I arrived at the playground with Armin. It was a late afternoon in June; the rays of sunshine broke through the thick white clouds in places, illuminating patches of the tramped grass. Armin\u2019s parents had sent him another package, a brand-new soccer ball in it. It was yellow with blue spots. He held it close to his chest as we sauntered down the street to the playground.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Armin and I hung out regularly. He lived in my neighborhood with his grandma. Armin\u2019s parents worked in Austria as guest workers. Most of his life he spent with his grandma, seeing his parents once a year. Armin had toys I\u2019d never seen before: remote-operated cars built of high-quality steel, model planes, and handheld video games. He brought to school all sorts of foreign candy, neatly wrapped, colorful, with pictures of cartoon characters.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Armin talked a lot, while I was a quiet type. He talked so much on our way to school that we often ended up being late. When I stopped by his place before school, I\u2019d find him in the bathroom in front of the mirror, looking at himself and combing his blond curls. \u201cWhat do you think, Edi?\u201d he\u2019d say. \u201cLooking good, man. That schmuck, Sinan, is a goner. Selma is my girl. Hey, let me show you a new thing I got.\u201d He was never ready on time, and the school was three kilometers away\u2014a long walk.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The playground was deserted. We started kicking the ball from one rusted goal post to another. A few minutes later, we noticed a group of boys walking towards us. They were in their late teens. As soon as we saw them we knew we were in trouble. After all, two eleven-year-olds stood no chance against a gang of high-schoolers. Their ring leaders were two brothers. The older brother, Kasim, was as dark as the asphalt on the road he\u2019d just crossed. He was skinny and long\u2014all limbs. His round head bobbed on top of his body like a ball with two black eyes perched above a bulbous nose. Kasim\u2019s brother, Vedad, was a year younger. He had long, brown hair he\u2019d always tie into a ponytail. Vedad was notorious for his vicious smile that revealed two long canines. He was short and sturdy, his legs sinewy and fast. He was the best soccer player in town.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Kasim intercepted our pass and took the ball. Vedad shouted, \u201cCome on, man! Be nice and share.\u201d Kasim kicked the ball hard to the other three boys trudging behind him.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cGive the ball back, assholes!\u201d Armin blurted out, and before finishing the sentence he looked at me, surprised by his own words.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cWhoa, man! The kid\u2019s got a foul mouth.\u201d Kasim sniggered. \u201cIsn\u2019t that Aunt Zinka\u2019s grandson?\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cTime to teach him a lesson,\u201d Vedad said. He picked up the ball like a pro, bouncing it on his knees, his ponytail prancing up and down. \u201cTell me, little punk!\u201d he said. \u201cWhose ball is this? It\u2019s damn good. Real leather. Made in Germany.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s mine,\u201d Armin said.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course, little chicken shit.\u201d Vedad said. \u201cDid your mama send it from Germany?\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cFrom Austria,\u201d Armin shot back.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cWould you, please, give us the ball back?\u201d I interjected.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cThis one here is a nice boy.\u201d Vedad nodded towards me and balanced the ball between his foot and his shin.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cListen, nice boy,\u201d he said. \u201cI have an idea. You get the ball and we let you play if you two show us your kung fu skills.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cNo way,\u201d Armin cried. \u201cYou guys will mow the lawn with us.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cWho said we\u2019d do anything?\u201d Kasim said. \u201cWe don\u2019t fight little pussycats. We want you to fight each other.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy would we do that?\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause that\u2019s the only way you get the ball back. And if you beat this mama\u2019s boy, the ball is yours. Isn\u2019t that so, mama\u2019s boy?\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Armin looked at me, then at Vedad and Kasim. \u201cThe ball is mine,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I held my gaze on Kasim and nodded hesitantly. As long as I could remember, the only soccer ball I ever had was a bubamara<\/em>, which meant ladybug. The bubamaras <\/em>were often the only choice for the working-class kids in Yugoslavia. They were made of cheap rubber and lasted only for a few weeks. After a couple of good games, bubamaras<\/em> turned into sad-looking, egg-shaped spheres, their innards dangling through the ripped outer layer.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I was bigger than Armin and stronger. Armin was all mouth, that cocky fool. We both knew I could take him out easily. I walked over to where he stood and looked at him up close.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cLet\u2019s do this,\u201d Armin said and jumped on me, climbing on my shoulder. He got me in a choke hold and held me down with all his might. Everybody lined up around us, grunting, yelling, and laughing\u2014Kasim and Vedad in the opposite corners. I steadied myself, not letting him push me down on my knees.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I wiggled out of Armin\u2019s hold and was about to strike him, but Vedad and Kasim grabbed us and pulled us apart. I felt Kasim\u2019s firm grip on my elbows.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cListen,\u201d he shouted over my head. \u201cYou two start when we say.\u201d He shook my whole body as if to reset me and said, \u201cNow you go.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I was fast this time. I tackled Armin to the ground and shoved his face into the grass. Kneeling on his back, I bent one of his arms backwards and held it tight, twisting and bending it towards his shoulder blades. After a few minutes he stopped wriggling.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The brothers pulled us apart again. Vedad laughed and said, \u201cMan, that was ugly. But fun.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Gasping for air, I gaped at his wolf teeth. He\u2019d drawn his lips up to his ears.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Armin was in tears. \u201cAsshole!\u201d he screamed at me. \u201cYou\u2019ll pay for this.\u201d He ran towards home.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Kasim took the ball in his hands and spun it on his forefinger. \u201cGet lost, nice boy,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u2014<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Three years later, Armin and I were on the playground again when eight-year-old twins, Mirza and Kenan, saw us from across the field and ran over to our side. They were both dark and so skinny that they looked like two roosters\u2014their noses stuck out like two beaks, their small eyes peered from creased, dry skin. The boys looked like two old men trapped in children\u2019s bodies. They were Roma kids. Their mother worked at the textile mill; their father was rarely around, but when he was home he\u2019d wave at me and smile if he saw me walk by their house. We could never tell the twins apart, but this time one of them had scabs all over his head. His brother had only a few on his neck and elbows. The scabby one was Mirza.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cWe want to play too,\u201d Mirza croaked.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cReally, you little toad?\u201d Armin raised his blond brows and smiled. \u201cYou want to play with the big boys?\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cYes, of course,\u201d Mirza said. His brother stood by him quietly.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cWhat can you give us for it?\u201d I asked. I knew they had nothing to offer, but I liked to joke with them. The twins were dear to me.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cNothing.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cHow about you put on a nice show for us?\u201d said Armin. \u201cYou just have to fight a little, like in the movies.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re too big for us.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cNo, you chicken shit, you fight each other. The winner gets this ball.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I looked at Armin askance. I couldn\u2019t believe he\u2019d give them the ball.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019re brothers.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cBrothers fight,\u201d I said.\u201d You sometimes fight, don\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cYes, we do. But Mama says if she sees us fighting again, she\u2019ll break our arms.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cYour mother is getting off work in an hour,\u201d Armin said. \u201cThe ball is yours if you win.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n By now, Armin had six soccer balls and counting. His parents had brought him a ball every time they came to visit from Austria. Three years earlier, he had told his grandma about our fight. The day after he told her, I got a whipping from my father. A few months later, after we got over our fight, I asked Armin if he\u2019d gotten his ball back. He shrugged and said he couldn\u2019t care less. He was quiet all the way to school that day.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Mirza looked at his brother. Kenan was still silent. \u201cLet\u2019s do this,\u201d Kenan said and<\/p>\n leaped onto Mirza.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n They alternately held each other in chokeholds at first, squirming around like two hungry worms. We pulled them apart. \u201cWe\u2019re taking a break,\u201d I said, restraining Mirza from jumping on his brother again. I held him tight in my arms, his scabs close to my face.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cLet them go,\u201d Armin said and pushed his twin into the middle of our circle. I released mine and he lunged ahead. We stepped back and watched them. I glanced at Armin. His lips were stretched into a smile, his foot resting on the ball.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The twins battered each other with their bony fists. Their knuckles found their heads and faces. Soon they both were bleeding. Kenan\u2019s lip was cut open. Mirza\u2019s nose was oozing blood. I ran over to Mirza and yanked him away. The scabs on his head were cut open and bloody too. He left red streaks on his brother\u2019s shirt. They both were crying now. \u201cI\u2019ll kill him! I\u2019ll kill the bastard,\u201d Mirza hissed through tears and blood.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I pulled up the hem of Mirza\u2019s shirt to his face, took his hand, and pressed it on his nose to stop the bleeding. In a calm but threatening tone, I said, \u201cGo home, right away, before I beat the shit out of you.\u201d His brother held his lip and mumbled something about cracking Mirza\u2019s scabby head open. Mirza started running. Kenan scrammed after him. They both ran towards their home, their shirts torn and bloody.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I turned to Armin. His mouth was agape, his lips moving, but there was no sound. I looked down at the ball in front of him. It was unblemished, sparkly white with black spots and a large Adidas sign on it. An intense burn welled up from the pit of my stomach. I sprinted towards the ball and kicked it with all my might. The ball soared high into the broad blue sky.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" As soon as we saw them, we knew we were in trouble.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"featured_media":4066,"template":"","categories":[9,48,49],"tags":[6,1160,577,1161,1162,1163],"class_list":["post-4064","article","type-article","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-aquifer","category-fiction","category-literary-features","tag-aquifer-the-florida-review-online","tag-boys","tag-bullying","tag-edvin-subasic","tag-the-ball-spun","tag-yugoslavia"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n