Ginger Ale Parable

He hadn't had a stomach ache in years. It was his ginger ale intake.

Once, on a plane, as a ten-year-old, he had started feeling queasy. His mother suggested ginger ale, because of the bubbles, but not Coke because that has caffeine. And, sure enough, the pale dry drink did the trick. The bubbles tickled, the stomach settled, and he landed with his lunch in tact.

This got his little mind going. Ginger ale became his cure. Math quiz? Ginger ale. Talking to girls? Ginger ale. Yelled at by parents? A quick nip of hidden ginger ale was all he needed. And then he thought, if a drink after helped the stomachache go away, a drink before would prevent it entirely.

He decided he better have some on hand all the time. He snuck it onto his mother's shopping cart. He bought it at school. He had friends purchase it and put it in his locker. He sold drinks on the bike path and kept the ales for himself. He would stop in a store and get a bottle or two before class, before work, before heading home. It started as one small glass in the morning. Then one in the morning and one at night. Then he added one at lunch. And when he got older the glasses got bigger. Then there were glasses in between the glasses, and then those glasses got bigger. Pretty soon he carried a flask with him wherever he went, and sometimes two. He would wake in the middle of the night, fearful that his stomach might turn, and gulp down flat ginger ale.

His stomach never turned again, and his teeth rotted out.