Crickets. Heard crickets throughout the night. Sounded like they were inside the house. Loud. Making that sound that crickets make. Singing away. They might’ve been outside my window. Kept me awake.

My dad used crickets as fishing bait. He’d put em on the hook and cast way out. Said bass liked em. And blue gill.

I used worms. Big long red worms. Some were fat and others skinny. Would wrap em ’round my hook and let em fly. A worm soaring through the air. Till it landed in the trees.

You fishing for squirrels? my father would ask. What’re you doing all up in those trees?disgusted that his son was not a fisherman. Cut the line, he said. Cut the damn line, he told me in his Northern Texas accent. Here, he took the pole from my hands. Pulled out a pocket knife from his front pocket. A big knife. With several blades folded into one. Just sit back and watch, he said, cutting the line. Just sit over there and watch how I do it.

For hours I sat and watched him fish. Casting over the green waters of Arkansas. He’d pull em in one after the other. Made me real jealous. Actually, just made me wanna go home.

Heard crickets throughout the night. Thought of dad. To this day, I hate fishing.