The Exodus

            Her fingers tapped lightly against the side of her wine glass. Rachel took a deep breath and tried to focus on the words coming out of his mouth. He was telling her all about his new startup, the intricacies of which she could have sworn she had heard before. His eyes were filled with that familiar fever, his gaze was intent and sincere. Rachel kept her mouth in a pleasant smile. She was painfully aware of the chair digging into her thighs. They were in one of those bars that she usually tried to avoid. The wall decorations were ostentatiously trendy and the lighting ever-so-slightly flickered. She had wanted to come here with an open mind, but the sour red liquid on the back of her tongue pushed her to consider the surroundings with a harsher eye.

Rachel was listening for an opening to politely change the subject. Then she heard him utter the words, “. . . it’s going to change the world,” and she let out an involuntary snicker.

            “What?” he said, his lips folding into a startled frown.

            Her hand found her mouth and she shook her head quickly. “Nothing,” she said. “It’s nothing.”

            His brown eyes seemed to grow darker. “No, really,” he said, “did I say something funny?”

            Rachel tilted her head to the side. “Seriously, it’s not important.”

            He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t care. Let’s hear it.”

            “It’s just . . . I’ve heard that phrase before.”

            He blinked. “What phrase?”

            “’It’s going to change the world,’” she said. “I’ve heard it a lot.”

            His frown deepened. “So, what are you saying? I don’t know what I’m talking about?      “No, that’s not—“

            “Because I think, of the two of us, I probably know more about this industry than you do.”

            She leaned back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

            “It means I’m the one with the engineering degree.”

            She sighed. “Yeah?” she said, draining the rest of her glass.

            He took her response as a sign she was backing off. “Yeah,” he said, a satisfied expression growing around the corners of his eyes.

            “Look, I’m not denying what you studied or that you worked hard in school,” she said, lowering her eyes to the grooves in the table, “I just think there’re some things you have to live here for a few years to figure out.”

            “How would you know? How old are you? Twenty-four?”

            She shrugged. “I just said I’ve heard it before.”

            “Oh, you have? In all your numerous life experiences?”

            Rachel reached up and itched the side of her neck. “I’m sorry I laughed and offended you,” she said, “but there’s no need to get nasty.”

            He rolled his eyes. “Okay.”

            They stared at each other. She stood up. “I think I’m going to take off,” she said, curling her fingers around her empty glass. “See you around.”

            “That’s it?” he said.

            The confused expression on his face made her smile. “Yeah. What did you think was going to happen?”

            “I don’t know . . . I thought, you know, maybe we’d end up going back to my place . . .”

            She laughed. “Sorry, bro, I’m no longer interested in sleeping with you.”

            “Bitch,” Rachel heard him mutter under his breath as she walked away. She kicked one of the legs of his stool.

            In her rush to leave, Rachel pulled her jacket on over the strap of her bag. She tucked her hands in her armpits and walked out onto the street. Growing up in the center of the tech industry wasn’t necessarily a bad thing; on the contrary, it had provided her with a number of opportunities that she knew she wouldn’t have had anywhere else. The dating scene, though, that was something different. 20+ years of watching her father move from startup to startup had made her cynical, and it was hard to hide. But in the multitude of hopeful ladder climbers she had dated, not one had welcomed her input on the subject. If it wasn’t a code monkey, it was a corporate guy who swore he was five years out from becoming a major player, or a graduate student who would save the world just as soon as he finished his ivy league degree. Every one of them insisted they knew better than her, and wouldn’t waste any time telling her so. It was a problem she had grown up with, but had never grown out of.

            Maybe the issue was with her, but she didn’t know how to help that.

            She waited until the walk sign flashed before stepping out into the road. Five steps in, a Prius came to a sudden stop inches from her left leg. Rachel slapped the hood of it and raised her hands in mock anger. The driver shrugged and shrunk back into his seat. She kept walking and pulled the sides of her jacket close, keeping herself warm against the temperate weather.

            She was walking quickly towards the train station. When Rachel crossed the pedestrian bridge to her side of the tracks, she watched the early train pull in. Just in time. Rachel took a jog step towards it.

            She forgot about the slight heel on the back of her shoe and tripped over it. Her other foot came down to support her, but her ankle was too weak. Rachel fell to her knees, catching herself with her hands. She felt a jarring sting on her palms, but jumped right back up. Carefully running towards the open doors on the balls of her feet, Rachel made it onto the train. She teetered back and forth and took a deep breath. Then she looked down and realized there was a small stream of blood flowing freely from a scrape on her knee. Perfect.

~

            The blood had formed a sticky pool in her shoe by the time she reached the house. It was a small three-bedroom in a suspiciously swanky part of town. She and her roommates had snatched it up as soon as they had heard the landlord was offering cheap rent to tenants for the months leading up to the house’s demolition. Two of its window frames were starting to fall off and its outer roof tiles formed uneven patterns, but Rachel like the house for its character. She pushed open the unlocked front door.

            “Rachel?” a voice called from within. “What happened? Why are you back so early?” She closed the door behind her. Her roommate, Carla, appeared from around the corner, clutching a mug of peppermint tea. “Oh shit,” she said, “what happened to your knee?”

            “Girl,” Rachel said, “the date was a bust. Same old, same old. ‘I have the idea of the future and what would you know about it?’ I left early and fell running to the train.” She took off her jacket and threw it on one of the side tables by the door.

            “Yikes, I’m sorry,” Carla said.

            “It’s okay,” Rachel said. She stretched her arms up.

            Carla smirked. “Did you have to hide in the bathroom again?”

            Rachel threw her hands out to her sides. “I actually didn’t have time to buy a ticket, okay?” Then she laughed. “This night . . .” she said.

            “It’ll be fine,” Carla said. “We’ll open a bottle of red wine and forget all about it.” Rachel stared at the tea in her friend’s hands. “What?” Carla said. “I can drink both.”

            Rachel laughed again. “Whatever,” she said.

            They walked into their living room. Emma, their other roommate, was huddled on the couch with a blanket thrown around her shoulders.

            “Hey girl,” Rachel said, “how are you doing?”

            Emma shrugged and tucked her chin into her arms. Rachel glanced at Carla, who rolled her eyes. Rachel set her lips in a line.

            “Do you want to talk about it any more?” Rachel asked, knowing what the answer would be.

            Emma sighed loudly. “I don’t know how I can,” she said.

            “Okay,” Rachel said, “well in that case—“

            “It’s just that I’m so sick of the disappointment,” Emma said. “I’m sick of getting my hopes up and having them crushed in the mud.”

            “Yeah,” Rachel said. “That’s hard.” She heard the pop of a wine cork. Carla wasn’t wasting any time. “But, you know, there will be other competitions.”

            “I know, but I’m so sick of it!” Emma said. “When will it be my turn? I submitted my best story and nothing.”

            “That happens, though,” Rachel said. “You know that happens.”

            “Why does it have to keep happening to me, though?” Emma said, and leaned her head on the side of the couch.

            Carla pushed a wine glass into Rachel’s hand. “Why don’t you show them by working through it?” Carla said. “You should be using this rejection to push your writing even further.”

            Emma’s expression soured. “You act like I haven’t been working.”

            Carla put her hands up in front of her. “I didn’t say that—“
            Emma threw the blanket back onto the couch and marched off to her room. “I’m doing the best I can, goddamnit!” she yelled over her shoulder. Carla and Rachel looked at each other. Then they both started laughing.

            “Stop it!” Rachel said through giggles. “She’ll hear you!”

            Carla drained her wine glass. “So what? She’s being ridiculous. She’ll figure that out.”

            Rachel rolled her eyes. She flopped on the couch and pulled her knees to her chest. She cradled her wine against her legs and took out her phone. She automatically loaded the dating app and started swiping through guys. Carla saw what she was doing and snickered. “Looking for a repeat of tonight?” she asked.

            Rachel looked up. “It’s a numbers game,” she said, and looked back down.

            Carla sat down on the couch across from Rachel and turned the TV on. A few peaceful moments passed. Then they heard Emma scream. Rachel shot Carla a look that said, “This is a real thing, right?” and Carla shrugged. Rachel got up and ran to Emma’s room.

            “What is it?” Rachel asked. “What’s going on?”

            Emma was gripping her hair at the roots with one hand and clutching her phone with the other. Her mouth formed words again and again. “There was another one,” she said. “Someone we went to high school with.”

            Rachel felt her body go numb as the information seeped into her brain. She grabbed the doorframe at her side and rested her forehead against it. “Who?” she said.

            “This girl,” Emma said, “Jasmine. I had a math class with her sophomore year. I can’t . . .” Her head tipped forward into her hands.

            Rachel felt the pressure build behind her face. She pressed at it gently and tried to take a deep breath, but it came out ragged. She sank to the floor. “Why does this keep happening?” she asked.

            Emma shook her head. “She was about to graduate from college,” she said. “I don’t . . . what the fuck is wrong with this area?”

            Rachel stared at the carpet and swallowed. She heard Carla’s steps come up behind her and looked. When Carla saw her sturdy roommate sitting on the ground, she took a deep breath. “Is it bad?” she asked.

            “Another train suicide,” Rachel said. “This makes it three in the last month.”

            Carla closed her eyes and nodded. Then she turned around and walked back to the living room.

            “What the hell?” Emma said, gesturing at the hallway.

            “What?” Rachel said.

            “What was that reaction?” she looked at Rachel and her eyes filled with tears. “How can she just accept it like that?” A tear streamed down each cheek.

            Rachel sighed. “We all have our ways of dealing with things,” she said. “Carla’s isn’t as . . . vocal as yours.”

            Emma stared at her. “I’m sorry I care that someone’s dead! Think about her family!” she yelled.

            “We all care, Emma. Truly, we do,” Rachel tried to think through what she was going to say, but the words stumbled out wrong anyway. “There have been so many, though, and nothing about the situation has changed.”

            “That’s heartless, Rachel,” Emma said, wiping the tears from her face.

            “I’m sorry, I don’t mean it to be,” she crossed her legs in front of her. “I’m sorry that Jasmine . . . I’m sorry for her and I’m sorry for her family. But I’m tired of everyone caring the day after it happens and then putting it away as though nothing . . .” Rachel was starting to get a headache. She massaged her forehead as Emma waited for her to continue. “This whole town is fucked. Our attitude towards mental illness, all this ‘academic perfection’ bullshit. We’ve set up an environment where kids do their best and still fail repeatedly. It needs to change, but . . . I don’t know how it will.”

            She looked up. Emma was crying again. Rachel wanted to go sit on her bed and put her arms around her. Instead, she sat there on the floor and watched the devastation run through her friend. Rachel felt the rumbling of the train beneath her, she heard the whine of its horns as it tore through the night. The assault of the cold air rushed over her as she left the warm train compartment, as she unwittingly walked away from the end of another girl’s existence.

~

            Five nights later, she sat in a bar again. Across from her was a guy she had met online, his brown hair sticking up in the back. She wanted to reach across and push it down, then beg him for something, anything more authentic then what she had been getting. But his eyes burned with the fever of the newly initiated and his hands twitched on the table as he talked. She was filled with the urge to tell him to leave, to get out before this place changed him. Everyone was hiding from each other, and didn’t realize it until their loved ones disappeared. And then they all went through a collective amnesia, putting away death as if it didn’t directly impact them. It happened, again and again. It was toxic in a way she couldn’t explain, and yet she had to. She leaned forward.

            And then she heard it. His five year plan, his ideas that would put him on top of the tech industry. His empty promises of success, and the outlook he had collected from the long lines of white men before him. He was here, and he wasn’t. He was covered by the dream that filled them all up and broke their hearts. And Rachel didn’t know what to say about that anymore.

            Her fingers tapped against her wine glass, empty this time.