Seedling

cactus

 n. (kak-tuh s) any of numerous succulent plants of warm, arid regions having fleshy, leafless, usually, spiny stems and typically having solitary, showy flowers

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"you're failing my class," you informed me.

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"i know."

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you cleared your throat before continuing. "you're failing all of your core classes. and pe. that's a graduation requirement. how are you failing pe?"

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"it's hot as hell outside. you expect me to run a mile in 90-degree weather? no thank you."

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"it's not an expectation. it's mandatory. the other kids have to do it and so do you."

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i blew a bubble with my watermelon gum and popped it with a satisfying snap. you flinched on queue. i contained my laughter. "i'm not like the other kids. don't you teachers always say we should embrace our individual selves and not conform into society's norms? that's what I'm doing. i'm choosing not to participate in pe because that's what society wants."

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a deliberate sigh. i'm wearing on. you're frustrated.  "i'm trying to help and you're not giving me anything to hold onto. the path you're taking doesn't lead to a diploma."

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"okay."

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"the gum doesn't hide it. you've been smoking again, haven't you?"

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"maybe, but i don't see why you should care."

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"you should care. smoking causes early wrinkling."

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"listen, I didn't come here to be lectured on my future. you don't know what's gonna happen. i don't know what's gonna happen. i can't be a screw up until i've actually screwed up."

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you stood. "you are screwing up. one high A in art isn't going to get you into college. i've seen you apply yourself in that class. if you just focused like that in here, you would..."

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"i'm not a multitasker."

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"no one else is trying to get you out of this hole you dug for yourself. you're going to drown in your problems."

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i smiled. "actually, i store all my problems inside. i just soak them all in and take a sip every now and then. just a big enough sip to keep in touch with reality, but otherwise, they swim around inside of me and sort themselves out. you can't reach them, so you can't fix them."

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you watched as i exited.

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the art gallery was empty. it delivered the solace i needed after taking in the news you dealt me. clay covered my trembling fingers, but i managed to mold the wet, sticky earth into my own vision. my vision. why couldn't you see my vision? a vision of wooden paintbrushes soaking in murky water and desks littered with the fuzzy forgotten shavings of drawn mistakes. yes, you hurt me with your words, but i'll just add you to my collection of problems drifting in the tumultuous waters of my chest.