Riff felt an amazing sense of relief when Tony showed up right as the rumble was starting. Well it was relief that is until Tony started spouting out his wholesome "thatta boy" holier than thou new take on life. The life that Riff had no idea how to relate to. Hell, if Riff didn't know any better by the way Tony was acting at the start of the rumble was like he was trying to romance Bernardo. Talking to him all sweet, telling him they probably could be friends if they just "heard one another out". Going on and on about how all how all this fighting "wasn't worthed". That someone was "gonna get hurt". That this whole thing "had gone too far."
After listening to Tony embarrass himself for what seemed like forever, at some point Riff had enough. Not only were Tony's pleas for peace falling on deaf ears, but the Sharks were all mocking him; laughing at him, saying things in Spanish Riff didn't understand, but knew weren't compliments. With every taunting kiss blown in Tony's direction, Riff could feel his own temper beginning to build. Even though he and Tony admittedly weren't on the best of terms, it still pissed Riff off. It was when Bernardo threw a punch, nailing Tony right in the nose did Riff finally snap. No one, fucking no one, disrepects Tony like that. So, before he even knew what he was doing, Riff got in between the two, shoving Tony out of the way and nailing Bernardo right in the face with his own fist.
Truth be told, Riff knew that if it really came down to a showdown between him and Bernardo, he'd lose. As much as he hated to admit it. The guy was a trained boxer for god sakes. And even though Riff was taller, he was scrawnier. Bernardo had him by at least ten pounds and he was a fucking bull when it came to throwing blows. Riff had certainly walked away swollen and sore enough times from a simple playground scuffle to know that.
After a few well placed punches on both sides, things shifted. It was hard to remember who really pulled the knife first. Maybe it was both of them at the same time. Riff wasn't too sure. He just knows one minute he's standing off to the sidelines, telling Tony to shut up, and the next he and Bernardo are circling each other with their blades, the hate palpitating between them, like his own erratic heartbeat.
Riff knew that what happened next had been an accident. He even knew as it happened Bernardo didn't mean it. Even with the amount of hate that was brewing on both sides, he knew that no one was actually supposed to get seriously hurt. Or at least not life changing hurt.
Maybe it was his fault what happened. If his old man taught him anything, besides learning to take a beating like a man, it was never turn your back on a fight. And, like usual, Riff had fucked up and done exactly that. He'd turned to shove at Tony, who was trying to pull him away from Bernardo, ordering the Jets to hold him. That's when he heard Action scream his name, fear and panic evident in his voice. But by then it was too late. He'd already felt the knife, Bernardo's fucking sharp ass knife, go straight into his back.
Immediately, Riff felt his legs go out from under him. It was like his lower half of his body was no longer connected with his upper half. Everything kinda got hazy after that. He remembers hearing Tony's scream, catching him, as Riff collapsed into his arms. He remembers Tony laying him down on the ground, and Tony's tears running down his face onto his own. He remembers thinking Tony hardly ever cried and why the hell was he doing it now in the middle of a fucking winner-take-all brawl. He remembers Tony being hysterical, sounding almost animalistic as he told Riff over and over again he'd be okay; all but ordering him to hang on. Then he remembers Tony getting that dangerous look in his eyes. The look he had right before he beat the shit out of that kid from the Egyptian Kings. The one that got him sent upstate for a year. He remembers Tony getting up and leaving him. He remembers the sound of Bernardo's "umph" as Tony knocked him to the ground. The sound of fists hitting flesh, connecting perfectly and methodically. He remembers hearing yelling, both from his guys and Bernardos. He remembers the sound of sirens. Then, he remembers everything going black.
Riff always figured he'd die young. In fact, he all but counted on it. He assumed most people who grew up the way he did, surviving in the unforgiving streets of the upper West SIde all kinda did. To him, it kinda seemed impossible to lay in bed at night disremembering all the shit he saw on a particular day. It was especially hard not to remember the violence when you could feel yourself turn violent as a result.
Most days it was just a given that dying was right around the corner. Even though no one ever really talked about it, there was just an acceptance that the next rumble, fight, taking a walk in broad fucking daylight could be your last. So to Riff, dying young was just assumed. It was this whole night follows day and day follows night type of thinking. Riff seen enough violence, heard enough stories and even knew someone who knew someone who died in the streets to know dying young was probably inevitable.
Hell it's one of Krupke's favorite subjects. The man's always whining away how RIff and "his guys", the Jets should choose a new way of living. Good old Krupke's hit-it-outta-the-park take home-message was always all about how the kids who he's known, who he watched grow up, fighting for a piece of turf, were the same kid's funerals he's attended. Riff was pretty convinced the guy lives off the hopes and dreams that maybe one day he'll finally connect with all of their "juvenile delinquent brains' ' and make them into upstanding citizens. Even now, Riff had to laugh at that. There was no chance of him, or any of the rest of them ever being upstanding citizens. Hell, he didn't even know what that meant. He simply just accepted that his and the others paths, and for the most part their graves, were dug since the day they were all born.
Riff had even thought about his own death from time to time. He'd always imagined himself going out in a blaze of glory, his guys surrounding him, pleading with him to hang on, telling him that they needed him to carry on. He'd be like a fuckin king. His dying would be tragic and beautiful and all that other shit. Riff was definitely sold on the whole respectful-"going hero-standing by what you believe in in your own arena" type idea.
What Riff hadn't counted on was the idea of there being different types of death. That dying sometimes didn't mean actually dying. Sometimes it meant giving up a piece of you that was so big, so major that you actually lose yourself in it.
Hell, after what happened, Riff was definitely lost alright.
He'd woken up in the hospital, feeling all sorts of funny and confused. At first, he had no idea what he was doing there or what had happened. It was only when he started to scan his surroundings and saw Tony sitting next to him, his head buried in his hands, did everything come rushing back.
The rumble.
The knife fight.
Tony freaking the fuck out.
It was then that Tony looked up at him, his eyes growing wide, then filling with what Riff could only describe as relief.
"Riff!" Tony breathed his name back at him like Tony's been waiting ages just to say it, "You're awake. Thank god. You're awake."
"Course I am." Riff almost laughed. Tony was acting like waking up was a fucking achievement. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"You've been out cold for a week." Tony shifted in his chair. He looked like he wanted to reach out and hug him, but then thought better of it and settled back down. "The docs said it was from all the pain pills they were pumping you with, but I just….I couldn't….I just needed…me and the guys just needed you to open your eyes and see for ourselves."
"Yeah, well I'm a regular one man wonder." Riff offered Tony a grin, before he settled down into business. "So did we win?"
Tony shook his head, "Things got broken up pretty fast after you…well after you got hurt. The cops came and everyone ran in different directions.
"Anyone get pinched?"
"No." Tony shook his head, "And everyones laying low. The story we're all saying is there was no rumble. That we didn't make it that far. That you and I got jumped by these random guys before anything could really start."
"And the cops are buying that?" Riff almost laughed. What a bunch of idiots.
"Seems to be the case." Tony ran his tongue over his lips.
"Well, we gotta go again." Riff shrugged, "It aint like the Puerto Ricans are going anywhere."
"Riff." Tony's voice changed. He sounded like Riff had never heard him sound before. Like he had the weight of the whole god damn world on his shoulders with no hopes of getting rid of it. "About the fight…" Tony reached out and slipped his hand in Riff's, making him flinch slightly. It wasn't like Tony to be so gentle with him. "Damn, this is hard." Tony, bit his lip, looking up at the lights, "I asked the doctors if I could be the one to tell you….I just…I….fuck." Tony took his hand out of Riffs and sat on the bed, turning away from him. "Listen, I just gotta say it fast, okay. I practiced what I wanted to say and how I wanted to tell you, but now. Well, now I just gotta say it."
"Alright." Riff tried to pull himself up, shift so that he could see Tony better, when it suddenly clicked what Tony was trying to tell him.
His legs.
He couldn't feel his damn legs.
"Bernardo's knife….well, the way…the way he stabbed you…The doctors say that it ended up hitting your spine." Tony turned to face him, his face streaked with tears, "They say you're paralyzed, Riff.
