The year of the Rubik’s Cube

It was probably 1984…or maybe it was 85. Either way, the day was cold; at least, cold for New Orleans. A wind chill in the 40′s threw most of our plans out of the window, all except for one–Mardi Gras.  I begged and pleaded with my father to take me downtown to the parade route, and against my mother’s best judgment he finally relented. So I got dressed in my costume, a handmade Rubik’s Cube costume, and piled into the station wagon. Beneath two layers of thermal underwear and gloves, I was all smiles. It was the festival of all festivals, the carnival of all carnivals. It was Mardi Gras, and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

We drove uptown to the parade route and parked the car. My feet wouldn’t keep still in my lace up high tops; they were so full of excitement and anticipation. My father and I had worked on my Rubik’s Cube costume for weeks, and it was beautiful. In reality it was nothing more than a cardboard box with electrical tape and colorful paint, but in my mind, I was the best-dressed one out there. Most of the people we saw agreed, and I gladly posed for picture after picture on the cold neutraground.

As we rounded Canal Street, packs of costume clad partygoers huddled together with their coolers full of Dixie Beer and buckets of Popeye’s chicken wrapped protectively in blankets. The Buzzards were the first to start the parade–drunken bachelors handing out paper roses amongst the crowds. Then the far off sound of the police cars echoed through the damp New Orleans air. The parade was underway. As float after float passed by, I giddily waved my arms shouting “ Throw me something mista.” Beads and doubloons rained down from the sky, and within an hour I had more than I could carry home. Marching bands danced in the streets, and the rhythm jumped inside of my heart, vibrating and curling down my spine. I slurped cold Barq’s root beer and sat on my daddy’s shoulders through madness, hugging him tightly.

As the parade began to wind down, we trudged back home with bags of beads and frozen noses. I don’t remember the drive home; I think I was asleep before we hit the I-10, exhausted from the day’s events. Sadly, I don’t remember what happened to my old Rubik’s Cube costume. Chances are it was thrown away after we moved or accidentally broken down in a fit of spring-cleaning. But the memories of that Mardi Gras will stick in my mind forever; just a little girl, her father, and the best Mardi Gras costume ever!

Tags: childhood, costume, Mardi Gras, Memories, New Orleans, Rubik's Cube

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