I'm A Fighter

Three huge mounds of vanilla ice cream sat in my bowl, covered with thick, zig-zagging lines of chocolate syrup, waiting for me to devour them. I plopped onto the couch and stared at the wonderful goodness waiting to greet my stomach.

“Bet ya five bucks you can’t eat all that,” my big brother Kenny said, cheshire grin stretching up his face.

I spooned a heaping bite into my mouth, savoring the rich flavors. “You’re on.”

Kenny laughed and chatted quietly with my parents while I dug into my evening treat, full of excitement.

Bite after yummy bite slid down my throat, filling my seven-year-old stomach with more calories and sugar than any human should dare consume. Ignoring the growing ache, I continued eating. I was not one to back away from a challenge, not one to give up on five dollars. That was a lot of money.

“You doin’ okay over there?” Kenny asked, rubbing his chin.

Was he nervous? Giving up on that money was not in the cards for me; I hoped he knew it.

“I’m okay,” I said, holding up a dripping spoonful and eyeing it with disdain.

My oldest brother got up and stood behind me, then squeezed my shoulders. “You don’t have to eat it all.”

I took the bite, then another, and another, until all that was left was one last liquidy spoonful. My stomach gurgled, ice cream swimming all through it.

“I can’t believe she’s going to do it,” Mom whispered, leaning close to Dad.

“She’s stubborn,” he said.

Satisfaction rifled through me. I was stubborn, and I didn’t think there was anything wrong with that. I took the last bite and carried my bowl to the kitchen sink. When I returned to our cozy family room, I stood next to my brother, held out my hand, palm facing up, and said, “Where’s my five dollars?”

He reached into his pocket, took a crisp five-dollar bill from his wallet and passed it to me. “I didn’t think you’d finish that. I’m impressed.” Kenny laughed.

“Thank you,” I said in a singsong voice, then rushed to my room. Curling up in a ball on my bed, I cradled my churning tummy and closed my eyes. For the rest of the night I imagined what I’d do with that money, what I’d buy the next time my family made a shopping trip. I jittered as the sugar worked its way through my system, fidgeted with the hem of my lavender bedspread, tossed the blankets and sheets from me when I started to sweat, but it was all worth it because I won. I proved to my brother I wouldn’t give up.

I’m not sure what I did with that money, but I learned something about myself that day: I’m a fighter, always have been, always will be.