Body Surfing

spoke over her.
    “Hey, Q.” She leaned into the space between the two seats. “Maybe you want to head to the Thruway or something, get away from all this traffic?”
    As she leaned back, Jasper looked at her.
    “Hey.”
    The Porsche’s backseat was only slightly wider than a bathroom stall, but a third person could have fit between Jasper and his girlfriend. Michaela made a sound that could have been “Hey” or “Hmph” or “Fuck off, you fucking cheating bastard,” and pulled her hair back over her face.
    Jasper stared at her a moment longer, then looked out the window at the landscape speeding by. He remained lost in his thoughts until he heard his name, and realized Q. had said it several times.
    “Aw, is Jasper mad?”
    Q. had adjusted the rearview mirror so he could look into Jasper’s eyes.
    “Is Jasper giving Q-ball the silent treatment? Maybe Jasper wishes he was in his drunk daddy’s white-trash pickup instead of his sand nigger best friend’s Porsche? Huh? Is that what Jap-Jap is thinking?”
    Jasper smacked the back of Sila’s seat in frustration.
    “Look, man, what’s up? Have you lost your fucking mind? Seriously. You need to tell me what’s going on before I go ape-shit on your ass.”
    Q. reached for the radio. Trippy beats filled the car’s interior. Jasper recognized the song after a moment. DJ Shadow. “Blood on the Motorway.”
    He squirmed forward between the seats. “Q.” he said in a dangerously flat voice. “If you don’t turn that fucking radio off and talk to me, I swear to Christ I will punch in the goddamn console.”
    His hand balled into a fist, but Q. beat him to it. He punched the radio, and in the sudden silence his slightly high-pitched “Mother- fuck !” had a boyish ring to it. “God damn it,” he said, laughing ruefully, shaking his hand.
    “Q., baby,” Sila said, her voice neither gentle nor cold. “You’re bleeding.”
    She reached for his hand, but Q. slapped it away.
    “Don’t touch me, you fucking whore! Don’t fucking—aw, fuck!” Q. punched the console again. “Fuck fuck fuck!” he yelled, punctuating each fuck with another punch. Plastic cracked. Something went flying. When Q. reached up to the rearview mirror, Jasper could see a line of blood snaking down the back of his hand and smearing the thick gold face of his new watch.
    Q. fixed Jasper’s eyes in the mirror.
    “You fucking fucked my girlfriend last night.”
    Jasper thought about telling Q. he hadn’t meant to, that he didn’t even remember it. Somehow he didn’t think that would help. In the silence, Sila whispered, “We didn’t fuck, okay?”
    “Damn, Q.,” Jasper finally said. “I’m sorry, man. Really sorry.”
    “Aw, don’t worry about it, Jasp,” Q. spoke as if all he’d lost was a round of bingo. “You were just acting like it was your last night on earth, right? Nobody wants to die a virgin. I guess my girlfriend’s just easier than yours.”
    “Q.,” Sila said exasperatedly. “We didn’t —”
    “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Q. cut her off. “Whatever, babe, it’s the thought that counts.” He looked back at Jasper, and when he spoke again there was a strangely melancholy note in his voice, as if he were almost sad his best friend and girlfriend hadn’t actually hooked up. “Sil tells me you passed out before anything could happen. Normally I’d be insulted on her behalf, but considering the circumstances I guess I should say thanks for following in your old man’s drunken footsteps.”
    The car was approaching the tollbooth to the Rip Van Winkle Bridge. The Hudson rolled lazily in the moonlight, rent here and there by the wake of a late fisherman heading in for the night.The dark water reflected the white fishhook of the moon so sharply that Jasper felt he was racing high in the sky, the earth receding below him like a pebble dropped into the infinite ocean of space.
    “Hey, why don’t you stop at that Stewart’s where Jarhead works? He’ll sell us another six, we can park somewhere, get buzzed, what do you say?” Jasper didn’t mention that Jarhead was probably still drunk on his dad’s property on the other side of the river. If he could get Q. to stop the car, he’d call up Michaela’s dad. Mr. Szarko would come pick them up, no questions asked. He was good about that kind of thing.
    Jasper could see his friend’s eyes sharpen in the mirror. “Nah. I don’t feel like getting drunk.” He had to wipe blood off the face of the