Crickets

I heard a knock on the door. I waited a minute, to make sure it wasn't just the mailman or someone sticking pizza coupons in my screen. When I went to the door and opened it, CJ was starting to back down my steps.

"Oh," he said, in his sweet but somewhat aloof way. "I thought you weren't home."

"No, I'm here," I replied, somewhat obviously. "I was just doing some work. What's going on, CJ?"

"How do you kill a cricket?" he began, startling me with a question so out of the normal range of greetings.

"Um," I started, wondering what hidden symbolism might be behind this question. "I don't know. How do you kill a cricket?" I decided maybe it was a joke, and I was willing to play along.

"With a slipper and a net," he responded quickly, turning to find a rock or stick to throw.

"Oh," I agreed. "That seems like a good idea." I still wasn't sure why this was on his mind, but I decided to go with it. "So, did you find a cricket?" I asked.

"Yep," he replied. "It was stuck in my hair."

CJ's hair is short and kinky, kept cut close to his head. I had a hard time imagining a cricket actually being stuck in it.

"Really?" I pressed. "It was stuck in your hair?"

"Yep," he assured me. "They're very sticky."

"Oh." There was a lot I didn't know about crickets. "So, how did you get it out? Did someone pull it out of your hair?"

"Nope," he responded, then paused as if for effect. "I had to get my hair cut."

"Oh!" This was not what I'd expected. "Wow! Um...really?"

"Uh-huh," he said, and hopped over the fence between our yards.

"Oh, well, okay--see ya later CJ!"

I guess that was all he wanted to say.