Dana Reva De Greff
Uli lived with his tío Victor in a duplex near calle ocho in a neighborhood that never shut up, whose lawns were littered with plastic toys, kitchen appliances, and wild roosters, a place where there were a million smells and distractions. Because we were boys, we didn’t talk about anything real, but I recognized the anger in his eyes. All it took was one shared blunt in the freezer of Miami’s Best Pizza to create a routine: I’d take him home after work, he’d change into a guayabera and smoke me out with shitty weed bought for less than a six-pack. When we were both faded, we’d stumble across the street to Casa Lario’s, order ice-cold Maltas, ham croquetas, and yucca fries with extra mojo sauce from waitresses with busted teeth and frayed apron strings lost in the folds of their fat bodies. They’d fluff my Jewfro with their plastic nails, cursing my good luck, asking if I wanted to meet their little hijitas. I’d respond in shameful Spanish, exaggerating the dumbass white-boy accent just to hear them laugh. They called me el gringo guapo, but they never looked at me the way they looked at Uli—like he belonged to them, like he was somebody’s son.
~
We were both juniors at Palmetto High School. I’m not sure how Uli got in—it was out of his district—but rumor had it tío Victor was fucking the principal. Either way, he stuck out amongst the sea of white, and together we formed a clan of misfits: the scholarship kids; the addicts; the musicians. Uli was our lone ex-gang member, so he was rightfully king. Before long we had a reputation for throwing the best parties, having the illest girls, lighting up before class, and sneaking out at lunch to screw in the parking lot or underneath the bleachers in the gym.
One day during winter break of our senior year, I found Uli sitting on the porch of his house, his right hand wrapped in gauze. It was cold for Miami, maybe 60 degrees out, but he wasn’t wearing a shirt. I sat on the folding chair next to him and held out a grease-stained bag of empanadas.
“What happened to your hand?” I asked.
“I punched a mirror,” he said.
“Is it bad?”
He removed the gauze to show me his knuckles, still bleeding and twice their normal size.
“Dude, that looks like shit,” I said.
“I know. Rosie dumped me,” he said, fingering the chain around his neck. Next to the gold cross his kid sister had given him before he left Managua was a tiny gold band, a gift from Rosie.
“Why?” I asked. Rosie was beautiful, one of those girls with a perfect ass and short, black hair that showed off her deep-set eyes. I’d always been jealous that Uli had her.
“Because she found someone else, hermano. She found Ed.” He pulled out a baggie of weed from his pocket. “I’m surprised Kate didn’t tell you.”
“Ed, the busboy Ed?”
Uli nodded and rolled a joint, moving the paper quickly between the fingers of his good hand. “And she wants her ring back.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah, shit,” he agreed. “If you give someone a gift, then it’s not yours anymore. Simple as that.” He paused and took a hit. “That’s the problem with women. They change their minds all the damn time. I need to get away from Miami. Let’s drive out somewhere, forget all this pussy drama.”
“Maybe,” I said.
“Come on, you don’t want a break from your ball and chain?”
“It’s not that.”
He took an empanada out of the bag, put the whole thing in his mouth and carefully brushed the crumbs off his chest. “You got something better to do?”
“I was going to check out some colleges in New York,” I said. “You could come.”
Uli slid Rosie’s ring up and down his chain like a zipper. “I don’t need to do that,” he said. “What’s to see?”
“Not to see, bro—to do. Hot New York ass.”
He laughed, passed me the joint. “Speaking of hot, I’m finally getting some new ink. My boy said he’d give me a good price. Could probably give you one, too.”
“I can’t get a tattoo,” I said.
Uli sucked at his teeth. “What, because of the Torah? Bitch, you told me all that was bullshit.”
“If I showed up with ink, my family would go on for hours about the camps, disown me, start crying and shit,” I said.
“Yo, tranquilo,” Uli said. “I get it. Why do you think my family sent me here, huh? Cause they’re proud of me?” He flicked the roach into the bushes. “Anyway, I’m going tomorrow.”
“You need a ride?” I asked.
“As always,” he said.
~
The next night we were at Gabe’s Tattoo Shop in Little Haiti. As soon as I parked, a junkie appeared out of the shadows, offering to watch the car for a dollar, staring at me with one good eye, the other swollen shut. I gave him a dollar and the guy bowed at the waist like a black monk, like the offering wasn’t for him, but something higher.
“Fucking sad ass shit,” Uli muttered and walked into the shop. “Why do you give those people money?”
“Whatever,” I said, looking around the lobby. It was filled with plastic chairs, plastic plants, and books filled with laminated pages of designs. In the back I heard the buzz of the tattoo gun.
We sat down and Uli was quiet for a moment, looking off to the side, then he leaned forward, speaking in a low voice.
“I had an epiphany last night, man. From now on, I’m only going to date ugly chicks. That was the problem all along with Rosie. She’s too hot and everyone wants to fuck her. It’s too much work to not be jealous. I need to be with someone like Kate.”
“Kate’s hot,” I said.
“Her body’s all right,” he said, “but she’s got that Russian face.”
“At least my girl doesn’t fuck around. And I can guarantee you that if you were still with Rosie, you wouldn’t be here, ‘cause you were pussy whipped.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Hermano, you’re scared your mom will tear your ass up if you get ink.”
“And your mom wouldn’t? I heard Nica women hit harder than Jews.”
“Please. She had a fucking fiesta when I left, finally getting rid of me.”
“What about your dad?” I asked.
“What about yours?”
“That bitch is more gay than you are,” I said.
Uli frowned, but just for a second, then he threw his head back and started laughing. He kept laughing, long and hard and high-pitched like a girl, and I joined in until we were both doubled over, crying and clutching our stomachs.
A short man with a shaved head walked into the lobby and we stood, catching our breath. Uli moved to him and they embraced.
“Who’s this?” he asked, pointing at me.
“Julio, this is Max,” Uli said. “The most jodido cracker you’ll ever meet.”
“Who’s going first?” asked Julio.
“Me,” I said. I pulled a piece of paper out of my pocket and handed it to him.
“What the fuck is this?” Julio asked.
“It means freedom in Hebrew,” I said.
“Are you being serious right now?” Uli asked.
“Serious as shit. You were right. I don’t care where they bury me. When you’re dead, you’re dead,” I said.
“I don’t care where they bury you either,” Julio said, rubbing his fingertips together. “All I want to know is if you got paper.”
I took out my wallet, opened it for him to see. He smiled.
“Amen, jodido,” he said. “Follow me.”
He led us to a small room that smelled like Windex and limes. Uli sat in the corner, watching me like he was waiting for me to dip out. When the needle pushed down into my chest I felt lightheaded and my hands started sweating; I tried to distract myself by thinking about Kate, who I had been trying to sleep with for weeks and who was too good for me. Julio brought his face closer to my chest, wiped away some blood with a cloth and my thoughts turned to my father. Around this time last year, he had sat me down in the kitchen and offered me a bottle of Corona before he told me he’d met someone else, that it hadn’t been working with my mother for years, that it wasn’t my fault and he was sorry but he couldn’t stay. I thought about what he said while I downed the Corona. I thought about what he said while I steadied myself and stood up. I thought about it when I gripped the neck of the bottle, brought my arm back and swung at his head.
~
By the time we got inked, it was almost three in the morning. I dropped Uli off and when I pulled up to my house, the light was on. My mother was not prone to rage, but she could make you feel guilty as shit, like a real Jew. Sure enough, she was waiting for me, sitting at the kitchen table in a ratty old shirt of my dad’s.
“Do you know what time it is?” she asked.
“Late,” I said.
“I was worried.”
“Sorry.”
“I called you, Max. You didn’t answer. What if you were in some gutter in Overtown, bleeding to death?”
“White people don’t hang out in Overtown, Ma.”
“How am I supposed to know that if you don’t answer your damn phone? I was about to call your father,” she said.
“Waste of time,” I said.
She drummed the table with her long fingers. “So? Where were you then?”
“I was with Kate for dinner and then hanging out with Uli.”
She stood up and went to the fridge, pulled out a plate of chocolate covered matzo and placed it on the table. “That’s from your grandmother,” she said. “Have some.”
“I’m not hungry,” I said.
“Your grandmother made it for you.”
I took a piece and ate it slowly. My mother watched, waited for me to finish, and handed me another piece.
“Max,” she said, “I know Uli is your friend, but you didn’t used to stay out like this. I don’t know if he’s a good boy for you to be around.”
“Jesus, Ma, I’m not twelve.”
“Boys like him from broken homes, they’re not stable,” she continued. “I just think with college coming you should focus more on that—on what comes next.”
“I’m going to sleep,” I said.
“Maxi,” she said, grabbing my hand. “Are you okay?”
“Sure,” I said. “I’m fine. Tell grandma I said thanks for the motzo”
I pulled my hand away and went to my room. That night I slept in my shirt, afraid my mother would walk in and check on me, see the bandages and tape on my chest and know I had been lying, know that I would no longer be buried next to her or her parents.
~
The next night was Uli’s senior party, the last big one before people started moving away for college. Our friends huddled together on the porch under the yellow lights, the rest inside the house or spilling out onto the lawn. I scanned the faces and spotted Uli on the far corner of the porch, leaning against the window in a wife beater, showing off his new tattoo, the face of Jesus dark and shiny.
“Hermano,” he said. “Show these motherfuckers your shit.”
I lifted up my shirt; none of them knew how to read Hebrew, but they agreed that it looked sick and slapped me on the back.
“I didn’t think he had it in him, but it turns out he’s a man after all,” Uli said.
“Maybe more of a man than you.”
He shook his head. “Nope, you’ll never be more of a man than me.”
Our boys circled up to smoke and drink and talk shit: Bobby was with some married woman, an old lady who fed him afterwards; Romero finally fucked Angie from Miami’s Best; Evan hooked up with one of his sister’s friends, a girl he claimed went down on him for half an hour. When he said that, everyone laughed because he was always lying—we all were.
“What’s so funny?”
I turned around and there was Kate, smiling with a bottle of white wine in one hand. She was wearing a short black dress that showed off her thick runner’s legs.
“Hey, baby,” she said.
“Hey.”
“Damn, Uli,” she said, reaching for his arm. “How much did you spend on that?”
“More than your noviocito, that’s for sure,” he said.
“What?” She looked me up and down. “What did you do?”
“I was going to tell you earlier,” I said, glaring at Uli.
“Tell me what?”
Again I lifted up my shirt. She got closer and gently ran her fingers over my chest.
“Your mom is going to kill you,” she said.
“Puta de mierda,” Uli said. I followed his gaze and saw what he saw: Rosie.
She was walking toward us and she looked sexy as shit in a tight black skirt and a top that looked like lingerie, real low-cut and cream-colored with lace around her big tits.
“Can we talk, Ulises?” she asked.
For a second he looked like he was going to punch her, but he just squared his shoulders and shrugged.
“About what?” he asked.
“You know what.”
“You shouldn’t have come here. But since you are here and it’d be more of a scene to kick your sorry ass out, have a drink. Relax,” he said before he spat on the floor and walked into the house.
Someone whistled and Kate pulled me away from the crowd to lean against the chain link fence that bordered the perimeter of the house.
“So what does the tattoo mean?” she asked.
“Freedom.”
“Why’d you get that?”
“I want to be free,” I said.
“Yeah, but from what, though?”
“Everything. Everything except you,” I said and pushed her up against the fence, grabbing her ass. “Let’s go to my car.”
“Max.”
“Come on, baby.”
“Max,” she said, “Rosie is freaking out about her ring. I told her you could talk to him.”
“I can’t make him do anything,” I said. “Plus, she gave it to him. It’s not like he stole it.”
“Give me a break,” she said. “You’d defend him even if he stabbed her.”
“Don’t start that shit,” I said.
“So you won’t ask him?”
“No. This is a party, not some fucking intervention.”
“Fine. Go have fun, then.”
Kate pulled away from me and went back to the porch. I went inside the house through the back door and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the neon green walls. The space was small and family portraits hung everywhere, bordered by mismatched frames. I stared at the photo nailed above the pleather sofa. It was my favorite. In it, Uli’s in Managua with his sister, both of them eating quesillo out of plastic bags, vinegar and cream dripping from fresh tortillas onto their chins.
The toilet flushed and Uli stumbled into the room, the front of his shirt soaked, his eyes bloodshot.
“Yo, you cool?” I asked.
“It’s hotter than Nica, man. Makes me want to jump into a pool of ice.”
“Did Rosie leave?” I asked.
“Man, fuck that slut. I’m not going to waste my breath anymore. No ass is worth this much trouble.”
“True,” I said. “Here’s to that.” I handed him a cigar I had bought at the BP earlier and he closed his eyes and ran it slowly beneath his nose.
“Gas station cigar,” he said, smiling. “This is why I keep you around, hermano. You’re not like the others. Bunch of rich-ass kids whose parents can pay for everything.”
“Yeah,” I said, chewing on the end of the cigar and staring at the picture.
“Why you acting weird?” he asked.
“I’m not,” I said.
“I can tell you got something,” he said and grabbed the cigar from my mouth. “You can’t look me in the eyes. I know that game.”
“I got a letter last night,” I said.
“What, from your fucking pen pal? Use your words, asshole.”
“I got into Hofstra.”
“You got in,” he repeated.
“It’s no big deal.”
“College boy, huh?”
“I guess.”
“No more pizza shop for you. It’ll just be me and all the bitches. Fuck,” he said, wiping the sweat from his face. “What a trip.”
“You can come visit. I hear New York has the best tail,” I said.
“Please. They couldn’t take what I got,” he said, grabbing his dick. He walked to the door and held it open for me. “Miami’s where it’s at and I ain’t never leaving.”
More people showed up and by midnight we were packed in tight: silver smoke swirled overhead as guys cracked jokes; girls squealed at each other’s gossip; everyone eyed everyone, looking for a hookup. Uli bounced from conversation to conversation, telling stories, excusing himself to get another drink, rolling a joint, picking at the scabs on his hand. At one point he disappeared down the street and reappeared with a palm frond. He put on some bachata and tried to pull each girl into a dance, but they all refused so he danced with the frond, holding it close like the real thing. He started spinning around and would have fallen on his face if I hadn’t caught him.
“Yo, let’s get out of here, man,” he said, the words coming out slow and thick. “I need to swim. It’s so fucking hot.”
“What about the party?” I asked.
“The party’s lame,” he said. “Let’s bounce.”
~
That night downtown Miami was darker than usual: we cruised past sidewalks littered with sleeping bags and shopping carts, pawn shops painted piss yellow, the apartment where Uli’s dealer got shot, and corner after corner of kid prostitutes. Then we crossed the bridge and from that shit we rolled into Miami Beach where the lights glittered like precious stones, the hotels so measured in upscale bullshit, every tourist placed on the street to mock us, to make us feel like we’d never be hot enough, rich enough, or important enough.
I found a parking spot off of Collins and woke up Kate and Uli, both of them passed out in the backseat. At the showers we took off our shoes and headed for a stack of lawn chairs held in place with chains, keeping our heads bent against the aggressive eastern winds.
Uli pulled out a joint as soon as we sat down. “Who’s got a light?”
“I don’t,” Kate said.
“I think there’s one in the car,” I said.
“Give me the fucking keys,” Uli said. “College boy, my ass.”
When he was gone, Kate stretched out next to me, resting her cheek on the sand. “Where’s the party?” she asked. “Where did everybody go?”
“I guess we lost them,” I said, reaching for her.
“No, Max, not here.”
“Then where?” I asked, putting my hand between her legs.
“I’m not going to fuck you here,” she said, kicking me away.
“This shit is getting fucking old,” I said. I couldn’t look at her anymore. I couldn’t take the throbbing, so I went and stood at the water’s edge.
Cruise ships dotted the horizon, mere pinpricks of light amongst the black. I rolled up my pants. The water washed over my feet, leaving bits of seaweed between my toes. The night had taken on a strange pre-hurricane quality, rough gusts spraying sand into my eyes. I thought about the nights spent on the beach with my parents, walking the length of the boardwalk, me running ahead while they held hands, my father making sea grape bouquets for my mother. The wind slowed, a light drizzle fell, and I heard voices. I turned and saw Ed talking to Kate and Rosie coming toward me.
“Max, I need my ring back,” she said.
“What?” I asked, cupping my ear.
“My ring,” she repeated, moving closer. “It was a family heirloom.”
“So ask for it back.”
“I’ve asked and called a thousand times, Max. You’re the only one he listens to,” she said, touching my face.
A heat rose beneath my skin and I willed myself not to get hard, not to grab her beautiful tits and put them in my mouth.
“If it was so important, why did you give it away?” I asked.
“I made a mistake.”
“You’re a bitch, Rosie. I’m not going to do your dirty work for you.”
“Wow,” she said. “You really think he’s innocent in all this, don’t you? Let me tell you something, Maxi baby,” she leaned in close, her chest against mine, “you don’t know shit about him.”
“Yeah, all right,” I said, but she had already walked away.
I turned back to the cruise ships and then Kate was next to me.
“What happened with Rosie?” she asked.
“The fucking ring,” I said. Suddenly I felt very alone and I pulled Kate into an embrace. The drizzle turned to rain and I clutched her, trying to memorize the soft skin, the strong arms, and long neck.
“Maybe we should go back to the car,” said Kate. “It’s really coming down.”
Before I could answer, I heard a high-pitched sound like a wounded animal. I scanned the boardwalk and cocked my head to the side, listening. Just when I thought I was imagining it, the wind quieted down to a hiss and the sea made space for the noise: a man screaming, the worst sound. A man screaming in fear. My pulse quickened and I spotted movement, somebody running down the boardwalk, down the steps, onto the sand. Now I could see the face, and Kate gasped and gripped my arm; it was Ed, naked and sprinting, spraying up sand, face drawn in tight. Under the moonlight his skin looked chalky and his dick slapped against his thighs like a dead fish. A moment later Uli appeared, also running and with a small smile on his face, followed by Rosie, dressed only in a bra and panties.
Ed took a sharp right, as did Uli and Rosie. Kate tore off and I chased after her. We ran, and then Ed tripped over something and went down, rolling toward the shoreline, his limbs flailing. Uli stopped him before he could hit the water, yanking him up by his stringy hair just as we all caught up to them.
“Stop it, Uli, stop!” Rosie screamed.
“So this guy is worth it?” Uli asked, pulling Ed’s head back sharply. He looked at Rosie. “This guy is worth it and I’m not?”
“Uli, let him go, you’re hurting him,” said Kate.
“What does he have that I don’t?” Uli said.
“Come on,” Kate said, moving closer.
“Shut up,” Uli said, pushing her away.
“Hey, man, calm down,” I said.
“Don’t tell me what to do, motherfucker,” Uli said. “Fuck you all.”
He walked into the water, dragging Ed behind him while Rosie screamed and threw fistfuls of sand at his back.
“Max, don’t just stand there,” Kate said. “Go after him.”
“What am I supposed to do?” I asked.
Kate looked at me with a mixture of shock and disgust. “If you don’t do anything, then I’ll call the police,” she said.
For a moment, I considered letting her do that. She could call the police, then I’d leave, go to sleep in my own bed and wake up with a bad hangover—nothing more, nothing less.
“Stop,” I said, putting my hand up. “I’ll try, alright?”
“Good. Rosie, come on, calm down,” Kate said, pulling her into a tight hug. “It’s going to be okay.”
I dove into the water and felt the bandages on my chest swell, soften, and fall away. I caught up to them quickly—they were standing on a sand bar and in little time, Uli had made a mess out of Ed’s face; his bottom lip was split open, blood dripped from his nose, and there was something wrong with the way his eyes stared at me. Uli’s hands were around Ed’s neck and when I got close enough, I jumped on his back.
“Get the fuck off me!” he shouted.
“Max,” Ed choked.
“Uli, let go. He can’t breathe,” I said.
“Back off, fucker. Let me handle this.”
I tried to pry Uli’s fingers away, but they just clamped down harder.
Ed’s pupils disappeared, the whites of his eyes like washed up shells. I imagined the blackout, the collapsing of the lungs, the bloating of the skin like bread in water. Then the hospital, me trying explain to Ed’s family about the unfortunate situation, explaining to my family the very bad friend, son, and overall person I was. Out of that brief glimmer I found strength. I let out a throat-tearing scream and sank my teeth into the flesh of Uli’s neck.
I’ll never forget the fact that Uli didn’t yell. He struggled. He bucked and swung his head around, but he didn’t yell. Ed opened his mouth wide like he was ready to let the last shadow of life fly out, and it got real loud with the wind and the splashing and the high-pitched ringing in my ears. I bit harder and tasted blood and only then did Uli’s fingers spring up. Dazed, but not stupid, Ed swam off in a frenzy of foam and spray, headed for shore. I unclenched my jaw and slid off Uli’s back.
“You asshole,” he said, wearing the same expression as he had when he first moved to Miami: full-on rage. His hands shot out and pushed me underwater, his entire weight upon my shoulders. Just when I thought I was going to pass out, he pulled me up.
“Uli,” I said, “what the fuck is wrong with you?”
He put his face up against mine and I smelled his breath, heavy with alcohol. He put a hand over his neck and came away with blood.
“You bit me, cabrón.”
“I thought you were going to kill Ed.”
“If I was in Nica, he’d already be dead.”
“So you want to kill me, too?”
Uli shook his head. “No. Not you, man.”
“Then let’s get out of the water. I’m fucking freezing,” I said.
Back on shore, we sat shoulder-to-shoulder, shivering and examining our tattoos. Ed and the girls were gone, but they’d left behind a case of Tecáte. I opened a bottle and drank it fast, but I still had the taste of Uli’s blood in my mouth, so I opened another one.
“Uli,” I said, “You need to chill out with this whole Rosie thing, for real.”
“Nobody gets it,” he said. “I was going to marry her.”
“Dude, you’re eighteen.”
“I’m nineteen.”
I shrugged. “Point is, that’s young.”
“Max, he took my girl. He took what was mine.”
“She’s not yours anymore, man.”
“So now you’re on their side?”
“No, but it’s not worth it,” I said.
He picked up my empty bottle and threw it into the ocean. “You got everything,” he said. “You got a girl, a family, going to some fancy-ass college. You got it all. Me, I had Rosie, and now I got shit.”
“That’s not true,” I said. “You got me.”
“Fuck, hermano, you don’t get it,” he said, hitting the back of my head with his palm. “You’re already gone. And I know you ain’t coming back.”
I lowered my head, my chest and head throbbing. For the first time in a long time I had the urge to hold my mother, to feel her soft hand on my forehead.
“Crazy fucking night, though,” I said.
“I still can’t believe you bit me,” Uli said.
“Maybe you should go to the doctor?”
“Right. Call me an ambulance. Get me into a fucking suite while you’re at it. Come on, it’s late.”
At the boardwalk’s stairs, Uli unclasped his necklace, slid Rosie’s ring off, and held it out to me.
“Give that to her,” he said. “Tell her to never talk to me again, and if I see Ed at the shop, I’ll kill him for real.”
“Okay, man,” I said and put the ring in my pocket. “You ready to go home?”
“I’ll find my own way.”
“How are you going to get back without a car?”
He laughed. “It’s almost six, college boy. I’ll take a bus.”
I started to protest, but he interrupted. “Get out of here,” he said. “I’ll be seeing you.”
“We cool?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said and stuck out his hand. “Real cool.”
~
My mother saw the tattoo, screamed, put me on lockdown. I reminded her that at the end of the day, there’s nothing a scalpel can’t remove. My last months in Miami, I stopped a lot of things: stopped working, stopped going to the beach, stopped seeing Uli. Graduation came and then I was at Hofstra.
When the leaves turned from yellow to burgundy, Kate broke up with me. In the dorms, I shared a room with a guy named Ming who only ate canned tuna and saltines. One night, when I had the room to myself, I called Uli’s cell. The number was disconnected, so I tried Miami’s Best. He answered on the second ring. He asked if I was still a virgin and I asked what shade of blue his balls were. For a minute we both laughed and it was almost like being hermanos again. Somebody yelled out an order and Uli cleared his throat, said he had to go; Miami’s Best was busier than ever, but he’d call me real soon.
Dana Reva De Greff was born in Miami and is currently pursuing an MFA at the University of Miami. She is working on a novel-length version of “Miami Boys” and other stories.