A long time ago, while still living in Houston, until my mom got off work I would stay with a neighbor after school. Her name was Kay, and she had a daughter my age named Natalie. Natalie and I were good friends. From what I can remember we played pretty well together . Of course, we had some bumps in the road that was our friendship. One example would be when we made the suicide "you cut your hair first then I'll cut mine" pact. I said "okay!" and took the scissors with excitement. I grabbed a hand full of hair right at the forehead and cut it within an inch of my scalp. Yeah. I wasn't the brightest crayon in the box as a kid. As soon as the cut was made Natalie ran off exclaming "look what Angela did!". My mom's remedy was to cut the rest of my hair to match the new bangs I made for myself. It was awful. Needless to say, Natalie didn't keep her end of the bargain. She got to keep her pretty long locks of hair and I ended up looking like the son my dad never had.
Another bump in our friendship road was snack time. Every afternoon at the same time, Kay would lay out snacks on the counter for our enjoyment. Along with the various assortment of apple slices and animal crackers we would get juice. She would put out these solid colored plastic cups for us to choose from. There was the yellow cup, the blue cup, the green cup, and the highly coveted red cup. I loved red. It was my most favorite color ever...and pink. The problem was it was also Natalie's favorite color. As a result she always got to use the red cup. And I got stuck with the yucky dark blue plastic cup. Such horrible conditions I grew up in. It's a wonder I'm as successful as I am.
I don't how she would always beat me to the cups at snack time. One theory is I probably got distracted by the layout of food. To this day if there's an assortment of food laying out, and it's "all you can eat" I go directly to a happy place and all else in the world vanishes. So, as a note don't take me to a buffet if you need to have a serious conversation with me. I won't hear a word you're saying. Anyway, back to cup gate. I tried asking politely for a chance to use the red cup to no avail. I argued for the red cup, again to no avail. I begged for the red cup...she would have none of it. She was a stubborn little 6 year old punk. I tried to appeal to her mom, to which I got the crappy diplomatic answer, "She got here first, Angela. Whoever gets here first can have the cup they want. Next time maybe you can get it."
That's when I decided: if I had to lie, cheat, or steal...I would get to that red cup next snack time. And God help whoever got in my way. That night all I could think about was how to get to the kitchen before Natalie and get my hands on that cup. It would mean sacrificing getting the best animal crackers, but it was a sacrifice I was willing to make. I decided to scout out when Kay was laying out the snacks, and then I would tell Natalie I was going to the bathroom but instead I would hang out near the kitchen entrance. That way Natalie wouldn't be suspicious of me not being there at play time and I'd be right there for when her mom called out "time to eat!" It was the perfect plan. Almost too perfect.
The next day my stomach churned with anticipation. I couldn't concentrate at playdoe or Operation. Snack time could not come soon enough. I waited in agony. Finally, I saw Kay get up to head for the kitchen. This was it. This was what I had been planning for. Today was the day I would drink apple juice from the beautiful red cup I was born to drink apple juice from, and nothing was going to stop me.
I excused myself from Operation to go to the "restroom". Natalie didn't suspect a thing. I slowly walked towards the kitchen entrance. Right as I got there the snack call went out. The timing was perfect. I hurried into the kitchen and went straight for the red cup. I grasped it and I let out a great sigh of relief and joy. This was the moment I longed for for so long. Nothing could ruin it. Kay asked if I wanted apple juice. I gleefully shook my head yes and held out the red cup with excitement. I'm pretty sure the feeling I felt was like that of the underdog winning the gold at the Olympics. That's why I don't compete in sports...I already know what it's like to win the gold medal, therefore there's no need. It was the best feeling I had ever experienced in my lengthy six years of life. At that moment Natalie walked in and looked over the scene taking place in front of her. Her eyes locked onto the red cup and then they locked onto my eyes. She glared at me as I started sipping from the cup with a grin on my face.
"Mom, that's my cup! I always drink from that cup!" she yelled out. "Natalie, Angela got here first, so she gets to drink from whatever cup she wants." I looked at her and smiled my biggest "ha, in your face sucka" smile I had. She stomped over to the counter and filled her plate with the goodies provided. She then stomped over to where the cups were and glared even more harshly at the colors provided. The yellow cup was what she reluctantly chose. As she had her juice poured into the less desirable yellow cup she looked up at me with an evil grin. It was then that she said the words that would shake me to my core.
"Fine. You can have the red cup. Everyone knows that red is the color of the devil. You're drinking from a devil cup." I gasped in horror. I was devasted. This was before we became Southern Baptist. In fact, we were Unitarians at that time, where all you have to do to get into Heaven is be able to spell GOD. But, even then I knew the devil was bad news bears. I knew I wanted nothing to do with him and all the images he conjured up: flames, a pitch fork, pointy tail, a red jump suit with horns. I was shaken. This ruined everything. I couldn't even finish my juice. I had stayed up all night planning on this just to find out I was drinking from a devil cup! First the boy hair cut and now this. Devastation would be a understatement of what I was feeling. Snack time nor my friendship with Natalie would ever be the same.
So, fast forward a few years later when we moved to Arkansas. My mom and I were unloading Christmas decorations to get ready for the holiday season. As we were unpacking all the wreaths, ornaments, Avon decor, and such, I noticed the color red (and green) were the predominant colors. I asked my mom why there was so much red. She explained the symbolism of red and Jesus. At that moment I felt a huge weight lifted. Red, as a color of Jesus!?! Could it be true? Everyone knows that the exact opposite of the devil is Jesus. Everyone knows Jesus totally trumps Satan!! This brought true vindication to me drinking from the "devil cup". I hadn't drank from the devil cup...I had drank from the Jesus cup!!!
That's when a new plan came to mind. The next time I saw Natalie, the first words out of my mouth would be "Oh yeah? Well, red is a Christmas color!" That was it. That was my great comeback. Not even lying when I tell you I could not wait for the chance to say that to her. I had imagined saying it to her in front of a bunch of her friends and her looking defeated and no one hanging out with her anymore because of my well deserved victory over Red Cup Gate.
Well, I never got the chance. I never saw Natalie again.
There are three moral to be taken from this story. Yes. I realize it's a horrible story. But, that's why I tell it; to illustrate the following:
1. When telling a story that has a build up to a climax...it helps to have an actual climax.
2. If you're going to hold a grudge, make it a good one. "What? Your boyfriend cheated on you with your sister and then ran over one of your pets?" That is a good grudge to hold. A devil cup...not so much. I'm 32 years old and to this day when I hear the name 'Natalie' I make a fist with my hands in a James Cagney "why I oughta" kind of way. That can't be healthy.
3. I have horrible come backs. I mean there was like a five year period of time after the red cup incident that I came up with the "Christmas color" come back. That was the best I had. And the worst thing about it: I thought it was the wittiest thing ever. Wow. Horrible.
These days I resort to "yo momma" as come backs and chose to be done with it.
Um...yeah. That's the end.
I guess I should add a 4th: make sure to have a conclusion to a story.
Uhh...again...
The End.
