Do you remember how obsessed you used to be with me? Now I sit like a jilted lover, watching you delicately open your laptop and caress the keys with your fingertips. Those same fingers that once danced around my body now roll over a keyboard. You whore.
Liz treks back to 1983:
I remember telling a lie. My dad's friend, Clayton, had a rubik's cube that I peeled the stickers off of. I tried to reposition them carefully, but I was only 12 and did a sloppy job. My dad knew it was me, but he asked both me and my brother who had done it. I lied. I said I didn't know how the cube got desecrated. I stuck to the lie too. I was resolute. I could have gotten spanked, grounded, and denied water and I would have proclaimed my innocence. My dad said he simply wanted to know who had done it, no punishment would follow the confession. NOT ME! NO SIR! I stared him in the eyes and told a flat out lie.
I still feel bad about it.
I have my original rubik's cube. I came across it about a year ago and sat it out as a novelty. It's sitting right here looking at me now. I took it to a poker party and had one of the engineering savants fix it. Then a friend brought his son over and now it's all fucked up. I'll never be able to get it back to its perfect form. I know the kid had no idea how painful his game would be for me, and I guess I can always track down the savant and have it fixed again, but it's the destructive nature of humans that is the real issue. Why take a beautiful solved puzzle and ruin it?
Now, Rubik is unorganized. He looks tired and sad. Only one row, not even one side, is completed. And I haven't touched him in months. It's like I don't even love him anymore.