Most of us rust when we’re older. The natural wear and tear of life eats away at us, breaking us down. I remember my great grandma, who was in her late seventies, showing me how she used a grabber and a shoehorn to put on her socks because she couldn’t bend over much after her hip replacement. Her old hip had creaked when she walked, but the new one was silent as the leg pivoted in its socket.

My mother wasn’t even forty when she started rusting. After she gave birth to my youngest brother, it started to overtake her. The doctor told her that some people rust early. Their body’s defenses turned against itself, tearing the person apart from the inside out, making them susceptible to rust. Of course, there were all kinds of treatments they could do to slow the process, but one day, the rust would stop her from getting out of bed at all. Her joints would lock into place and the stiffness would overtake her.

Movement helps the joints from stiffening. It can’t stop it altogether, but it can slow the process. When we were very young, I would often wake up to see her doing Tae Bo in her purple leotard. Now, she struggles to even get out of bed. She does her best to still care for us and cook and clean. She even goes down the stairs when she can, just to keep herself moving. The rust will overtake her no matter what, but she does what she can to slow its effects.

It's worse when it rains. Old folks seem to always be able to sense rain before it comes. My mother is not yet old, but the pain in her joints tells of a storm more accurately than any satellite can. She tells us when her arthritis is flaring up and a storm is brewing—the stiffness in her joints warning of the changing air pressure better than any barometer—and I wonder why knowledge so often comes at the price of pain.

She has treatments to help with the symptoms, but they make her sick. I listen to her creak to the bathroom at three in the morning and puke up what little food she had eaten the night before. I lie there and wonder if I will rust early too. If my joints will stiffen and lock. If I will be able to sense a storm before it comes. If my body will turn against itself and condemn me to an existence of pain, eating me from the inside out. A little CLR and I’ll be good, right? If it were that easy, I would not be watching my mother rust away in front of my very eyes. 

Joshua Hammond has been reading since he was two years old. He reads books, comics, short stories, webcomics, manga, poetry, interviews, articles, and labels on chip bags. He also regularly listens to audiobooks and podcasts. You can find his website here and his journal here.