Will Curl // Fiction

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Rust

I remember seeing the reddish-brown spots on my father's car, some with jagged, gaping holes in the center. I ran my finger across one of them, letting my skin catch on its roughness and feeling the danger as the edges threatened to slice open my flesh. My mother had warned me about lockjaw but had never explained what it was. I pictured myself walking around for the rest of my life unable to unclench my teeth, muttering and drinking through a straw.

I knew what rust looked like, but I didn’t know what it was -- where it came from, why it was on our car, why everyone thought it was so bad. I asked my father. He told me to look it up in the dictionary.

rust, n. 1. A hydrated form of ferric oxide formed on iron when chemically attacked by moisture. 2. A rustlike stain. 3. Corrosive or injurious accretion 4. Inaction; idleness; indolence.

I went back to my father and asked him to explain the first part. He was easy enough to find -- he was always in his recliner, watching some game or other on TV. I asked him to explain what a "hydrated form of ferric oxide" was.

He said "How the hell should I know?"

I asked him what "corrosive" and "injurious" meant. He told me to go ask my mother. "She'll definitely know what those words mean," he said.

I went and found my mother sitting on the back porch. She was reading, a glass with ice and clear liquid – it smelled, so it wasn’t water -- at her elbow. I was still holding the dictionary under my arm. I said, "Mom, Dad says you know what 'corrosive’ means."

She put her book down. "I should," she said, glancing inside.

"Well, what does it mean?"

She was still gazing inside. "Corrosion is what happens when something's being dissolved. Eaten away." She looked back at me. "Why do you want to know?"

"I wanted to know what rust was, so I looked it up in the dictionary, but it didn't help much."

"Let me see," she said, and took the dictionary from me.

She flipped to "rust," read a moment, and then said "Here. Read number four."

"Inaction. Idleness. Indolence."

"Right."

"What does 'indolence' mean?"

"Well, look it up," she said.

indolence, n. Quality or condition of being indolent; sloth.

"That doesn't help at all," I said. "What's ‘sloth'?"

"I don't know," she said. "But I bet your father does."

I tucked the dictionary back under my arm and headed inside, struggling with the sliding screen door. It always stuck in three different places before it was wide enough for me to get through. I finally managed it, though, and found my father right where I'd left him.

"Dad, Mom says you know what 'sloth' means."

He glanced toward the patio. "She does, huh?"

"Yeah. So what does it mean?"

"Look it up. You've got the book. I'll be right back." He stood up and headed for the screen door.

I looked up "sloth". The dictionary had a picture of a furry animal with long claws and narrow slits for eyes. I figured that didn't have much to do with rust, so I read through the rest of the definitions.

Disinclination to action; laziness; indolence.

I'd given up on figuring out what "indolence" meant by then, so I focused on "disinclination."

disinclination, n. State or quality of being disinclined; lack of inclination; aversion.

This was getting ridiculous. Everything I was looking up was telling me what the word was, but not what it meant. It seemed like the only thing to do was to keep looking up the words I didn't know.

aversion, n. A state of mind in which attention to an object is coupled with dislike of it; repugnance.

I heard my mother's raised voice from outside. I was used to it but I knew what it meant, so I stayed focused on the dictionary.

repugnance, n. Deep-rooted antagonism; antipathy.

My father was shouting. I heard a thump against the wall and the sound of shattering glass at the same time.

antipathy, n. Settled aversion or dislike; repugnance; distaste.

My mother stormed in through the screen door, swearing as it stuck in its tracks. She slammed the door to the garage as she passed through it, and I heard her car starting up.

distaste, v.t. 1. To feel aversion to. 2. To offend; displease.

I’d finally found a word I knew. But I read the definition through about ten times anyway, waiting until my father had come back inside and settled back into his recliner. I waited for a little while longer, then tiptoed out of the room, the dictionary still tucked under my arm.

I still hadn’t figured it out, though. I kind of knew what rust was, but only kind of. I knew it had something to do with "corrosion" and "indolence," but that was about it. So I went back to the definition of "rust."

. . . attacked by moisture ...

I knew what moisture was, so I thought I had a pretty good idea of how this all worked. But I wanted to see it in action. I wanted to see it actually form, just so I could know if I was right.

I went to the back patio, being careful to avoid the broken glass, and hooked up the garden hose. I turned the water on but kept the nozzle closed, like Mom had shown me. Dad hadn’t closed the screen door, so I didn’t have to struggle with it as I pulled the hose inside the house. I pointed the nozzle at the recliner and turned it, just the way Mom had shown me.

The next time I wanted to look something up in the dictionary, I couldn’t find it anywhere.

Will Curl is a Lecturer in English at the University of Wisconsin-Fox Valley. A past editor of Fox Cry Review, his short fiction has appeared in Hayden’s Ferry Review, juked, Ghoti, and other publications.

Date of Publication: 29 Oct 2007