Melatonin. You’ve heard of it, I’m sure. It’s a magical substance. I was first introduced to the good stuff when I was 17 years old. My mom and I had flown out to Alabama for my cousin’s high school graduation. I struggled to sleep the first night. I was in a new place. The sounds of the air in the vents and the house settling were different than I was used to. The light coming through the window cast shadows that mimicked gremlins and home invaders. The next day, I was slamming one can of Coca-Cola after another, desperately hoping to fill my bloodstream with enough caffeine to make it through the commencement ceremony, because watching a sea of blue robes slowly trickle under the basketball hoop of Auburn University’s practice arena for approximately one-third of an entire eternity isn’t particularly stimulating. So, after that first sleepless night and yawn-filled day, my mom outstretched her hand and opened it, exposing two little purple gummies, beckoning that I take them, c