Around Christmas

Lacrimal fluid is the medical term for tears. I’m nineteen and just stepped into womanhood. I’ve experienced lacrimal fluid recently while in college. My grandmother passed away during midterms. While everyone else in my school sought parties for winter break, I busied myself by planning Grandma's funeral.

I wanted to help my parents with the burden. They already had been strapped with my schooling. I even ventured to address the obituary.

“Honey….” my mom spoke to me when we finally met in Delaware. She wrapped her arms around me like a hippy hugs a tree. I could tell she had lacrimal fluid in her eyes, too.

My dad held it together as best he could but the same fluid resided on his face.

“We’re all going to put up money for the service,” my mom Cecilia mentioned. I broke from her embrace.

“Mom, you know I don’t have the money.”

“Well, where did it all go?” my dad, Everett asked. A tinge of concern colored his words.

“I—I spent it,” I muttered.

“We’re paying for your education, not leisure, now my momma’s gone and—” my mom voiced.

“I mean I have a few hundred dollars left….” I explained.

“We’re sending you four thousand dollars a month. Where’s it going?” Mom queried.

“Between labs and apps and shelter, I barely have enough for a cheese sandwich with tomato soup,” I squeaked out, bursting with candor.

“Maybe you should move back on campus. Or live here. You’re welcome.”

“You’ve already converted my room into a gym so that is out of the picture.”

“Just spend wisely, Lakia,” Daddy reminded.

“I’ll do that, Dad. We have to worry about this funeral, though.”

“Yes, you’re right. That’s the main focus,” Mama acknowledged.

“Around Christmas,” Daddy intoned.

“We can figure this out,” I piped up.