The Alley

Once when I was nine or ten I spent a week with some family friends in San Bernardino. My family and I lived in East Los Angeles, and I had never been to San Bernardino before. So one morning I decided to go for a walk.

It was a weekend day during summer break. The family friends I was staying with were a young couple with no children. It was nine in the morning, a clear bright blue day and they would not be up for another couple of hours. 

Standing on their front step I looked up and down the street and didn’t see anyone. The house was on the corner of a minor intersection with stop signs, but even this late in the morning there were no cars. I remember taking a moment and wondering which way I should go. I started walking down the walkway and when I got to the sidewalk I turned left.

I don’t remember much about this part of the walk, but I do remember the feeling of simply walking through a place unfamiliar to me. It felt interesting, the not knowing. I later learned this sensation was associated with liminal spaces. Even now I enjoy walking down neighborhoods and wondering at the lives that occur within the walls. I think it’s the potential, the variety, that engrosses so much. Like I said, the not knowing. 

I walked for a mile in a straight line (I think I compared it to how long it took me to walk the mile during P.E. class) before turning left again. I walked past some empty lots. This was interesting because there were empty lots where I lived as well, except those weren’t really empty. The lots where I lived had trash, broken glass, sometimes junk cars, and even portions of walls of whatever building stood there prior. Seeing these level plots with only unkempt grass was a little odd. Anyway, I kept walking. As I walked there were fewer houses and in the distance I could see larger structures, like old industrial plants.

When I felt I’d gone another mile I turned left again. More houses here and fewer empty lots. Bigger trees, too. The kind whose upper foliage can sometimes form a canopy above the street. I started to hear more sounds, too. I could hear voices from some open windows, sounds of televisions shows, dogs barking in the distance. I kept my eyes on the trees above as I walked for some time. Eventually I looked back down and that’s when I noticed that this particular street ended. I mean the road ended. There was a bumper and some sign informing traffic that the road stopped and that parking was not allowed here.

There were alleys to the right and the left that were unpaved. Rocky dirt and even more tree coverage. I knew that to get back to my friend’s house I would have to go left and I could see sunlight at the end of this driveway. So it was a through-street of sorts, with just enough room for one car to drive through. 

I started walking, enjoying how cool the air was since not much sunlight was getting through here. The end of the driveway was only about forty yards so it shouldn’t take more than a minute or two to walk all the way through. My mind was drifting at this point and I was planning how I could get back on course once I was out the other side. I would turn right and when I got to the intersection I would turn left again and that would bring me back to my friend’s house. While I was thinking this I was also looking into the backyards of the houses. They all had wire fences and some yards were larger than others. 

I heard some shuffling in the yard to my left and when I turned in that direction a horrifyingly loud bark came from behind me. I instinctively coiled away from the bark and then the thing that had shuffled to my left also began barking. Within seconds at least five dogs in five of the backyards were barking at me. 

The noise was excruciating and I realized that the tree coverage was preventing much of the sound from escaping. My heart pounded and my body tried to cower to the ground and cover up. 

The barking got louder as more dogs joined. It took a moment for me to realize that they couldn’t get to me since they were all behind fences. This helped only a little as the cacophony of barking made me shudder. And still it went on. I felt a moment of embarrassment as I realized that the morning had been quiet for these families just a moment ago, and that because I had made the mistake of walking in here I had shattered that silence. I needed to get out of there. 

In a flash I knew several things. One, I couldn’t go back the way I came. I was essentially more than half way through to the other side. Two, I was certain I wanted to be gone before anyone came out to investigate why the dogs were going crazy. And three, I knew that I would need to push past the panic and the uncomfortable physical sensations I was experiencing and simply force myself to walk forward, deeper into this melee before I could come out the other side. 

And so I pushed. 

There have been many instances since then when I had to repeat this little trick. I am sure the same is true for most people. Dissociation. The act of separating oneself from themselves and their emotions, causing the world around them to feel unreal or warped. 

Most people dissociate on a regular basis, like when listening to music or watching a movie or getting lost in a book. But most people don’t realize that this type of behavior is related to the self protective action one takes when they find themselves in danger, or during a trauma. It seems to be a matter of scale.

So here, in this alley full of dogs, is the first time that I recall intentionally dissociating. One step. Another. And another. And still the barking came. And still my physical body recoiled and insisted it wanted to collapse and run and scream all at the same time. I separated myself from myself so much so that for a moment I thought I wouldn’t be able to control my body. Nevertheless I kept walking. And eventually I emerged out the other end.

I turned right and walked, and the dog barks got quieter and quieter.

I never told my family about the alley dogs. Dogs have an average lifespan of 20 years depending on their breed. This memory is over thirty years old and so I know without a doubt that none of those dogs are still around. Their barks still are.

9.24.2022 – 10.31.2025