Adah Bill Holt

Adah sat at her desk, staring at a textbook on Portland’s history. Her brow was furrowed, not with frustration, but with the sheer volume of it all. The pages were a dense jumble of dates and names, a tangled knot of information she needed to internalize for her history class. How could anyone make it all stick? She sighed, closing the book and pulling out her phone.

Adah opened her eyes, back in the real Old Port. The city no longer felt like a collection of dusty facts. It was a living, breathing story, a palace built in her mind, with rooms and hallways filled with people, actions, and objects. She smiled at Grandpa Bill, a deep sense of gratitude and connection passing between them. The history was hers now, a part of her and her home.

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