My Fake Cousin

By Sarayu Thondapu

I burst out of the door, my shoes slipping off my heels and the laces untied. Dashing like a mad woman, I outran everyone.

"Come on! Let's go pick her up!"

I strapped myself into my seat, buzzing with anticipation as we drove out the neighborhood towards our destination: my fake cousin's summer camp. 

Both of them (my fake cousins who I will refer to as cousins for convenience's sake) would stay with us during the day because their parents were working at the time. My attha had enrolled her for the summer, so we'd start off the mornings without her. I was stuck with my younger brother and cousin. While I loved them dearly and had fun with them, they were a pair like I was a pair with her. 

We parked outside of the lifetime center, waiting for her to emerge from the building. When she was finally in our line of vision, the car's atmosphere came alive like a live wire. It was insane how all our smiles would grow a million times wider when we saw her. As she walked to the car, we all knocked on the window trying to get her to look at us. Sometimes we would pretend we weren't there and try to scare her. But most of the time, we just couldn't contain the excitement of seeing her, and we'd just scream her name. When she took her seat in the car, whatever noise existed before was amplified to the millionth. If we were hyper before, we were off our rockers when she was present. 

When we arrived back at our house, all of us pooled out of the car with her leading us, me following shortly after, and our brothers trailing not too far behind. As we all raced towards our basement, I found myself lagging a little behind. 

She positioned herself at our basement door, arms crossed and her chest puffed out. She looked down at my brother who was first in line. 

"Name?" She asked him. 

My brother provided it for her, including his last name for extra measure. 

"VIP." She nodded, opening the basement door and allowing my brother access into, might I add, our basement. 

My younger cousin, her brother, followed after, stating his first and last name. "VIP." She declared once again, opening the basement door and letting him inside. 

When it was my turn, I stepped forward. My cousin remained with her arms crossed. Her face had amusement written all over it, and I could hear the sirens going off in my mind. 

She's gonna say shit, isn't she? I thought, except it was cleaner than that and more along the lines of: Not this again. 

"Name?" 

"Sarayu Thondapu."

She hummed before replying. "NP."

"Huh?!" I exclaimed loudly, never one for voice modulation. I knew VIP and even MVP. What the hell was an NP? 

I asked as much, and she replied solemnly not before admonishing me for not knowing it myself. "It means normal person." She said, stifling chuckles elicited from her cleverness. 

Whatever excitement that existed prior to this moment evaporated as I started passionately protesting against this flagrant discrimination. 

"Why aren't they NPs?" I said, pointing towards the basement door where our brothers lingered on the stairs, laughing loudly at what unfolded on the ground level. 

I don't remember what she used to say in response to that, but I can guarantee you that it was probably the most inane thing ever to be said by a human being. 

That's her specialty, and I learned it from her. 

So, the summer went along like this. While I was allowed entry, the label of "NP" would hang above my head as we would play with whatever we got our hands on. 

It was always like this with the two of us. She would see how many of my buttons she could push before I exploded (which wasn't many), and I would yell and complain like there was no tomorrow. We were the epitome of "if she said 'yes', I would scream at the top of my lungs 'no'". 

During sleepovers, which I insisted were for sleeping, she'd always keep me awake by chattering into my ear. 

"Do you want to hear a scary story?"

"NO."

"Come on, it's a good story."

"I don't like scary stories."

"I promise it's not that scary."

7 year old me, being an idiot, peeked above the covers. "Really?"

9 year old her, being an absolute menace, smiled genuinely. "Yeah, I promise."

The story was scary, and then we both wouldn't be able to sleep. Surely, from this, I would have learned to not trust what she said for face value, yes? 

Unfortunately and fortunately, no. 

There were times she was too honest. 

We were at a 2011 New Year's Eve party at one of our parent's friends' houses. It was a typical gathering orchestrated by those who belong to a huge Indian community, being held at the house of whomever was next in the rotation. 

I remember this one vividly because their basement had a neat Harry Potter-style room underneath the staircase. 

My cousin took me and our other friend to the side, ushering us into the small room inside the staircase. 

"I have to tell you something." She said seriously. "Santa Claus is not real."

Simply put, I was shocked. "That's not true!" I shook my head. "He gave me presents just last week!" 

My cousin shook her head. "No. I saw him. Wait-" She shook her head. "I saw Papaji. He was the one putting the presents beneath the tree."

Our friend and I gasped. 

I struggled with this realization, but after some thought, I realized that the likelihood of a jolly grandpa squeezing through our chimney to deliver me presents was slim compared to my parents running to Toys-R-Us and getting me the toy that I want. 

Plus, Santa's handwriting looked an awful lot like my dad's. 

She'd push me into things that I wanted no part in. There was no one on this planet that could convince me to do something that I don't want to do other than her. 

It wasn't that she had a knack for charisma or that she was just that convincing in her argument. 

My common sense tends to fly out the window whenever we are in each other's vicinity. 

The fall of 8th grade, we both decided to go to Scarowinds on Friday, October 13th. I was still mostly averse to scary things, but the desire to experience Scarowinds was greater than that fear. 

With my dad in tow, we all drove to Scarowinds with exhilaration and anticipation (excluding my dad, who despises scary things). I had already told my cousin that I could try some of the medium thrill rides, but the Fury and the Intimidator were off limits. Acrophobia and the Fury do not go well. 

She hadn't necessarily agreed. "Okay, that's fine. We'll see what's open."

When we arrived at the park, we lasted a total of five minutes before splurging on a couple green boo necklaces that protected us from being scared by the park employees. My dad was the one who spearheaded this move, being scared to death by an animate plant not too far from the main entrance. 

We went on the Ricochet and Vortex before my cousin unknowingly(?) led me to the Fury. I gulped at the sight of the towering monstrosity, glowing a pale green against the darkness of the night sky. 

"No, I don't think I can."

"Sajj, it's fine." She said, using a nickname that she had coined for me. I don't remember exactly when she started using it. "It's not that scary."

"It's not the scariness. It's the height." I replied, still staring at the gigantic ride. 

My cousin looked up, taking a moment to survey the ride herself. Then, she stared back at me and said in all seriousness: "It's not that tall."

Now, I knew she was bullshitting me. This coaster was the 6th tallest in the world. It had over a 320 feet drop. What was it, then? Short?

I didn't say any of that though. I looked up again and asked quietly. "Are you sure?"

My cousin grinned, knowing she got me. "You'll be fine."

I took a deep breath and let myself be led to my inevitable doom. At least I would have time to prepare, considering the length of the line. 

We had to leave our glasses with my dad, so we were struggling to navigate through the lines. The line attendant noticed our visible confusion and lack of sight, so they called us forward. 

"You both." They pointed. "Take the express line."

My face paled as my cousin grabbed my hand once more and took us through the express lane. When we got to the top, I prayed for us to be placed at a decent place, one where my worst fears wouldn't be exploited. 

My prayers weren't answered as we were placed at the very front of the car. 

At least my cousin said it wasn't too tall, right? 

As we reached the peak of the coaster, my cousin dashed that sentiment away, laughing while she said that it's the tallest coaster in the park. 

The wind blew hard as we went down the slope.

Honestly, I was mad at myself. 

This always happens. I fall for her blatant lies. I end up in places I never wanted to be in. 

I wished she would let me live in peace. 

However, as the ride went along, the knot in my stomach unwinded and my senses felt less suffocated. I opened my eyes, and I caught sight of what's around me. I realized at that moment that I would never reach this speed or height anywhere else. I was taken on a boundless journey not entangled with gravity. 

It wasn't scary. It was fun, and I wouldn't have known that if it wasn't for her pushing me out of my comfort zone. 

Now, I can go on ziplines and rollercoasters with little to no thought. Sure, I am nervous but not fearful. Not anymore. 

She made me face my fear, and I found out that my fear wasn't as foreboding as it appeared to be. 

As we grew older, so did the severity of our problems. When she was in high school, I saw her diligently working and doing her absolute best to make something out of every opportunity that came her way. She would succeed in some cases and fail in others, but no matter the outcome, she would continue to try. She utilized her failures, not only for herself, but as pieces of advice for me. 

 In high school, I was stressed to no end, desperately scrambling to check all the boxes of an imaginary list so that I would get the approval of a higher institution. She was the reason I didn't go overboard. 

She told me not to stress about how many APs I am taking.

Just take the ones you enjoy and help you in the future. 

She told me that I don't need to break my back with extracurriculars. 

Do what you love, and it will show. 

She told me not to care about everyone else around me. 

You're your own person. 

My insecurities raged, but these words were what I considered life preservers in the storm that threatened to pull me under. Hearing something from her made everything okay. 

When she went to college, it felt like a chapter of mine ended alongside hers. Her departure made me realize how quickly my own was arriving. Every moment that made me think of childhood fun had her in it. 

Despite the distance, she was still steadfast in her own way. Instead of text messages asking me how I was doing, she sent Spongebob memes. Phone calls tended to devolve in huge fits of giggles over the dumbest things possible. She may not have been there, but it felt like she was. She didn't have to be present to make me happy. All she had to do was exist. 

Whenever she does come back though, I am ecstatic. While we may have grown, we still bicker and fight over childish things, and she still makes me laugh with a single word. 

Our childhoods may have technically ended, but whenever we are together, it feels like we never left.