Stories From the Fall of the Empire
Chapter 14: The Cube

Copyright© 2011 by Harvey Havel

In my son’s playroom, which is littered with plastic toys of every shape, size, and color – everything from old train sets to action figures both big and small, to plastic swords, toy guns, and die-cast metal cars that have ceased to roll on the thick threads of the shag carpet that warms his feet - I one day noticed a small, almost innocuous object that sat on his baby-blue night stand. I slipped the object into the side pocket of my work trousers, and within a day or two I brought it out secretly for my own obscure pleasure. And while I’m usually not in the habit of stealing my son’s toys from him, this colorful cube reminded me of a time when anything was possible, and when my once-capable skills and faculties could tackle any problem that came my way.

The cube itself is not that spectacular or remarkable to look at. I had the larger version of it in my possession before my father passed away some twenty years ago. I remember playing with it during his wake. I often excuse my former self for this, as I was merely a boy who didn’t know any better at the time, but I distinctly remember sneaking into the coatroom of the funeral parlor and peeling off all of the stickers on the cube if only to paste them back on again until all sides were equally uniform. I then showed the completed puzzle to all of the adults, who were by this time kneeling at my father’s casket and mouthing their quiet lamentations. They finally understood that I was indeed much smarter than they had originally thought. In fact, my reputation grew from a dumb, slightly awkward kid to a boy who would one day lift our family out of poverty by using an acumen I never possessed.

The cube’s popularity back then swept the nation, and it quickly infiltrated the homes of many a teenager. I saw television shows where young wiz-kids my age solved the puzzle in just a few seconds, each of its eight sides balanced and resolute with the same colors, and this was done without removing any of the square, solid-colored adhesives that made it so interesting to solve. After a year of its release, the cube took on another dimension, as its creators added an extra, fourth side, if only to complicate my plans. I suppose people ultimately grew tired of the thing and abandoned it for some other activity. It still remains, however, an icon of the age. There wasn’t a kid on my block who didn’t want one, and after a year or two, there wasn’t a kid on my block who didn’t already have one.

After the funeral, I gave it away to one of my starry-eyed cousins after showing him the completed puzzle. He agreed that I was the smartest kid in town, and even though I was nothing but a charlatan, I soon believed the lie I had built for myself and paraded my genius in front of my widowed mother. She soon took me to the bank and funded an account for my higher learning. I was finally a good investment, she would often say, and to this day she still questions whether or not I was honest with her. When I visit her at the home, she still eyes me suspiciously, knowing somewhere behind the pale of her stark blue eyes that I had gotten the better of her. She poured all of my father’s insurance money into that college fund and then waited for something spectacular to happen. After a semester or two of heavy drinking and pot-smoking, I was tossed out of college and happened to stumble upon my future wife at the campus watering hole where I had been soaking most of my misery and misfortune.

Finding the cube in my boy’s room marked my triumphant return to the reputation I once held, and I had no choice but to take it back from him. I should also say here, in my defense, that my son has never showed the slightest interest in the cube. It is dwarfed by the other large-scale toys that command his attentions. The version I took from him fits into my palm. It was more-or-less made as a small key chain, a memento, if you will, of the larger version that had at one time captivated the smartest of people.

 
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