I remember my formative years very well. Me and my brother would play Mario World on the Super Nintendo set up in the kitchen. We'd sit there, playing the same levels over and over, screaming silly comments at the television. Next to me was a cold can of Dr. Pepper. With every gulp, it was as if the good doctor of sodaology was injecting 200cc of pure joy into my heart. Life was as sweet as the cold drink in my hands.
Dr. Pepper was my best friend. Oh, sure, I enjoyed the occasional Coca Cola, and, admittedly, the best cola for pizza was undoubtedly Pepsi. But there was something about Dr. Pepper that drew me back to it like a moth to lights. Opening the can I could smell the sweet aroma, a strange caramel-like scent. I could feel small bubbles shoot up my nose. My hands would firmly grasp the familiar maroon can, like I was hugging an old friend. After savoring the moment, I would take a drink. That wonderful flavor would fill my mouth, a flavor only the good doctor could provide me. Swallowing the concoction, a strange euphoric sense would overtake me. I would smile giddily, like a child with a new toy. Accompanied by cookies, chips, or twinkies, or simply on its own, it did not matter; Dr. Pepper made me happy in any situation.
I would eventually grow up into a teenager, my bald head, chunky frame and scowl scaring off most people around me. It's rather embarrassing, looking back. Me and my brother were now playing WWF No Mercy on the good ol' N64 in my room, dressing the Undertaker in Rikishi' ridiculous tights and holding tournaments with preposterous rules, all the while laughing like the idiotic kids we were. In easy access was usually a bag of cookies, and my old friend, Dr. Pepper. These days, though, Doc had a few competitors.
Somewhere down the line, I discovered Cherry Coke. Coca Cola is not my favorite soda. I never fully enjoyed it's unique flavor. But, with Cherry Coke, I learned to love the subtle nuances that Coke weaved through the senses. That spectacular cherry scent, that first sip, that wonderful flavor washing down my throat... it's enough to bring a tear to my eye.
Of course, who could forget the bliss that is Hawaiian Punch? I discovered this nectar out of pure accident. I had just bought a slice of pizza, and needed something to wash it down. I went to a vending machine, hit the 'Pepsi' button, and out pops... fruit punch? What the Hell? Begrudgingly, I popped the can open, bit into my Italian sausage pizza, and took a drink. My eyes grew wide. What is this strange magic in my mouth? This spectacular mix of fruit scents! The symphony on my tongue, like a band of carbonated fruits were dancing a Congo line straight to my heart! I instantly fell in love with the liquid, and Pepsi had been replaced as the preferred 'pizza cola'.
I had made two new friends, Cherry Coke and Hawaiian Punch. They were good to me. But neither could take the place of my best friend: Dr. Pepper.
I graduated from high school, and began life as a bald-headed, scowling, near-three hundred pound man. These days, my brother and I would sit around playing Grand Theft Auto 3 on the Playstation Two I just got as a graduation present. As always, there was a box of ding-dongs near me, and a cool can of Dr. Pepper in my hand. Life could get no better.
I felt weird. I urinated a lot. I mean, a LOT. My mouth felt like there were cotton balls stuffed in it. I found myself getting winded walking pathetically short distances. I was suddenly REALLY thirst all the time. What's up with me?
My mother had recently been diagnosed with diabetes. She had a blood-sugar reader she got from the doctor, and one day, she got the urge to check my blood. I figured 'what the Hell? I got nothing better to do'.
My blood-sugar level was high. Real high.
I panicked. Oh, Crap! Am I Diabetic?! Oh, Crap! Blindness! Liver Damage! Heart Failure! I'm Too Young For This! Shit Shit Shit!
My mother assured me that I wasn't diabetic, that it wasn't too late to combat this fate. I didn't waste time. A few moments after seeing the blood-sugar reading, I put some shoes on, and I ran. I don't know how long I ran that day. I'd stop frequently to vigorously catch my breath, then started back up. I was trying to run away from the disease I feared. I was terrified.
When I got back home, I thought about what I had to do to get my health back on track. The answer was simple enough. Just cut back on all the crap I used to gorge myself on. So long, Famous Amos. Adios, Zingers. Bye-bye, Ding-Dongs. 'Till we meet again... Dr Pepper?
I couldn't... I wouldn't... No! NO! NO! NOT MY DR. PEPPER! I WILL NOT GIVE IT UP! I WILL NOT!
You have to. Give it up. It's a crutch. It's just a damn drink. You don't need it. Soda is not an addictive substance. It's as simple as not opening the can.
...okay... only for a few weeks...
What Hell those first weeks were. I felt like something was missing. Like a large void was burning in my heart. Was I biting off more than I could chew? I continued running like crazy, all the while thinking of the day when I could open up a nice, cool can of Dr. Pepper again. Water had been the Doc's replacement, and flavor-wise, it could not compare. Efficiency without style just wasn't going to cut it, I thought.
The urge was hard to pass. A hot pepperoni pizza would lay before me. Where's my Hawaiian Punch? Hell, I'll take a Pepsi! No, there was only water. A quick snack (no longer cookies, but rather a banana) was in my hand. Can I have a cherry coke? Please? No! Only Water! On my birthday, of all days! Here I am, ordering a double-freakin'-cheeseburger! This can't be healthy! Can I PLEASE have a Dr. Pepper?! NO! ONLY WATER!
Nobody forced me to drink only water. Nobody physically took the cans of that wonderful carbonated ale away from me. It was me. Why was I punishing myself so? What did I have to gain from this, besides misery and pain?
Seven months passed. One day, as I ate breakfast, my mother said to me, "How skinny do you plan on getting? Mabey you should have another bowl of cereal!" What was she talking about?
I looked in the mirror. I was no longer the Two-Hundred-Sixty-Five pound bald guy I was. I was now a toothpick. One hundred fifty pounds. Long brown hair. I looked nothing like I did a few short months ago.
Now I can have a Dr. Pepper! I've truly earned it!
I walked with a new stride to the corner store. Check me out, world! I'm a new man! A man who will now buy Dr. Pepper with no guilt! I swung open the door, and the people inside the store stared at me, smiling. People I didn't know gawked at me, as if to say "There's a man who has EARNED a Dr. Pepper!" Finally, I got to the soda refrigerator.
There it was. Twelve ounces of salvation. The Doctor looked me in the eyes.
Hello, old friend. I've been waiting for you.
I stared contently at the maroon bottle in the refrigerator. My triumphant moment had come. My prize awaited me. All I had to do was grab it.
I have something I want to tell you, old friend...
I opened the refrigerator door. Cold air hit my body. Goose bumps popped up on my arms. My eyes zeroed in on the bottle. Here it was. My crowning achievement. Seven grueling months. Running through horrid pain, through sprained ankles, aching knees, now living with the most hideous toes one could imagine, all for this moment.
Dont...
I closed the refrigerator door. There was no bottle in my hand. I stared at my reflection in the glass door. I was different now. I was over my love of soda. It was now time to say goodbye to my old friend. He had been there since I was a kid, lifting my spirits when times were hard. When I was in unfamiliar territory, my friend was there to make me feel at home. When I was scared or nervous, my friend was there to tell me it was going to be okay. But I no longer needed him. Goodbye, Dr. Pepper.
I pass by the cola aisle still these days. I look up and down at the shelves, as if to say 'hey' to some relatives I haven't seen in awhile. There's Pepsi, now at least on speaking terms with Coca-Cola. Hawaiian Punch is now currently dating Old Tyme Lemonade. RC Cola is still angry with Cherry Coke for that gag he pulled on Halloween. As I make my way to the end of the aisle, I pass Dr. Pepper at the bottom shelf. We glance at each other. A nod is exchanged. There is no need for anything else. I exit the cola aisle empty-handed, leaving the sodas to their own devices.
-Flint
