Disclaimer: Still don't.

Note: This is my very, very belated response to HedgehogQuill's Riff/Maria challenge, with thanks for the two extensions granted and apologies that it took so long. I would highly recommend that you read her own response; it's truly incredible.

Thanks: HedgehogQuill for the challenge. Would not exist otherwise. :)

—viennacantabile

passing

.

And this of opalescent porcelain
is a shallow fragile china cup
full of tiny shining butterflies—

—Rainer Maria Rilke, "The Bowl of Roses"

.

If he squints his eyes and pretends really hard, Riff can sort of see why Tony likes the PR girl.

Not that he does, of course. Riff's only trying to figure this out because he needs to come up with some way to get his buddy's head out of the clouds and back with the Jets, where it belongs. And, as Riff has learned over the years, the best way to do this is to get into Tony's head and figure out what he's thinking.

This is not hard. Riff and Tony have been the Dynamic Duo of West Side for long enough that Riff can read Tony's mind like a book. Better than most books, actually, if he's being totally honest, because school? Who gives a flying fuck, when you've got the Jets? Tony never has; at least, not until recently. Riff would know. He's been following Tony's lead all of his life, and by this time it is easy enough to step into his buddy's shoes for a minute and see what, exactly, it is about this Puerto Rican girl that has made Tony moon around like an idiot.

She isn't Riff's type of course; he'd never go for a PR girl, much less Bernardo's skinny little sister. He has to admit, though, that she is awfully pretty. Worth the headache Riff's going through right now? Who knows. But then, it isn't so much knowing what the problem is, it's that usually the solution to whatever's making Tony's head tick like some time bomb doesn't involve more than a good fistfight or a rumble, and in this case, Riff isn't exactly sure that'll work, especially since Tony's the one who went to all the trouble to make it a fair fight.

Again: worth it? Only Tony knows. Which means, Riff thinks with a sigh as he traces the alleys of the night over and over again, that he has to, too. Riff isn't good with this emotional stuff; he's not like certain soppy whipped boyfriends he could mention who bend over backward to make damn sure their girls are happy as clams and make certain Jet leaders look bad in comparison. Tony never used to be like that, either. But then, Riff supposes, Tony never saw a girl he liked before tonight…

In all fairness, this PR girl is different—unlike any of the Jet girls or even the PR girls he's seen around. She's definitely nothing like Graziella, who makes up for her clinginess and loud voice with the same enthusiasm in bed, and she's no coolly confident Velma or good-for-the-one-thing Pauline. No, Bernardo's sister is delicate and pretty and reminds him of this white rose Tony's ma had once on the windowsill. Mrs. Wyzek watered it and fed it and really, she loved the goddamn thing almost as much as she loved Tony and Riff. Which was a lot. Still is.

But in any case, Riff, although he never was into sissy things like flowers, thought it was pretty. Even beautiful, not that he'd ever have admitted it. There was just something about it that day he came back and the sun was shining in the window at just the right angle and hell if Riff didn't see that rose glowing. Riff's never believed in God, but he almost did for a second, right then and there. Just for a second, because he couldn't see how such a fucked-up world could make something that was so open, so innocent, even; there had to be something else out there that made this small thing that let the light through it for all the world to see like there was no such thing as hurt or pain or fear or uncles who beat you and mothers who left you and fathers you never even knew—

And then he went into the kitchen to find some cake and grab Tony and get the hell out of there and beat on some Hawks, so he could remember who he was again.

It died, of course. It drooped and faded and withered, just like Riff knew it would. He'd tried to warn Mrs. Wyzek when he'd seen her talking to it—Jesus Christ, he hadn't known people actually did that—because Riff, of all people, knew that things like that never last very long, least of all on West Side, but she just looked at him and asked him, Ralph, dear, don't you think it's beautiful enough now?

I guess, he shrugged, but it's still gonna die.

She'd just given him that smile and hugged him and said, Of course it will die. That is why it is beautiful.

Riff couldn't quite come up with an answer then, and he's still not sure he has one now.

The thing is, Riff has to think, he's never really been in love. Graz thinks he loves her, and he guesses in some funny kind of way he maybe does, but he has never met anything or anyone who hasn't held some kind of expiration date for him. There is no point to hanging everything on just the one thing, if it's just going to be gone in the end. Even Tony…

But this girl, Riff thinks, she's maybe a little different. He could maybe learn to love her. He could maybe ignore the fact that nothing ever lasts and nothing ever turns out like in the movies and even if he wants to live forever, he never will. Love doesn't conquer all; the rose always dies. That is how it ends in real life. The idea of Bernardo's sister exists in a dream world, and for Riff to cross over into that fantasy he'd have to be someone else, who's never known how really fucked-up life was and is and will be. Someone like Tony.

And there's the long and short of it, where he's been heading all along. Being Tony, understanding why the hell he'd turn his back on his buddies, his family to go chase after some girl who looks like she is fragile enough to break. Who might break, or break him, not that Riff's ever known what that feels like from a girl, but it scares him enough so that he wants to save his best friend in the whole world. Womb to tomb, birth to earth. We're in this together, buddy, thinks Riff, almost resignedly, as he finally turns his footsteps back to the brownstone that has been his home for the last four years, and even though he's still going to take care of the Sharks, who knows? Maybe Riff can figure out what it is to be so head over heels for some dame that anything in the world seems possible; he can catch the moon, he can hold the sky, he can live forever. Maybe loving a girl with the wrong skin color and the wrong accent and the wrong name isn't so impossible, after all (hell, if Tony can do it, so can Riff, right?). Maria. Beautiful. Even Riff, passing through the night, has to admit it.

Not that he does, or ever could. It's just a thought, that's all.

.

.end.