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Biology
By Darby Larson
I am an
habitual cricket eater. I like to put crickets in my mouth and let them
jump around on my tongue. Sometimes if I remain very still while they
are in my mouth, they will play songs. It vibrates my head. And then I
swallow them because I want them inside of me.
The thing I'm most afraid of is that my wife will leave me because of my
cricket eating. I became aware she might leave me while I was watching
television on the sofa with a white bucket full of black crickets I took
handfuls from like popcorn. She came in the room to talk to me.
"I'm going to leave you if you don't stop eating crickets."
"God dammit."
I vowed to her I'd never eat another cricket.
###
On our son Roger's fifth birthday, we went to the zoo. Roger held both
our hands. Now and again, he would run forward and jump while my wife
and I picked him off the ground and let him dangle between us.
"I'm going to get a lemon smoothie," said my wife.
Roger and I sat on a bench in front of the flamingo pen and waited for her to
get through the long line at the lemon smoothie stand.
"Do you feel any older?" I asked Roger.
"Yes," he said.
Then I saw him pick up an ant from the bench. He licked it from his
hand and swallowed it. I patted his head and smiled. I looked up
and watched the chimpanzees on the other side imitating zealous zoo-goers.
After my wife got her lemon smoothie, we walked to the Reptile House. We
arrived just in time to watch them feed the smaller snakes. A zookeeper
opened the top of the aquariums one by one and poured in handfuls of crickets
from a giant white bucket. We were only in for a few seconds when my
wife decided she didn't like the Reptile House very much, so she took Roger
outside while I stayed and watched the feeding.
###
Over the next few months, my wife and I had a series of discussions about my
cricket eating. Even though I had been abstaining, she knew she would
never rid me of my desire to eat them, and it frustrated her. I guess she
just couldn't learn to be with someone who eats crickets. Here is how one
such conversation ensued:
"I know you still want to eat crickets."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"It's just my biology."
"Maybe you could go to counseling."
"I'd rather not."
"I'd rather you did."
"I'd rather you just get used to it."
And then she would go to the kitchen and do dishes while I watched the
Discovery Channel.
###
At our court hearing, her attorney argued on the disgusting nature of my
habit, and that I was a very perverse and sinful person, and therefore not a
very good father, and so she got full custody of Roger, as well as many of
our possessions including the house. This was a sad day for me. I loved
my wife and I loved Roger and I loved eating crickets. And I had now
traded the two former for the latter.
I rented an apartment opposite our old house. I bought a big telescope
and aimed it at them.
###
After a few months in my apartment, I finally realized I'm better off without
them. These crickets taste wonderful. Each time I pop one in my
mouth, I let it sit and play its little song, rattling my eyes like maracas
in their sockets. I swallow it and the hum slowly fades and I
wait for my eyes to settle back to stillness.
One day I was watching my ex-wife's apartment through my high-power telescope
and a man came to the door. He was dressed in a very clean grey suit
and red tie. He looked like a politician.
Just before my wife opened the door and let him in, he snatched a grasshopper
from the air and bit off its head.
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