Story by Alex Passanisi // @whichalexareyou // she/her

Design by Sarah Wisner // @sarahwiz // she/her

I am a main character. It is my fatal flaw, this incessant, unrelenting perspective. I am not completely without empathy – I know I am not the main character. But I do find myself to be incredibly interesting. And the things that relate to me are, by proxy, interesting too. It is not a unique thought, but life is easiest to understand through my own, familiar eyes.

I didn’t think it was him until I saw the eyes. Mirrorlike, reflecting my own heritage back at me. And then the nose, that Passanisi nose. My cousin, dark haired and pasty white like myself, sits frustrated over a calculator, 50 yards away from me.

He started at UT Austin last fall, a freshman to my senior. I thought I had seen him running around campus a hundred different times. He is as generic looking as I am, so cookie-cutter that all those generic white boys were just well-made knock offs.

But there he was. For real this time. On the fifth floor of the library, of all places. I, of course, go to him, as I flock to all forms of familiarity. We chat, introducing our friends and smiling. It is civil, formal, foreign.

I scan the table between us and his world unfolds before my eyes. The kind girls across from him whose names I did not know, the patchy beard growing on his chin, the Apple Watch on his wrist I felt betrayed to have never seen before. I am suddenly all too aware of myself, conscious of my silly egg earrings and oversized men’s shirt. I cringe at my own booming voice and hold very still, willing my being to fade into thin air. The sense of familiarity I assumed when I saw the family nose fades and I reprimand myself for being foolish.

Of course. Of course, his life is propelling forward, on the brink of the unlimited possibilities one feels at 19.

I am 21 but I am nine next to him. I am nine and we are sharing a blanket, falling asleep together in our grandmother’s recliner. I am 12 and we are blowing up cartoon tanks and ignoring our younger sisters in complete camaraderie. I am 15 and we are angsty in a way only the other seems to understand. I am 19 and my own unlimited possibilities are shattered as we stand at our grandmother’s funeral, avoiding looking at each other for fear of remembering too much.

I am 21 and losing momentum. I feel myself being pushed to the periphery of my cousin’s life as he shares a knowing glance with his friend, a glance I am not meant to understand.

It is not his fault. I am a supporting character to him as much as he is to me. The ways we shaped each other were unintentional and coincidental and not worthy of the big screen. There is only one main character, and in this moment, it is him.

My time in this bubble is almost up. I circle campus grounds with nostalgia while he imbeds every new space with fresh meaning. This campus has yet to change him as it changed me. I wonder if his familiarity will still be preserved once he is ready to move on.

Standing before him, still on the fifth floor of the library, I know I am no longer needed. In this conversation, in his new independence, on this campus.

He will take our name, be the reigning Passanisi in a place destined to forget us all. Legacy is meaningless unless you have the title of the main character. And at Christmas I will ask him how our beloved campus is treating him, and he will smile and say something civil, formal, foreign. And I will nod and we will be 22 and 24 and the world will eat our Passanisi legacy alive.

But for now, we are two main characters, simply crossinging paths. He says it was nice to see me. I wish him luck with studying. The moment falls around us, and we go our separate ways.

CROSSOVER COUSINS