Sunshine flooded into the room. It collected in pools at her bare feet and washed against the nightstand.

Quietly, she stood and stepped to the window. A downtown, by looks and sound. Car horns and sirens offered clues. But today’s geography lesson would have to wait.

With her left hand, she untied a black ribbon from around her right hand. The ribbon had held her hand in a fist all night. The cramp is always awful, but she couldn’t sleep otherwise. Her fingers uncurled, revealing a bar napkin and a stack of Post-It notes. On the topmost is written a girl’s name and an address. On the napkin is a boy’s name and a phone number.

Later, she’ll step out onto the sidewalk, then turn back, look up and write today’s address on the next Post-It. She’ll learn today’s name later.

Later still, she’ll buy a postcard from the post office. She’ll address it to the girl on the topmost Post-It. Napkin, name and number close at hand, she’ll stand at the counter and write:

“Yesterday, when I was you …”