Sunday Short: Not Half Right

TDH Note: The following post is a work of fiction and the second story in my ongoing "Sunday Short" series. The postcard featured below was purchased at an antique show in small town Ontario for the exorbitant price of $8 from a very grumpy granny who nearly refused to sell it to me. The price sticker on the plastic sleeve of this card noted the condition as "good." I can report that the card is dog-eared, ripped and yellowing. At the least, it makes me feel better about my own condition.

* * *
"It's already half past, and it won't last..."



Viola and Zita sat at the kitchen table in their tiny Hamilton apartment and talked incessantly. It was 3AM and they were wired. Just 22 years-old, they had been friends since first grade when Viola's family first moved to Hamilton from Fort Erie. Viola's mom had worked as a groom at Fort Erie but gave up the life to move to a bigger city. Though just a kid when she left the backstretch, Viola loved horses and growing up she dreamed of one day being a jockey. Truth be told that fate and bad genes had stomped all over Viola's dreams before she'd even left the womb. Viola's absentee father was six foot three and half as wide. Viola inherited much of his height and enough of his weight to rule out life on the back of a horse.

As they talked and drank, the two friends listened to an old Heatmeiser record and tried to figure out the meaning behind the lyrics. It's a game they had played forever. Singing the song and putting themselves into the characters within the story. As teenagers, the love songs on the radio were all about them, but as they grew older life had become darker. The music they listened to grew darker still and their lifestyle changed from bedroom singalongs to all night dance parties. It was at one of these parties where Zita met Hank.

"I know you don't like him," said Zita.
"He's not right for you, he has no ambition," retorted Viola.
"But you don't know him like I know him," Zita implored.
"He's not right, he's not half right, he's just a loser," whispered Viola angrily.

Viola was right. Hank was a loser. Twice, actually. Though neither girl knew anything about Hank's incarcerated history, Viola did know that Hank was nothing more than a dealer and an addict using and taking. She resented him using her friend but was as addicted to the coke he supplied as her friend and could never find the strength to pull away.

Their argument was interrupted as Hank stumbled through the apartment door with eyes that gave away his state of mind. Hank threw himself into the table somehow finding a chair as beer bottles rattled but kept their stead. With shaking hands Hank dumped half a baggie onto the table top and railed it in one gurgling snort.

"What are you looking at," growled Hank in Viola's direction. "If you don't like it, you can leave."
"This is my home too Hank," said Viola quietly.
"This was your home, but you and everything in it are mine now. You've stuffed two grand up your nose this month and I want my money," yelled Hank, banging the table with a closed fist.

It was true. Viola was in a bad way. The rent was due, the phone was long ago cut off and the electric was going to go next. Viola sat quietly and began to cry. Zita was lost in a haze. Hank drew out another line and wiped the drip from his nose. The three of them sat in stoned silence, as the record continued to play its melancholy soundtrack to a wasted evening. As Viola stared at Hank, she finally figured out the odd lyrics to the old song spinning on the record player.

With a broken sink for a face
And a head that just takes up space
He's not half right

Viola left the apartment the next day for the last time. She felt terrible leaving Zita behind but Zita wasn't strong enough to leave Hank and Viola barely had the strength to save herself. At the train station, Viola begged strangers for money until she had enough for a ticket to Toronto. Viola knew her mum had hoped for more from her, that Viola would go to university and get educated. But life had got in the way of dreams and at the moment all that mattered was survival. Viola was heading for horses and the family business.

A month passed quickly and it amazed Viola how easy it was for her to give up the addiction and lifestyle. Mornings on the backstretch gave her a sense of purpose and Viola would bound out of bed each day to go and see her horses. She was only a groom but the horses belonged to her more than the owner that barely came to visit. Viola was especially taken with a colt named Mic City Sons, or Mick as he was known around the barn. As she brushed the tangles from Mick's mane, Viola thought of Zita and how she missed her old friend. Mick nuzzled into each stroke of the brush, and Viola found herself at peace with the quiet rhythm of dawn work detail. This new friend had a gentle manner and loved Viola unconditionally. Each morning Mick would knicker loudly as he sensed Viola approaching. It felt good to be wanted. Still, Viola missed her friend and felt guilty that she had left Zita in such a terrible state. That night Viola wrote a letter to Zita, careful to disguise the details of her new home in case Hank should find the letter first.

Dear Zita, I'm sorry I left so suddenly. Hank scares me. I know you love him, but I'm worried what he'll do when he's high and angry. His eyes scare me and I don't like the song we've become Zita. How do the lyrics go? 'Would you say that the one in your dreams got in you and ripped out the seams...' He's tearing you apart Zita. Tearing us apart. Look at your life. Up all night, asleep all day. I've found something better. I'm back to dreaming again Zita and I want you to join me. Life is good here. There's work and it's safe and peaceful. Think about it. I'll write again soon. I promise. Please don't let Hank read this. Love Viola

Zita read the letter and cried. Things had become much worse since Viola left. Hank was using a lot more than he was dealing and money was tight. Zita knew that the man Hank ran for wouldn't let this slide much longer. Hank owed the man a lot of money and there's only so many ways Hank could cut the few grams he had left. The next step for Zita was the street and she couldn't bare to think about it. She placed the letter inside the music box on her dresser and went back to bed.

There would be more letters to Zita over the next two months as Viola poured her new life onto paper. Viola had met an exercise rider named Steve and soon moved in together. Their love was fast and true and filled with the thrills that life at the track provided. Together Viola and Steve dreamed of saving up enough money to claim Mick and race him in their own silks. Viola would take out her trainer's license and Steve was going to ride the handsome colt. Just being with Steve made Viola feel strong enough to fight for her old friend. As Viola doodled sketches of silks on her notepad, she put pen to paper and wrote once again to Zita.

Dear Zita, I hope you are doing well. Life here is really changing for the better. Steve and I have saved up nearly two thousand dollars and we're making plans for a better life. I've told Steve all about you and he wants you to come and live with us. We'll help you get back on your feet. I promise.
There's a friend here I want you to meet that I think would be perfect for you. His name is Mick. He's tall, handsome and has a ferocious appetite. Mick doesn't talk much but I think the two of you will come to an understanding. Get your things together Zita. I've put my address at the bottom of this letter. Please write back soon and let me know if you will come. I can't wait to hear from you. Love Viola

Zita's hands shook as she read the letter, but for once it wasn't because she needed a fix. Things with Hank had spiralled badly in recent weeks. He'd run out of drugs to sell and the walls were closing in on him. Hank took his frustrations out on Zita and her face and arms were covered in bruises from the arguments Zita could never win. This letter was Zita's ticket out of hell and she scrambled through her dresser drawer to find a pen and paper. There was no time for deep explanations, Hank would be home soon and Zita needed to get this letter into the post soon.

Dear Viola, I've missed you terribly. You're right about Hank, he's worse than ever now. I'm so sorry. Mick sounds wonderful and I can't wait to meet him. Just once I'd like to be with a winner. I need to start over. I want a new song. A new dream. Can you come for me? All my love, Zita

Mick was racing today and Viola was excited to lead him out to the Woodbine paddock. His coat shined and his ears were pricked with excitement. A picture of perfect health, Viola stared at Mick in amazement of his sleek athletic build. It was fifteen minutes to post and Viola walked Mick round and round the ring as the trainer and jockey discussed strategy. For two months, Viola had saved every penny she could waiting for this day. Steve and Viola had stuck $500 to win on Mick at generous odds of 8-1. Time ticked down and Viola handed Mick over to the trainer. The jockey jumped on and weaved through the walking ring to the track.

The horses walked in front of the grandstand and the track announcer called out the names of the horses. The combatants prepared to take each other on in a six furlong sprint.

Hank walked into the apartment a man possessed. "Zita," screamed Hank, "where the hell are you?"

As the horses loaded into the gate, Viola and Steve held hands and waited, their hearts beating fervently. And then they were off, the horses burst from the gate as the starting bells rang.

Hank found Zita in the bedroom clutching a postcard. Hank's fist found Zita with the anger and desperation of a strung out junkie. Zita railed backwards against the dresser shooting perfume and jewellery and the music box onto the floor.

Mick was out to the front in a shot, his four legs churning fluidly as he ate up the early fractions.

Hank picked up the letters from the floor and began to read. "Those are mine," screamed Zita. Hank laughed maniacally and said, "so your little friend is going to save you is she," snivelled Hank.

With a four length lead at the top of the stretch, Mick was winning for fun. Mick's jockey sat still on his back and looked under his arm for opponents who weren't coming. Viola and Steve hugged each other tightly.

Hank's hands were around Zita's neck. Desperately, Zita clawed back still holding onto the postcard that had arrived just hours earlier. It was no use, Zita's eyes bulged and her heart pounded until it pounded no more. Limp, Hank lay Zita down gently on the bed and pried the postcard from Zita's hand. Flipping the card over, Hank read:

Dear Zita:
Received your letter about an hour ago. We will meet you Saturday morning at the C.P.R Station, and will be there for train that leaves Toronto around 9:00 o'clock.
Viola

Hank stuffed the postcard into his shirt pocket and headed for the train station.