M. The Rubik’s Cube
     Douglas Reimer

Matt sat in the back of the station wagon doing what I didn’t know. The family was on some long ride, maybe going from Thompson to Winnipeg. As I tended to do now and then on such a trip, especially if the kid was unusually quiet, I asked Matt how things were going. He said fine. What are you up to, I asked? I assumed reading because in his early years he read all the time. Jess answered for him. He’s doing the Rubik’s cube, she said. Good, I said. Way to go, I emoted. I did that a lot in those days, praising too much, thinking that stroking a kid’s ego would get him to do more of the good stuff. 
     We drove for some time and I asked how far he’d gotten. I was interested always in discovering signs of genius in the kids’activities. I really, really wished for smart kids. I’m done, he said. Wow, I thought, and said as much. How’d you do that? Marty, our kid’s bright! Both of us glanced back to see. He showed us and, sure enough, each side of the cube was a solid colour. Maybe I should enrol him in university, I said to Marty. He’s bright!
     Jess put a stop to my euphoria, though. He just pasted them on, she said. What do you mean, I asked, pasted on? He took the blues off of where they were and stuck them all together on one side and now there are blue, red, green and yellow sides, like that, she said. 
     Oh well, best laid plans and all that