Every so often I’ll take a break from my bedtime book and pick up the Rubik’s Cube that shares the couch cushion with me. I turn it over and around in my hands, feeling the corners and edges, rubbing my thumbs along the tiny cubes that make up the bigger one, making sure the edges line up just so perfectly. When my examination is complete, I pick one color to work on and determine my best strategy for success.
Some nights I have two blues already lined up on one side leaving only seven squares to work on. If I’m lucky I’ll have the remainder of an unfinished campaign from the night before when I managed to line up all but one or two squares. Most nights though my cube just looks like a broken Lite-Brite.
Some nights I spin with a purpose. I try to find a method to the madness that is a Rubik’s Cube. If I turn this side up, then the middle twice to the left, then move that side back down, that should do it! Sometimes it does do it, sometimes not, but almost always it carries unintended consequences someplace else on the cube. Other nights I turn randomly, hoping that somehow the colors will line themselves up. Still other nights, I find myself noticing that some of the stickers are so off-center on their square and wondering who put these things on anyway?
Eventually the Rubik’s Cube break will end the way every break has since I bought the thing. I put the cube down and pick up my book, my mind satiated and calm, and I begin to read again.