The Dream of Perpetual Motion, Courtney Urbancsik

The Dream of Perpetual Motion

This dream keeps recurring in my mangled mind. It seems to spring up every full moon. Just as I am ensnared by the moon’s entrancing glow, I doze off and am transported to a foreboding blackness that evaporates as I zoom in – as if through a telescope – on a book that rests closed on a table in a house identical to the others on its street. The book has no title and yet its worn, leather covers evoke a sense of nostalgia as if I have read its story a thousand times before. I open the book at its exact center. I do not know why I do this, but I always open it to the chapter with the title of my many names, under which it reads “Sired in 1977”. As I flip through the chapter, I find subchapters: Violence, Carnality, Lament, and Choice. I soon notice that it is my life story. I relive my childhood in Violence, and how my father would beat me until I fought back, for he did not allow any mark of weakness from his son. In Carnality, I read about how I would play the part of an experienced hero, tutoring Little Igor in smutty magazines and boasting about my many girls just so I appeared as a premium person. Then I reach Lament. My story retells the momentous last days with Grandfather as if it was only yesterday. I again watch with utter confusion as Grandfather secures Augustine’s hand in his and kisses her. And then follows his death note. I absorb each stinging word but always pause before his last sentence: “I will walk without noise, and I will open the door in the darkness, and I will” (275). The words build in a crescendo, reaching, reaching, reaching towards a climax, but the last note holds on, and I am crushed by the weight of not knowing. Only Choice remains. Will my final chapter be as abrupt as Grandfather’s? Will I ever find closure? From here, my paper-thin future is infinitely heavy (89). I turn the page.

64 Pillars of Salt

But all that lies in Choice are the foreboding words “I will” and then blankness. Anxiety races through me as I feverishly flip the page for a conclusion. But instead I find: Alex Perchov, “Grandfather” Sired in 1918 and then a reprint of my life story, with the subchapters: Violence, Carnality, Lament, and Choice. I find no difference. In Choice, I again am haunted by the words “I will” hanging. The next chapter is titled: Alex Perchov, “Father” Sired in 1948 Searching, fumbling for any sign of difference in our stories. I flip the pages past my thumb as if they were in an unending series, cycling through a spiral binding without covers. The same words appear under the same headings: Violence, Carnality, Lament, Choice. Theyareallthesame. Weareallthesame. WhoamIthen? AmImyfather? I drop the book and shield my face with shuddering hands. I peak through my fingers and see the book sprawled on the dusty wooden floor and with it, my future: Choice You will I suddenly wake, abruptly sitting up, gasping, staring through my window. The moon has crossed the sky and now only a sliver of its iridescence shines through.

Courtney Urbancsik ’14

Pillars of Salt 65