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Mr. Cactus, a Short Story

“Hello, Mr. Cactus.”

“Is it okay if I call you Mr. Cactus? I’ve never spoken to a cactus before, and I don’t want to be im-po-lite. Did I say that right? Grandma taught me that word. She says it means ‘rude.'” Why can’t I say ‘rude’? She says I’m a very rude boy.”

“Grandma’s always angry with me. I want to be a good little boy, I really think, though I’m not so little now, I never can be. Grandma says I’m a bad little boy and she has to punish me.”

“Hello again, Mr. Cactus. I can’t talk much anymore. It hurts.”

“Hello, Mr. Cactus. I’m better now, so I can talk again. I don’t know what to say though.”

“I wish I was with Mom and Dad. Grandma says they’re in a better place now. I wish I was in a better place. Grandma says I’m a bad, bad little boy. It’s disrespectful to God, she says. For saving me.” And I should be very thankful to God for not sending me to hell, because that’s where all the bad boys go. That way, at least I don’t have a chance to be good and go to hell, but I pray all the time and do what grandma says. I pray to God grandma me It wouldn’t hurt that much, but she does it anyway. Do you think it’s bad to pray?”

“Grandma says it’s my fault she hurts me. She says, if I’d been a good little boy, she’d never hurt me. She’s a God-fearing woman and she doesn’t hurt good little boys, I mean really, really Is. Bad. I said godly, right? Grandma says I never speak well, but how can I when she keeps beating me?”

“I… are you still there Mr. Cactus? I can’t see you properly. I can’t see well. Can I touch you?”

“You’re a cactus, if I may say so. How come you didn’t prick my finger when I touched you? I don’t mind, really. It meant you were still there and that’s all I wanted to know. I’m grateful that You let me touch you and didn’t prick my finger, I really am, I don’t understand. I wish I could understand you. You’re my only friend.”

“I’m so happy I can see you again, Mr. Cactus! Can I give you a hug?”

“How come you didn’t punch my face when I hugged you? Are you a special cactus?”

“Grandma says I have to sleep here, because I’m a bad boy. I’m not that little! Even if it means I can sleep in your room, I don’t mind.”

“Good morning, Mr. Cactus. Have you moved?”

“Hello, Mr. Cactus. I… Grandma said I have to go. I’m a bad boy and I can’t live with her anymore. Do you know where she’s sending me? She says they’ll teach me eventually. Discipline And put the fear of God in my heart. I don’t know what that means. You? Shall I see you there? Shall I… Shall I see you again?”

“Mr. Cactus, that’s grandma. I know it’s stupid to say, you know she’s grandma, but… she’s grandma.”

“Mr. Cactus? You’re the best! You really are! I don’t have to go now, do I? I can stay with you forever!”

“Um, Mr. Cactus? How do I move Grandma? I know I should, she smells so bad, but how do I do it?”

“Oh. It’s easy now. Thanks, Mr. Cactus.”

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