on the sixteenth of february, my grandmother's father used to tell her they were going to the poor house. every year, she'd be terrified until the time she found her father's bank records in her mother's locked trunk. she waited until february sixteenth, waited until he started to tell his lies, and she ran upstairs to the trunk. she grabbed the bank records, ran downstairs and threw the book on the table. "don't ever say we're going to be poor again. you had me terrified."