Passenger

“You’re a fucking liar, Qui

I slashed at him with the knife.

Qui

As my arm swiped past him, Qui

The fucker bit my arm, and I heard the chink of the broken lens when it hit the ground in front of Qui

The next thing I knew, the entire cavern lit up with a fierce blue light.

Qui

He spun around and around, waving the glasses out through the dark, where we could both clearly see them.

Part Four

THE PASSENGER

twenty

Welcome to another not-world, Jack.

I hear Qui

Open your eyes.

Open your eyes, Jack.

Just screams.

And dark.

I fall.

*   *   *

The water is cold and salty. It stings my eyes and I am held under by white pillows of foam. I hit the bottom, feel my fingers digging into the familiar grit of sand, coil my legs, and push up toward the light.

When my head breaks the surface, I have one thought: blue.

The sky is blue.

This is it.

*   *   *

My surfboard’s leash had come unfastened.

Co

I kicked, took in a deep breath of misty air, and looked back at the face of the wave rising behind me. Co

Co

There is just this moment when your surfboard bites into the wave.

Co

The Cayucos Pier was our favorite place to surf.

The break here wasn’t that good, but no place needed to be better than this when Co

This was the most beautiful and perfect thing I have ever seen.

This is it.

I want this to be it forever.

I heard my friend whoop and howl as the wall of whitewash came toppling over me and pressed me down again.

I flattened out and kicked toward the shore, stumbling in the shallows to retrieve my board, which had come to rest on a tangle of rust-colored kelp in the shadow of the pier.

Co

I imagined his playful irritation at Jack for always fucking up and losing his board. He came out of the water two hundred feet down the beach from me and headed up to the warmth of the sand where we’d left our things.

It was always like this.

It all seemed perfect.

Our clothes and backpacks rested atop the same towels we always used: Co

This is it.

My clothes.

Co

Everything was right.

Perfect.

I had no idea how we’d gotten to Cayucos, and I didn’t care.

I was not going to say anything to fuck things up again. I was not going to check my cell phone, or ask Co

Clack clack, clack clack.

Above us on the beach, two boys were playing with lacrosse sticks, just fucking around, testing each other.

Clack clack, clack clack.

I glanced at them, thought I knew them, but I didn’t want to see. I looked away.

I didn’t care about anything except being here with Co

This is it.

Co

I dropped my board and sat down next to him.

“I am so happy to be here,” I said.

Clack clack, clack clack.

Co

“Dude. One of these days you are going to fucking die out there losing your board.”

“Shit.”

Co

“Did you see that last one I caught?”

He looked perfect. This had to be it.

“Sweet ride, Con.”

“Shit yeah.”

I was not going to say anything to fuck things up. Being here was too good.

Co

He looked down along the length of the beach. I could tell Co

Clack clack, clack clack.

And Co

“Dude. Numbnuts. Right hand red.”

“Huh?”

Co

I hadn’t felt it at all. Where my hand pressed down into my towel, there was a pool of blood seeping out between my fingers.

Co

“Shit. You must have got skegged or something.”

I felt sick, drained.

Clack clack, clack clack.

Drip.

Drip.

“You need to get stitches, dude. It’s fucking bad.”

Co

I did not want to leave.

Clack clack, clack clack.

My blood was all over Co

Drip.

Co

I was being emptied out onto a goddamned Twister game towel.

This had to be it.

I said, “Con, this is home, right?”

Co

“Dude. Just hold that shut. I’m going to put the shit in your truck, then I’ll drive you.”

He started to gather up the boards and our packs.

Zip.

Co

Clack clack, clack clack.

“Why can’t we stay here?”

“Dude. You are fucked up.”

I turned my head to look back at Co

I did not want to look at the kids playing lacrosse on the beach behind us.

Co

He pulled the glasses from my pack.

Time to go, Jack.

Open your eyes.

*   *   *

There is a tired dampness between my legs, and I am pressed up against a wall.

Cool wood. It shines like the dashboard insets in that fucking cop’s car.

But this is not here.

The world rocks gently; I hear a clack clack, clack clack of train wheels below me.

I am lying naked under a single sheet, heavy with warmth, sweat, gasped exhalations, and I feel the tickling, the bristle of the girl’s pubic hairs against the skin of my butt as she presses her body into mine. I smell her, play with her sleeping fingers in front of me, in the dim space between my chest and the shuddering wall that flashes light-gray-light-gray-light-gray; the shadows of things that pass outside the window.

I unfold her perfect hand to put the tips of her first two fingers just inside my lips and lick.

I taste her.

There is no screaming here, no words, only the sound of the train wheels, the rocking, the sallow pulse of light, me, and Nickie.

This is the world.

This is not the world.

Marbury.

This is the train to Grove.

Nickie puts her mouth on a place between my neck and shoulder. I hear it when she inhales; she is smelling me, and I feel the warmth of her breath on my skin.