” Jimmy said, taking a piece of chocolate from the muffin and eating it. Instinctively, I also grabbed one, and made sure that it was slightly bigger than his.

“Hypocrite,” Jimmy mumbled.

“Thief,” I muttered.

“How am I a thief?” he asked.

“‘Cause. You stole from my muffin,” I said, crossing my arms.

Jimmy scowled “It’s not your muffin. Half of it is yours, and half is mine.”

“No! The chocolate one’s mine, and the blueberry one is yours.”

“Well, why can’t we just split it up? That way we can have each one.”

“Because. . . because that’ll take too much time,” I said.

“Mmmhmmmm,” he said.

“Can you not do that ‘mmmhmmm’ thing? It’s really annoying,” I said.

“Yeah, well, say something that you don’t actually make up on the spot just to prove you’re right.”

I hate it when my brother’s right. And if I admit that he’s right and I’m wrong, he’ll get a really big head and will start to think that he’s always right. DON’T tell me that what I just said is what’s happening to me now. I most definitely do not have a big head, and I don’t think I’m always right. (Even though I am.)

I tried to think of a comeback. All I managed to say was, “Ok I’m hungry, let’s eat.”

“Great! Should I cut the muffins?” Jimmy said, getting out the knife.

“We’re not cutting the muffins!” I said for the umpteenth time, exasperated.

“But I don’t want to just eat the blueberry muffin! Why do you get to choose?” Jimmy folded his arms, the knife in his hand unintentionally pointed at me. I inched away from him, and a sudden surge of anger flooded me.

“Fine then!” I slammed my hands on the table. “You can have the chocolate muffin, and I’ll take the blueberry one. There, happy?” Really, I didn’t care about blueberry or chocolate at this point– I only cared about not losing to my younger brother.

“But I want to have both of them. C’mon, why can’t we just split? Then we can have both of them. It’s a win-win,” Jimmy said. Why did he always come up with such fair ways of doing things? I couldn’t stand it anymore.

“That’s it!” I roared, and stormed off. I yelled behind me, “You can have both!”

I burst into my bedroom and slammed the door. I collapsed on the bed, expecting to feel triumphant. I didn’t win, not really, but at least I didn’t lose. I didn’t let Jimmy have his way. I didn’t even care about muffins. But all I felt was regret. Why did I always have to be right? Deep down, I knew Jimmy was right about splitting the muffins, but it just got harder and harder to confess it the more we argued. And now he got the muffins, and I made sure he didn’t get his way. I felt miserable. I wanted to just go and say that he was right, but no, I couldn’t. Not after all this. Not after all it took for me to prove that he was wrong.

I didn’t hear anything outside. No yelling or complaining or crying from Jimmy. I imagined him sitting down at the table, slowly eating the muffins, trying to ignore the empty chair in which I usually sat. Why did I think making him unhappy would make me feel better?

The more I thought of it, the more miserable I became, and tears slowly trickled down. This wasn’t about winning, about who was right and who was wrong. I had to apologize. It was the right thing to do. I stood up, a determined look on my face, and opened the door.