The Art of Abandonment

Chapter 2

As he was frozen, the students in the room went to where he was gazing, but broke it off just before they could make it.

As he spoke quite obviously unnerved, I began to look. That was my skin tone... my... my hair? This.. had to be a coincidence. Yeah.

Ms. Marka took attendance quietly aloud, and mid-speech, Mark heard it again, Ms. Marka's soft murmur, "Rosetta Hanson..." mumbled my teacher was a focused look on her face, but eyes darted to both us Hansons for a moment before continuing with normal attendance. "Tom Holland..." (MARVEL REFERENCE! 😛)

"And..." Mark shook his head stuttering. "We..." he looked around. He couldn't do this. "I'm going to take a quick break," he said quickly and stepped out with his water. His mind was racing too much.

As he left he could hear the other students snickering clearly thinking he was uncool. He was a rockstar but insecurities were real. He frowned with a lowered head and drank water—which had a subtle hint of Corona in it. Not like anyone was going to notice.

Ten minutes and he still wasn't feeling better. Kit checked on him. "Man you okay?"

"Is it just me or does that kid... the one in the right section look like.. me? And then I heard a teacher call someone's name it was... Rosa... something? Something Hanson..." Mark said looking at his old friend with maybe a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. "And then I... I started thinking way too much, I had to leave. I guess it just really threw me off—"

Kit interrupted him, "Uh no..." Mark looked up. "I... see the resemblance. Here's what we'll do. You're gonna go back in there, not think so much, and imagine as if that is your daughter. Put on a performance for her."

Mark scoffed, "Why would she wanna listen to me? Even if I am her father,... Romana's probably got a husband,..." now Mark was just lying to himself and he knew it.. "and the chances are this kid hates me."

"She's is music class for a reason, Mark. You were chosen" Kit put his finger on Mark's chest as if scolding him. "to speak to chorus kids for a reason. You're a literal singer." He rolled his eyes at Mark's obvious vulnerability.

"Jesus,..." Mark tried to deny it, not wanting his drummer to be right over him. "Goddamn it you're..." he groaned loudly. "right..."

Kit smirked and looked around. "Did anyone hear that?" He asked sarcastically, crossing his arms. "Mark Hanson just admitted—"

"Oh hush." He covered his friend's mouth and went back into the room. "I didn't waste any speech time right?" He assured from Ms. Marka, who'd been giving me smiling glances all period...

Instead of saying no, she said, "You've still got half an hour." quietly. Then moved back to the side desk in the corner of the room.

Mark got back into place and kept going. "Sorry for that interruption... I..." his glance caught me again. Before he could overthink, Kit gave him a reminding look. He nodded and continued. Just pretend you're doing it for your daughter. He thought.

"...The important parts of music are though, how you make it, how it makes others feel," he went on lamely. Someone yawned, others rolled their eyes, but I was the interested one.

At one point, some kid shouted out, "Bro no one cares!" I was already having a crumby day. I may or may not have snapped. "You know what I do I've been waiting for this all damn day so shut your mouth if you don't care why are you in choir! Shut up and take your negativity somewhere else!"

Mark was shocked, snowballed, and Kit was the only thing keeping him present. All he could think was This kid's got a temper... just like me. This is getting too real... Mark shook his head, trying to convince himself he was just imagining things. "You're crazy, Mark..." he mumbled to himself.

Later on and he needed to leave again... shortly after, I asked to get a drink of water. I walked out, got it, but when I came back, Kit was't there to calm down Mark. I looked at Mark, the door to the room, and then myself... my plan was phycology in college if I ever got in...

I looked again. At one point, my inner voice yelled, Jesus Rosetta just do it you idiot! so I walked up to him silently... a few feet away. I assessed his position.

Legs straight, slouching torso, overthinking look on his face. My eyes scanned, Initiate operation confront. I spoke up. "Hey... are you... feeling okay?" Inside, I was freaking out. I was talking to a world renowned rockstar. No pressure...

Mark was caught off guard. He looked at me, wondering if I was talking to him. "I—" he then remembered I asked how he was feeling. "I'm..." he stumbled.

I stood sharp, gaze locked, "Be honest." I said in a stern but soft and cautious tone.

"I'm feeling..." he subconsciously gripped his pocket tightly, which I picked up on easily, his shoulders were tense. Mine were too though. "Anxious... embarrassed... awkward." His arms relaxed, a weight visibly lifted off his heart which he was surprised at.

"I'm feeling... better now... thank you... kid... what's your name?" He asked, not knowing the consequence of the answer.

"Rosetta," I answered and my answer seemed to throw him off, as if my name was repeating in his head...

Somehow, he stayed calm. "...I'm almost afraid to ask... but what's... your... last name?" He pushed through it with my looks of reassurance.

"Hanson." My name echoed.

He was struck back into shock. He pieced together the name, then looked at me. He studied me, and I let him. It often made people feel more comfortable talking to those they know about in some aspect.

He looked at me, then in the reflection of himself in the trophy case across the short hall as if studying a find the difference riddle.

I could see his composure slowly starting to fade. Get Kit right now! his mind yelled. He poked his head in the room and gave Kit a look, Kit came out and I stepped back to give him some space.

"What's up ma—..." his voice slowly dropped off a cliff as he saw what Mark was looking at. Me. He studied me and Mark. "What's her last name?" He asked Mark quietly.

"Hanson..." Mark said almost as a whisper, in a daze. I tapped him to bring him back to reality. He looked at me then Kit as if to ask his wingman, Help.