#mark hansen

***

He was seven years old when his father pulled away in U-HAUL truck, just minutes after Evan had felt the total elation of being a young kid and sitting in a real truck. He was seven years old when he felt the swell of melancholy from somewhere deep inside of him, a wave he could crest upon for years and years and years. He was seven years old, and for the first time, he has no father.

He was eight when his mother started taking more shifts at the hospital, trying to cover the bills and bills and bills that piled up every month until the mountains stayed raized for a little before building back up again. He was eight when she began to disappear behind those mountains of bills until she blended into them so well it was hard to tell when she was at a shift and when she was home.

When he was twelve, his father remarried. It was just out of nowhere-Evan had barely heard from him, and then all of the sudden he was in Colorado, at a white-tableclothed table in a too-expensive suit with his mother next to him squeezing his arm and fiddling with the royal blue napkin and whispering about how she shouldn’t have taken the time off of work. It wasn’t too long after when the half sister came, tiny and adorable and perfect in every way Evan wasn’t to his father.

At thirteen, his best and only friend started pulling away. He hadn’t realized how many strings he’d attached to Jared before Jared began to snip each one. And then finally, Jared cut the final cord-with a hissed “get away, you fucking freak” that only sounded the smallest bit apologetic-and Evan was left drifting, uncertain and alone. He was thirteen, and everyone had left.

***

She was twelve when her brother started to threaten her. He was thirteen, then, and he hadn’t been quite like her big brother in the years before. But thirteen was quite the change. The fights with their mother turned from harmless spats to all-out war, with no place to hide. He’d bolt up to his room after arguments, and she’d run after him and pound on his door to let her in. He never did, and there were more than a few nights in her 12th year when she fell asleep right outside of his door, knowing the brother she missed was on the other side but not knowing quite how to reach him, especially when he emerged the next morning with a smudge of red leaking out from his sleeve. She’d grab at his sleeve to stop him, to try to see what was wrong, and he’d spin on his heel and grab her wrist. “Let go of me,” he’d say through gritted teeth, grip iron around her arm, eyes shielded under steel. She was twelve, and she was afraid of what would happen if she didn’t.

She was thirteen when her mother stopped asking her how her day was at school. At least before Cynthia would throw a cursory glance at her and ask, maybe not completely understanding but making some effort to talk to her. At thirteen, she’d either skip straight to her room or her mother would latch onto Connor as soon as he walked through the door. She’d try to say something, but Cynthia’s eyes would stay trained on Connor as she hummed absently. Even worse, the two would start screaming in the middle of a sentence. She was thirteen, and she gave up trying to be heard at all.

She was fourteen when her father retreated to their basement, to “clean his baseball things.” It wasn’t like he’d really been around much before, always sucked into work emails and newspapers and anything to avoid eye contact, but then he was physically gone. Zoe wondered whether he was really there at all, or if he slipped out the garage door and left for somewhere. Some part of her wished she was the one doing the second.

At fifteen, Connor threatened to kill her. She was fifteen and he was sixteen and breaking down her door every night to scream at her. She was fifteen and the one last shred of hope she’d held for her brother to still love her was crushed under his fist and the wall next to her head. He’d been gone for a long time, but now it felt more real.

When she was sixteen, Connor killed himself. He’d been gone. Now it was tangible; his body was six feet under ground, far away from the next room over. He still lurked for her, but now it was all in her head. He’d left her, just like everyone else, but she couldn’t seem to shake his ghost from the corners of her eyes.

***

When they met, at 16 and 17, it was no wonder why they connected. We crave human contact; not long-drifted, glassy eyes separated by a plane ride and a glint of glass and a thick layer of dirt and words printed on a page. There’s something quite different in finally finding a pair of eyes that look into yours and don’t look right through them.

It was always being seen, being felt, being heard; all hand holding and gentle kisses pressed to foreheads and soft conversation in cafeterias and glances across the room. They were insufferable to be around, because they rooted to each other like they were afraid the other would be gone if they stopped for a moment; like one too many people had disappeared while their back was turned and now there was no choice but to hold tight and not let go.

They had been all alone, drifting apart from the chaos around them, or was it that they were at the center of the chaos? But all at once, there’s one person who will never leave, who will be there on the other side of a hand squeeze. There’s another person who they know is looking up at the same night sky, and seeing the same stars, and feeling the same cool breeze, and thinking about the same constellations. There’s one person who they know will look at the stars and think of them, no matter what. No matter who else comes and leaves, just like so many before them, there’s that one other person made up from the same long-separated stardust from galaxies old as time and sand that shifts like the air itself, and time and time again they will be there.

Totally not expecting the prologue to be from Connor’s point of view

I thought it was really cool to see Connor’s side of things, in the play it really didn’t tell us much of the reason of why Connor committed suicide (for the reason it was all in Evan’s point of view, nor did he leave an actual note).

The last paragraph shook me. 

Overall, love it so far hah.

Now the thing that everyone's freaking out about (and I have no clue why):

Evans name is Mark. (I pretty much got this spoiled looking at a post on Instagram).

I see no problem with this, there’s a lot of people in this world that go by their middle name- why is this any different? We never really heard much about Evan’s dad in the play, other than the fact he left, lives in Colorado, and has little to no contact with Evan because of how busy he is. In the play, we didn’t NEED to know Evan’s actual name is Mark because it wasn't a big plot point (you can only fit so much into a musical). Some people in the post I read stated something like “Why would the author change his name, who knows what else they changed”- when they don't even realize that the novel was written by the writers of the play. Clearly, this is all canon to the story. I might be missing something, but it seems like everyone is only put off by the fact his name is actually Mark? (message me if I'm missing something- I really don't understand this). If I’m being completely honest, I really like how his names actually Mark and I have no clue why hah. It might just be the fact it adds more to his character. 

The whole paragraph about his initials made me laugh for some reason- Meh and Eh. I approve

Heidi being obsessed with horoscopes- more about her character, its small things like that, for some reason I really like.

I love how there are quite a few of the lines are from the play, and I also really like how a lot of them are different. 

“csxldmrr xsmit ssdegv”

“Damn you, fake Evan Hansen. You really are exhausting”

The whole thing about talking to the delivery person in the play is all internal than external in the book, rather than telling Heidi his opinion on that he just says sorry- don't know why I found it interesting

“Just because I chose to skip dinner one night? I should have just pocketed the money so she wouldn’t have known, but that would be like stealing from her and karma’s a bitch.” I noticed Evan’s inner-monologue is a lot colder than what he actually says.

I thought the map and pins were a really cool detail. The fact that he took all the pins down right after his suicide attempt, besides Colorado just really makes me wonder. 

I reaaaallllly want to know more about Evan’s dad and more detail on why he actually left. 

“I’m trying. It’s not like I’m not trying.”

“So, let’s just keep lying to each other.”

Loved the way it ended

Okay, Overall opinion:

IM SO HYPED.