You wake up in the night because that's what most six year olds do when they have discovered that their tooth has fallen out. You pray to Santa Clause because you don't believe in Jesus or God, or Mother Mary. Or Mohammed. Or Buddha. Or any religion as a matter of fact. You appear to have made a loud distressed sound, because moments later, your family have entered, and the lights are on. They're too bright, these lights. You wish you could snuggle up under the covers again and fall asleep, and dream about happy things, like ice cream and Ben Ten and Power Rangers, and not worry about things like your teeth falling out. You pray to Santa, but sleep eludes you, like the pot of gold that's never there at the end of the rainbow.
"What's wrong?" Your mother asks. I'll never understand mothers, you think to yourself, because they always ask what's wrong when its pretty obvious what's wrong.
"Is everything all right?" Your father says. You're thinking, you'll never understand fathers either, because they always ask if everything's okay when they know it's not okay. You don't understand anybody at all, as a matter of fact, because you're so cut off from the world with your science experiments.
You've always known about teeth falling out, but you've never been prepared for it. Now you understand how it feels.
You tell your family that everything is okay because you prayed to Santa and Santa heard your prayer and came to help you.
"You're supposed to be praying to the Tooth Fairy," your little sister says, and you laugh internally at the naivety of children, not realising how naive you always were.
"Santa isn't real," says your father, and there's a twinkle in his eyes. You don't know if it is a twinkle of sadness or amusement, but you can guess that he is joking.
You don't believe your father, because of course Santa Clause is real. Your mother and father told you that when you were just an infant. You don't say anything, but you let your parents help rinse your mouth and tuck you into bed again. You wait for them to leave, and then the dark drowsy blanket of sleep compels you into a deep, happy sleep.
You believed in science, but you also believed in Santa. You believed in two things that completely contradicted each other. But you never seemed to mind, because you always had an explanation to give.
---
Several years down the track, you realise that Santa isn't listening to you anymore. Maybe Santa isn't real after all. You realise he isn't listening anymore when you move schools and get bullied, but when you prayed he never answered. You begin to accept the harsh reality, but the bullying just gets worse.
When you turn 20, you get a scholarship into the the Harvard University, hoping to achieve your goal of becoming a Professor. You have moved away from your parents living in Australia to come to Harvard, and your nine year old cousin is also your responsibility while her parents are away.
It was a simple enough routine; every morning you and your cousin would share a simple breakfast together before your cousin took the bus to school. She didn't seem to mind taking the bus, even though you had a car and were willing to offer her a ride to school everyday, because your science courses at Harvard didn't start until 1:30 in the afternoon. At 1 o'clock you drove to Harvard, and you didn't leave Harvard until 3:30, 5:00 at the latest, even though your science course usually ended at 3:00, because you wanted to stay back in the library to study. Sometimes, you had extensive science programs, and you didn't arrive home until 7:30, but that never mattered because your cousin always took the 4:00 bus home from school.
It was a companionable and enjoyable lifestyle that you and your cousin shared, and it was through this routine that you fostered a close and affectionate relationship with your cousin. The routine was adhered to most of the time, so when your cousin calls you on her last day of school before Christmas break at 3:30 and asks if you would mind picking her up, you are slightly hesitant to comply. The unusual break in routine troubles you, and you ask her if everything is okay, just like your father did when you were younger. Your cousin pleads with a certain conviction that you have never heard from her before, and perhaps it is because of this - or perhaps something else that you will never understand - that you decide to agree.
