Negative Optimism

The sun is aggressive. It’s only April, but the light coming through the window of this fourth-floor walk-up is hitting the dust motes like it’s trying to set them on fire. It’s that bright, annoying spring light that makes everything look cheap. My IKEA desk is peeling. The carpet has a stain shaped like Ohio. Everything is visible. You can’t hide a mess when the sun is this honest. I hate it. I prefer the winter when the gray hides the fact that I’m living in a glorified shoebox.

I’m staring at a silver hard drive. It’s sitting on the desk between a half-eaten bagel and a bottle of generic allergy meds. It looks like nothing. A brick of aluminum. But it’s got enough encrypted data on it to make several very important people in the Valley very, very uncomfortable. Or very dead. Or us very rich. The uncertainty is a physical weight in my stomach, like I swallowed a handful of gravel. New beginnings are supposed to feel like a fresh breeze or whatever they put on Pinterest boards. This just feels like a heart attack waiting to happen.

Jane is pacing. She’s wearing a hoodie that’s three sizes too big and leggings with a hole in the knee. She looks like she hasn't slept since the Biden administration. She keeps rubbing her nose because the pollen count is apparently 'lethal' today. Every time she passes the window, she flinches at the brightness. We’re both wired on bad coffee and the realization that we’ve actually done it. We’ve crossed a line that doesn't have a bridge back.

'Stop pacing,' I say. My voice sounds like it’s been dragged through a rock tumbler. 'You’re making the floorboards creak, and the guy downstairs is definitely the type to call the cops over a noise complaint.'

'The guy downstairs is eighty and wears headphones to watch Jeopardy,' Jane shoots back. She doesn't stop. 'I’m pacing because if I sit down, my heart will actually stop. It’s physics, Will. Kinetic energy is keeping me alive right now.'

'That’s not how physics works.'

'Don’t mansplain the laws of the universe to me while we’re sitting on a felony,' she says, finally stopping to glare at me. Her eyes are bloodshot but sharp. 'What’s the move? We’ve been staring at this thing for six hours. The sun is moving. The world is happening. People are out there buying iced lattes and living normal lives, and we’re here waiting for a ghost to tell us what to do.'

'We’re not waiting for a ghost. We’re waiting for the signal to clear,' I say, though I know it sounds weak. 'If we move too fast, they track the ping. We have to let the noise die down.'

'The noise isn't going to die down. It’s going to get louder. It’s going to become a siren.' She leans over the desk, her shadow falling over the drive. 'Do you feel that? That’s the feeling of our lives changing. It’s gross. I thought it would feel like... I don't know, a movie montage. With a cool synth-pop soundtrack. Instead, it just smells like your old gym socks and cheap roast.'

I look at the drive. It’s so small. It’s ridiculous that something this tiny can hold the weight of a 'new life.' I think about what that means. A house where the windows actually shut. A car that doesn't scream when you hit sixty. Maybe a future where I don't have to check my bank app before buying a sandwich. It’s a fragile thought. It feels like a bubble that’s going to pop if I look at it too hard.

'What if we just... didn't?' I ask.

Jane blinks. 'Didn't what? Sell it? Will, we’re past the 'didn't' phase. We’re deep in the 'did.' We are currently in the 'doing.''

'I mean, what if we just trashed it? Threw it in the Hudson. Walked away. Went back to our shitty jobs and our shitty lives. At least we knew how to handle those.'

She laughs, but it’s a jagged, dry sound. 'You want to go back to being a junior dev for a company that makes filters for cat photos? You want to spend another year eating ramen and pretending you’re 'grinding' when you’re actually just drowning? No. Shut up. You’re scared. I’m scared. That’s the point. If it wasn't terrifying, it wouldn't be worth it.'

She’s right, and I hate her for it. I hate how she can see right through the irony I use as a shield. I reach out and touch the drive. It’s cool to the touch. It doesn't feel like power. It feels like an anchor.

'We’re really doing this,' I mutter.

'We’re deadass doing this,' she corrects. She reaches across the desk and grabs my hand. Her palm is sweaty. 'Look, if we die, at least we won't have to worry about our credit scores anymore. Glass half full, right?'

'Your optimism is literally toxic,' I say, but I don't pull my hand away.

The room is silent for a second, except for the hum of the fridge and the distant sound of a siren. Every sound feels like a threat. A bird hits the window and we both jump like we’ve been shot. It’s a pigeon. It looks confused. It flutters away, leaving a tiny smudge on the glass.

'Even the birds are out to get us,' Jane whispers.

'It’s just a bird, Jane.'

'It’s a sign. A sign that the universe thinks we’re idiots.'

'We are idiots. That’s our brand.'

I look back at the screen. The progress bar for the scrub is at 98%. Two percent away from a new beginning. Two percent away from being people who matter. I feel a sudden, sharp urge to close the laptop. To run. To hide in a hole until the sun goes down and stays down. But Jane’s hand is still on mine, and she’s not letting go. She’s shaking, but she’s there.

'Think about the beach,' she says.

'The beach?'

'Yeah. Where we’re going. Somewhere with water that isn't the color of a trash can. Somewhere where nobody knows our names or our social security numbers.'

'I don't even like the beach. I get sunburned in like five minutes.'

'Then we’ll buy you a very expensive umbrella. A designer umbrella. We’ll be those people.'

I try to imagine it. A life without the constant, low-level buzz of anxiety. But the anxiety is all I’ve ever known. It’s my engine. Without it, I’m not sure I’d even know how to breathe. This new possibility is so fragile. It’s a thin sheet of ice over a very deep lake.

'What if the drive is empty?' I ask. 'What if we did all this for a bunch of corrupted files?'

'Then we’ll have a very expensive paperweight and a great story for our cellmates,' she says. She leans in closer. Her face is inches from mine. I can see the tiny flecks of gold in her eyes that the sun is highlighting. She looks beautiful and absolutely insane. 'Will. Trust the process. Or trust me. One of the two.'

'I don't trust the process. The process is a scam.'

'Then trust me.'

I look at her. I look at the drive. I look at the bright, unforgiving spring morning. The progress bar hits 100%. The laptop emits a soft, polite chime. It’s the sound of a door opening. Or a trap snapping shut.

'Okay,' I say. 'Let’s see what’s behind door number one.'

My finger hovers over the trackpad. My heart is beating so hard I can feel it in my throat. This is it. The end of the beginning. Or the beginning of the end.

'Do it,' Jane whispers.

I click the file. The screen flickers. For a second, everything goes black, and my heart drops into my shoes. I think I’ve broken it. I think I’ve killed our only chance. Then, text starts scrolling. Lines and lines of it. Names. Dates. Amounts. It’s all there. The keys to the kingdom. Or the evidence for our execution.

'Holy shit,' Jane says. She’s not sneezing anymore. She’s not even breathing.

'Yeah,' I say. 'Holy shit.'

We sit there for a long time, just watching the data flow. It’s hypnotic. It’s the most beautiful and terrifying thing I’ve ever seen. It’s a new beginning, alright. It’s a landslide. And we’re right in the middle of it.

The sun continues to climb. The room gets hotter. The pollen on the windowsill gathers in thick, yellow drifts. Outside, the world is waking up, unaware that two kids in a shitty apartment just changed the map.

'We should move,' I say, but I don't move.

'Five more minutes,' Jane says. She leans her head on my shoulder. She’s still holding my hand. 'Let’s just stay here for five more minutes before we become different people.'

I nod. I get it. Once we leave this room, the old Will and the old Jane are gone. They’ll be replaced by whoever these new versions are. People with money. People with secrets. People who have to look over their shoulders for the rest of their lives. It’s a lot to take in.

I close my eyes and try to feel the 'excitement' everyone talks about. I don't feel it. I just feel a strange, hollow sort of calm. The kind of calm you get right before a storm hits. It’s not bad. It’s just... new.

A knock sounds at the door.

It’s not the eighty-year-old neighbor. It’s too heavy. Three sharp, professional raps.

Jane freezes. I feel her grip tighten until it hurts. My eyes snap open. The silver drive is still there, glowing in the sunlight. The screen is still scrolling.

'Will,' she whispers.

'I know.'

I reach for the drive, my hand shaking so hard I almost knock over the allergy meds. The knock comes again. Louder this time.

'Open up,' a voice says from the other side. It’s a voice that sounds like it’s never had to check a bank app in its life.

I look at Jane. She looks back at me. The 'new beginning' just got a lot more complicated.

'The window?' she breathes.

'The fire escape is rusted,' I remind her.

'Better a tetanus shot than a bullet.'

She’s right. She’s always right. I grab the laptop and the drive, shoving them into my backpack with zero grace. I grab the bagel, too. I don't know why. Hunger is a weird reflex.

We head for the window. The spring air is fresh and smells like blooming trees and car exhaust. It’s beautiful. It’s terrifying. It’s exactly what we asked for.

I step out onto the metal grating. It groans under my weight, a shrill, metallic scream that probably alerts everyone within a three-block radius. Jane follows, her eyes wide, her face pale. We start to climb down, the sun blinding us, the wind whipping Jane’s oversized hoodie around her like a sail.

'Don't look down,' I say.

'I’m looking at your butt, Will. It’s not that distracting.'

'Witty until the end. I admire the commitment.'

We reach the third floor. Then the second. My palms are raw from the rusted metal. My heart is a drum kit in my chest. We drop the last six feet into the alleyway, landing hard on a pile of discarded cardboard boxes.

'Ow,' Jane grunts.

'Get up. We have to go.'

We scramble to our feet. The alley is narrow and dark, a stark contrast to the blinding street beyond. We’re standing at the edge of everything. One step and we’re in the flow of the city. One step and we’re ghosts.

'Ready?' I ask.

Jane wipes a smudge of grease off her forehead. She takes a deep breath, her chest heaving. She looks at the bright street, then back at me.

'No,' she says. 'Let’s go.'

We step out into the light. The city is a wall of sound and heat. People push past us, annoyed, busy, alive. We blend in. We’re just two more kids in hoodies, lost in the spring. But the backpack is heavy against my spine, a constant reminder of the bridge we just burned.

We walk fast. We don't look back. The uncertainty is still there, but it’s different now. It’s not a weight anymore. It’s a motor.

'Where to?' Jane asks as we hit the subway entrance.

'North,' I say. 'As far as the 1 train takes us.'

'Bet.'

We disappear into the underground, the cool, damp air of the station swallowing us whole. The train is coming. I can feel the vibration in the floor. A new beginning. Fragile. Unpredictable.

And absolutely, terrifyingly real.