In a number of posts I've mentioned the alley that runs between my house and the apartment building "next door" to mine. This alley is known to City officials by the glamorous name of Lane F-- a name I was unaware of until the second or third time I was obliged to call the police to request that drug dealers be removed from the parking spaces behind the house.
This alley has little to distinguish itself from countless others. For reasons unknown, the City has opted to leave the original bricks showing, making for treacherous footing in all weather. But to the sentimental sort (including yours truly), those bricks remind me of days long passed when asphalt was unheard of and this type of "paving" was standard. The bricks in Lane F are a sandy, buff color, and have gradually begun to round at their edges under 100 years of vehicle and foot traffic. Over time they've sunk and spread far enough apart that any stray bit of litter clings in the crevices. Its not uncommon to see a dizzying mix of broken glas, cigarette butts, broken Bic lighters, straw papers, leaves and bits of twigs from nearby trees. Two weeks ago I was startled to see what looked like an exploded bouquet scattered around my car and porch. Only after some poking around did I realized that the massive dogwood tree in my neighbor's back yard (which had bloomed like never before in this mild spring weather) had shed it's petals during the night, thanks to a brisk May nightwind.
When I first considered buying my house almost 4 years ago, I stood at the top of the alley and surveyed the surrounding neighborhood. As I looked west down the front street I could see Jacob Street-- the street where my parents had lived during the first years of their marriage. The actual site where the house stood is now a parking lot for a massive Baptist church. If only I had the nerve to tell the pastor, Rev. Willie, that he parks his enormous red Cadillac in the space where my parents former bedroom had been.
After reviewing the shabby face of the front street , I turned again an looked down Lane F to its junction by the Salvation Army store. Laughter started bubbling up in me as I realized that this same alley was the one that ran past my grandfather's former home (also now a parking lot) just two blocks away. I laughed to think of myself running around his backyard as a child, looking at the stockade fence with both fear and awe, considering the hidden dangers that lurked in "the Alley". I had been given dire warnings about even THINKING about leaving the yard and entering the Alley (it was always capitalized in my mind) without adult supervision. My child's mind would race imagining the demons and specters that might be passing along the fence while I played. The battered gate was as alluring as a magic carpet. I knew that the local convenience store was only a few hundred yards away, and that if I could escape long enough to get there and back undetected, I might become part of neighborhood legend! I never did escape, but the tang of forbidden fruit never really leaves your tongue. And now I was considering "owning" a section of that same wicked Alley.
Even casual observers will see that the alley is a major artery for pedestrians in my neighborhood. At any hour of the day you can see people of every description moving past my porch. Both genders, many races, ages, often alone-- just as often in small packs and herds moving between unknown but predictable destinations. The troop of basketball-bouncing 12-year olds who went by earlier returns later, sweaty and disheveled, nursing cartons of chocolate milk and gnawing jerky after their ball game. Two hyper-thin women of indeterminate ages strolled by, one twitching an agitated hand through her dirty-blonde hair and letting her purse dangle from her elbow. Her associate walked backwards, surveying the intersection they'd just left, watching for "action" and wondering aloud if "that asshole's gonna come back."
The passers-by that catch my attention the most are the ones who do something I've come to call "walking the alley twice." Some are drunk. In their altered state they don't realize that they're walking slowly side to side and covering twice the ground necessary in their travels. Others are on the hustle, and are trying to make their walk last. They know they have no legitimate reason for loitering, so they keep themselves visible for as long as possible, hoping that customers will see them and aid local commerce. Whatever their reason for double-walking, I keep my eyes open. The person who goes by slowly often comes back a short time later, walking much faster and looking fiercely focused. I try to remember what they look like, without being obvious.
I'm getting ready to have a new picket fence put up around my card-table sized side yard. The space is roughly 6x12, and has a large birch tree sprouting in it's middle. The present short wooden fence serves as fashion more than function, and I wonder at the wisdom of replacing it with a different style. If I get the same style, cats can still get in and use the rocky dirt at the base of the tree for a public litterbox. If I get a stockade fence to keep the cats and the blunt wrappers out, I'll be blocking the view of cars coming up the alley from that of pedestrians approaching on the front street-- no good. Besides, if I can't see who's passing on the outside of the fence, then I can't see if someone else has gotten INside the fence while I was away. In the end I've opted to replace the current design with a vinyl facsimile. It will be more difficult for people to remove pickets to aid them in self-defense, and I won't have to paint it every year a la Tom Sawyer. In the end its easier to let my Alley in than it is to keep it at bay.
