ALLEY WAYS
© 1988 David R. Moenich

Synopsis:

"Alley Ways" is a character study of a thirteen-year-old boy experiencing life, love and violence. Faced with bullies, low self-esteem and an unattainable first love, the character must assert himself or resolve to live his life according to the whims of others. Set in Wilkinsburg, Pennsylvania, in 1965, "Alley Ways" includes action, comedy, young "love," and character observation.

An excellent vehicle for the exploitation of "Oldies" music, i.e., "British Invasion" (primarily as *that* is part and parcel of the core of the main character), "Soul," "Rock 'n Roll," and "Top 40/Pop."

"Alley Ways" excerpt:

Jeremy stepped onto the uneven, slate sidewalk of Biddle Avenue. Parked in the alleyway behind his house, a new 1965 Pontiac Tempest idled roughly. A cloud of steam and smoke poured from the candy apple red sedan's exhaust pipe. Drifting through the narrow walkway between Jeremy's old, three-story house and the next, the rising vapors diffused into the solid gray, overcast sky of Southwestern Pennsylvania. Brightened only by the clutter of fallen, yellow maple leaves, Biddle Avenue nestled beneath their decaying odor. The cold and windy morning air, unusual for the first week of fall, shook loose the drops of rain which clung to the trees lining the curb.

That particular Monday, Jeremy detoured the alleys of his neighborhood; he walked the upstreet route to the junior high school. A two-mile walk—mostly uphill—would take him from his home to Wallace Avenue, the address of both the junior high and the senior high school. The brick streets, dark red and shiny from the previous night's rain, harbored a maze of puddles which challenged even the most nimble pedestrians. After draining the last few drops from the seven ounce bottle of cola he had been sipping through a hollow, spearmint-flavored licorice twist, Jeremy slipped the empty bottle between the bars of a storm sewer grate at the edge of the curb. The right back pocket of his peg pants bulged with the outline of a transistor radio. He had received it as a present from his parents for his thirteenth birthday, a couple of months before, and had quickly become inseparable from the gift. Smiling crookedly, as he always did when his radio was tuned to Pittsburgh's favorite Top 40 station, Jeremy sang along with the music—when he knew the words—until he came to the Wood Street Trestle.

The engine of a freight train was beginning to cross the tracks above pulling with it a heavy load of coal and assorted boxcars. The loud, metallic drone drowned out Jeremy's radio broadcast as well as his singing. He turned the radio off and entered the trestle, but stopped abruptly. Jeremy remained motionless. Standing on the cement sidewalk, about midway through the trestle, was Charles. He was leaning against one of the huge, deteriorating, concrete columns which supported the 30-foot-high structure. Seemingly oblivious to the overhead noise, Charles was twirling a small stick. A dark, oblong

object was stuck onto its end. The short, fat fingers of his other hand toyed with the numerous pimples that blotched his obese face. He stared at the ground.

To his right, Jeremy eyed the fast-paced automobile traffic moving in and out of the trestle. He turned to his left. The roof of the trestle vibrated causing a two-inch lime stalactite to fall from its hold on the ceiling. It smacked the sidewalk and shattered. Charles lifted his head and looked straight at Jeremy. Jeremy began to fidget with the bottom button of his wool coat. Then slowly, he walked toward the boy. Jeremy tried to pass by Charles without acknowledging him, but the boy lunged forward and wrapped his sweaty hand around the back of Jeremy's neck.

"Where are you going in such a hurry?" Charles asked in his slurred speech, "Are you looking for that sweet, little Kelly again?" "I just saw her walk past here five minutes ago," he added, "She'd never like you, Germy. You're too short and your nose is too damn big . . . and ugly!"

Charles released the grasp he held on Jeremy's neck. Then he flashed out his open hand as if to strike him. Jeremy jerked his head back to avoid being injured; Charles nonchalantly ran his fingers through his own curly, greased, carrot-colored hair. "Made you flinch, asshole!" Charles shouted. He laughed a sloppy laugh and regained his hold on the back of Jeremy's neck.

Charles raised the stick that he was holding, "Hey, did you ever see a piece of dog shit this size?" he asked waving the impaled turd before Jeremy's face. He struggled to step back, but Charles effortlessly pushed Jeremy's face toward the encrusted, canine feces. "This is your turd," Charles said, "I've been saving it just for you." . . .

(This excerpt comprises approximately 2 of the story's 49 pages.)
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