Halfway

Ivan’s Wife is in production. It’s been fun to write and develop, including the surroundings and towns that Dimitri visits. My brother, who lives in Eastern Oregon, told me about some towns near where he lives, and one of the towns is called Halfway. I loved the name and decided to name one of the towns in the book “Halfway.” I plan to visit there this spring; I know it won’t be like the town Dimitri visited, but much more beautiful…thank you Mike for the inspiration!

Wearing loafers on a long walk had started to blister my ankles. I stopped a few miles from Cielo’s and looked around for a bus stop. It was an area I’d walked to often when I needed to think. The place was mostly light industry, bars, drugstores, and small markets with narrow aisles and pine floors. The houses, turn-of-the-century bungalows, were scattered here and there as a reminder of a time when folks lived and worked in town. The main street went from Beverly Hills to Pasadena and was called ‘Halfway’ because it was midway between the two affluent cities. 

Halfway was right out of a Dickens novel; there were no fancy houses or manicured lawns. The modest homes had streaks drooling from the stucco like dark teardrops, thanks to years of exhaust fumes. County taxes must have skipped the area because the sidewalks were so cracked you had to look down or find yourself eating cement. Still, the kids found a way to play hopscotch despite the cracks and enjoy a game of dodgeball while side-stepping around the cars and buses.

Men and women with weathered faces commuted every day to their factory jobs. The workers didn’t converse much, just a friendly nod, as they searched their pockets for coins to ride the bus. The butcher shop was always busy. Housewives gathered every morning to haggle with the butcher over the right cuts of beef or pork. The bars were always open, smoky hole-in-the-wall taverns with husky laughter and the occasional drunken brawl. Homeowners outside the area called Halfway “the armpit” and an embarrassment to Los Angeles. Not me. I loved the place; no one pretended to be more than they were, and nobody cared whether you wore a three-piece suit or overalls. It was easy to blend in because you had no one to impress.