Tiny love story

Talia Winiarsky, Staff Writer

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I don’t know what time it is, but I know it’s past my bedtime. Hours after dark, I should be peacefully sleeping. And yet, rebellious elementary-school me is having a party with some of my friends; forty-four of them, to be precise.

For the greater part of my youth, I would get into bed, close my eyes and wish for sleep, but it would never come, like trying to grasp a fistful of sand while watching the grains slip away. When boredom set in, I would open the creamy, glossy pages of Don’t Know Much About the Presidents by Kenneth C. Davis and pore over every fact. The vivid drawings of George Washington brushing his horse’s teeth and of William Taft stuck in the bathtub emerged from the page and came alive, and the big, bolded words would file themselves away in my mind.

Thankfully, I rarely get bouts of insomnia anymore, but I still remember my friends whom I have never met.