Alley Adventures in Odessa, Texas

August 18, 1959

Alleys are a great place for me and my buddies in my Texas hometown. We can get away with just about anything without the old folks yellin’ at us. What a pain – the old folks, barkin’ like wild animals with bald spots and depression ribs. But the alley is our territory – the homerun ballpark, the route our pirate ship sails – it’s our pathway to the world. Problem is, alleys are hot, all surrounded by fences and houses and such. And today feels like we’re already in the hell the preacher’s always say’n we’re goin’ to.

I’m telling ya . . . it’s hot, no . . . it’s scorch’n like the air pour’n out of mom’s oven. The heat reminds me of a few nights ago when we were watch’n a new movie, “Invaders from Mars,” on the Philco TV dad just brought home. A scary alien shot his ray-gun at a human and the guy’s face melted. I’m say’n it melted, right down his chin like hot lava. That’s when I learned melting faces smell like rose water. I didn’t want to see what his brain looked like, so I buried my face in mom’s armpit. Anyway, that’s how my face feels right now.

I decided we need a break, me and my buddies. So, I grabbed a hose laying loose next to the herb lady’s house and traced its rubber coil through some wind-blown trash to the wall behind the air-condenser near her garden. With maximum effort for my nine-year old self, I finally got the rusty old faucet turned on. Popeye and Superman would be proud. I ran out from behind the air-condenser and shot a wild spray at my buddies. Screams and belly laughs bounced off the fences and houses as they scrambled in a prison break, scattering across the fine red dirt and rocks. Billy stumbled, smashing into the Marsh’s chicken coup. While the chickens were squawking crazy, my cousin Phil ran through the Tucker’s yard and hurdled the tomato plants. He only kicked over a few. Maybe they won’t notice. I was havin’ a ball, laugh’n at them, all because of a little water spray. I turned the spray upward to share some rain which we hadn’t seen since who knows when, and my buddies returned to catch the cool water on their tongues and outstretched arms.

Then, it happened. I saw her out of the corner of my eye. Down near the basketball goal at the end of the alley, sat the love of my life, Anna-Grace Winslow. I hadn’t told her that yet but never mind. I love her and I intend to marry her someday. Why do I gotta say it? Doesn’t she just know when I look her way? My baseball coach knows I love baseball, but I don’t gotta say it. I love my daddy, but he’d go all squirrelly on me if I say it out loud.

Then, my buddies noticed the rain stopped and I wasn’t laughin’. They traced my eyes down the alley and they saw Anna-Grace too. Everybody got stone-cold still ‘cause they know how I feel about her. And, ‘cause she’s the prettiest girl in fourth grade.

We all stared at her for a minute. She sat like a queen on the upside-down bucket of a homemade ice cream maker, the one the Martin’s threw out a few days ago ‘cause they want a new electric one. Her heals rested on the metal bracket that once held the hand crank. All Anna-Grace needed was a scepter and a cape. Her hair was in a loose ponytail, like always. She was in the same red and white gingham dress she always wears, at least the only dress I ever saw her in. Her face had a pink sunburn sheen to it and was freckle-speckled from ear to ear.

Why was she sittin’ all alone? Where were her friends? Her legs began the slightest sway, seemingly in tune with her hum of a mushy song. Looking left, then right, her hand suddenly flew by her face, fast like my uncle’s race car. There . . . the other hand did it again. What the ? ? Then we saw why she was so stressed. Not far from her, about the distance of my jump shot, a beat-up metal trash can stood unsteadily, its lid cracked open just so. It stunk like my gym shorts and boiled with flies who felt it only fair to check out this delicate new buffet. With a final swat near her nose, she spit and said, “puff.” I guess a fly got too close. She hopped off the bucket, landing firmly on her knobby-kneed legs and stained canvas shoes. A purposeful stride soon took her to the end of the alley as an auburn wisp of hair broke loose and bobbed up and down in rhythm with each confident stride. Our stare stayed straight as a string.

A few steps from the corner, she turned and looked at me square in my eyes. I froze. I dropped the hose, completely unaware that I was now soakin’ my leather shoe with a steady stream. She lowered her chin like a dare. My chin matched hers, down a notch or two. I don’t know why – I didn’t do it. She raised one eyebrow, our eyes still glued. I gasped! She knows, she knows I love her. And maybe, she loves me back. Then, she proved it. A blue eye shot kind of a weird wink at me . . . I think it was a wink . . . was it a wink? I went bug-eyed and swallowed the apple size lump in my throat to keep from choking to death. A second later, she turned and leapt into an excited hopscotch. As she neared the alley corner, there was her gaggle of friends. I guess they were there all along. She skipped into the pack’s screams, squeaks and squeals. Then, she disappeared around the corner – a mirage of mystery in unkempt hair, dirty knees, and holy stockings – my beauty queen, Anna-Grace Winslow.

About the same time, our trance was suddenly broken by a pulsating screech. My brother’s friend next door has a ’52 Chevy with a slipping fan belt so that’s what I thought it was at first. But then, the herb lady shot out of her house like a hen on the warpath, the screen door slammed behind her, bounced back open, and slammed again. She was a July 4th rocket, all flair and shrill. It was like she split into four people, chasing each one of us individually, flailing at us with something in her hand . . . could’ve been a belt, a stick, a gun for all we knew, but we weren’t wait’n around to find out. We scattered like quail, laughin’ and taunt’n her as we ran. I didn’t say anything unkind ‘cause I knew she would be at our house tomorrow to play canasta with mom and the neighbor ladies. I sure didn’t want her stare-down ’cause mom would’ve started ask’n questions. Truth was, I liked her and I figured she liked me. That’s why I thought I could borrow her hose. Why do I gotta tell girls everything? Don’t they just know?