After years of every Saturday, she knew when the tight grip was coming. Her wrist, sometimes her hand.
The lecture differed somewhat, but the point was always the same:
You’ll be careful of that alley and never set foot. Bad people lurk there, bad things happen there.
She didn’t like shopping with Grandma, but that’s what Saturdays were: shopping with Grandma.
The alley lecture started when she was young enough to be frightened and continued past the age when she was capable of thinking: If the alley is so damn dangerous then why don’t we park on the other side of it?
But Grandma was great at talking, horrible at listening.
She tried to tell Grandma other things, more important things, but Grandma couldn’t be bothered.
Shopping ended one day. She ended it. There was no discussion.
She simply woke one Saturday morning and walked out the door.
The alley wasn’t an alley so much as it was a narrow corridor between a pool hall and a laundromat.
She passed it one night, peered in.
No bad people lurking, no people at all.
She walked into the alley and stayed, hoping something exciting would happen, even if it was bad.
***
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Another that says a lot in a few words.
I know I like ‘em when I’m grinning after I read ‘em. Nicely done…